Headed by A Snake Novel - Read - Unknown

Chapter 1042 Myriad Futures
(Part Two)
Sasarame clenched her fists and pointed her thumb at herself.
"My father--"
"--is the strongest person I know," Pale interrupted. "If he says to

trust in him, then that's what we'll do."
"Yeah," Ree said, suddenly deflated, "He says to jump. We jump

before even asking how high."
"And after training," Gobbuto shook his head, "We somehow jump
to moon."
Even the Holy Princess lent a hand of assurance, resting it on

Sasha's heretical, xeno arm.
"Y-you don't understand," Sasha said with a whimper. "I... can't

believe you... You... All of you know what he's like..."
Troia took hold of her shoulders.
Sasha wished she hadn't.
Lady Troia was the only person she could not easily reject.
That kind and gentle touch... that tiny bit of warmth and hope
made Sasha's tears begin to flow like rain.
[Make us understand, Sister,] Troia signed.

Sasha wiped at her eyes with her sleeve.
"E... every sun... he's out there," she said.
"He's fighting," Pale nodded.
Gobbuto placed a fist upon his chest, "For honor... and glory."
"One. hundred. percent. badass as f*ck," said Ree.
Sasha sniffed, raising her chin.
"But... it's always... on behalf of someone else," she said.

"Besides... y'know, stuffing his face, there's not a trace of
selfishness anywhere in his body."
Ree tilted her head, "Yeah... Boss is kinda weird about food."
"Miss Kimura. I was told you shed tears at dinner table," Gobbuto
remarked, "first night you arrived?"
"Oy. I'm gonna hit you for real."
[Continue, Sister,] Troia signed. [Please.]
"My father..." Sasha whispered, "If you leave him alone... he'll
sacrifice himself."
"N-no way," Pale said, shaking his head in disbelief. "Boss-- Sir
Tycon is... a Tactician. He knows when to commit and he knows
when to retreat. And it's always better to live to fight again--
there's just no way he'd--"
"He'd do it for you," Sasha said, clenching her teeth hard. "He'd do
it for me. He'd do it for any of us-- and he doesn't even like
Kimura!"
"Wait, not even a little?" Ree asked.
[He'd never admit to it,] Troia signed.
"I-- I don't like him either," Ree lied.

"So?" Sasha prompted, "Say something, *Hero.*"
Pale didn't dare respond.
He couldn't.
He just stood there, his bottom lip quivering like the spoiled, idiot-
boy he was.
[Dear Sister,] Troia signed... [You've seen it, haven't you? In your
dreams?]
Sasha opened her mouth to respond-- but she choked on her

tears and began to cough.
Kimura began massaging her back... allowing her to recover

enough to look back at the High Oracle.
Placing her middle finger on her cheek, Sasha slid it up, before
flicking her hand away.
[I've seen it.]
Then, she turned to the so-called Hero.
...and forced herself to speak.
"P... pale," she said... "My father-- h-he can't win... not... without...
Sol Invictus.
"That's why... I'm asking you."
It hurt so much for her to say. She hated Pale-- loathed him with a
passion.
He was a disgusting, flippant, unserious boy that took everything

for granted.
Yet... he was the one that needed to be convinced to help her.
Sasha got onto her knees.

She bowed her head down, touching it to the cold, moss-covered
stones.
"Don't... let my father die," she begged.
Pale knelt down by her side, "Sasha, don't do this. I'll help-- just..."
"Get A-WAY from me!!" Sasha screamed, pushing the boy away.
She was absolutely furious. Did Pale think everything was going
to be okay with a soft touch and a submissive whisper??
"I'm not interested in your empty lies, Pelor of Invictus!" she

roared, "I know who you are! I've seen a hundred of your futures!
As soon as she began... she could not stop.
"I've seen you abandon entire REALMS!
"I've seen your body and will BROKEN, thousands of your

companions dead and forgotten!!"
It hurt.
No one but an Oracle was supposed to hear about their myriad

futures.
It was forbidden by an Ancient Law she was never told, but

instinctually understood.
Sasha's mana began to rage, tearing up the insides of her body--

but she didn't care.
"I've seen you become a GOD!! I've seen you fall BEYOND the
deepest pits of the seven hells!!
"And your EVERY incarnation, god or devil, man or beast-- you

were nothing more than a COWARD!!"
A choir of glass bells reverberated throughout the cave as Troia

spoke.
"(hold her,)" she said.
Sasha's left arm was grabbed onto by Gobbuto; his large hands
held her tight with a crushing grip.
Her right arm was wrapped up in Kimura's hold. It felt like it would
break if she moved it back even one more ilm.
Troia placed her palms on Sasha's chest. She began whispering a

litany filled with Divine Power... forcing the rampaging mana to
slow.
Sasha was fairly certain she was dying-- or rather... if it wasn't for
the High Oracle's quick thinking, she would be dead.
Her insides hurt. Blood had welled up in her throat.
Her tears hurt-- she might have been crying blood, too.
But despite her condition, she wasn't finished speaking.
She spat out the blood in her mouth.
"Hear me... Brother..." she said, "You will not abandon... our...
father in this timeline.
"--or I swear... even it takes me... a thousand lifetimes... I'll make

you pay."
Pale closed his eyes.
And he lowered his head.
Did he understand?
*Could* he understand?
The Pale of the current timeline was different enough from the
others...
...but he was still Pale.

Chosen by the fates.
The Undeserving Hero.
...the single strongest source of entropy in their timeline.
That boy could change the future...
But... were words enough to convince him to do the right thing, for
once?
Sasha closed her eyes.
She... really was cursed.
The silence was broken by a low, frustrated grunt.
"Grrrgh... It is decided, then," Gobbuto growled, "but what... is

next move?"
[We find a way,] Troia signed...
"No matter what it takes," added Ree.
With her task complete, Sasha's adrenaline began to wane. She

collapsed onto the stones, barely any strength left in her body.
She felt the squish of a mushroom beneath her head-- likely the
quick work of Ree.
Seriously...
Heroes, huh?
Maybe there was hope, after all...
Maybe... her dreams were wrong, for once.
Suddenly, something broke the water's surface.
And... something crawled out of the Pool of Reflection.

It was... a web-footed sahuagin?
A half-dozen others slipped smoothly out of the water-- so

perhaps a forward scout? But it seemed they had not come for
war.
Only a single sahuagin had a weapon... Their leader, perhaps?
"HELLO!" that person said, "Nice to... meet you!!"
"Eh?" Ree said, tilting her head. "Who the f*ck are you guys?"
"Yes, yes. I am well-- also! My. human name... is Becky!"[1]
Ree looked around, but seeing as no one else was saying

anything, she took it upon herself.
"O... kay. Why are you here? Becky?"
"Oh! We-- we take you-- bring to Sea God!"
"On... whose orders?" Pale asked quietly.
Becky flashed a full smile, filled with two rows of spiny teeth.
"A Dragon!"
[1] Becky: See Chapter 629, Best Girl!
The Novel will be updated first on this website. Come back and
continue reading tomorrow, everyone!
Chapter 2 Familiar Mystery
[Before the events of the Prologue.]
The sensation of falling caused the young man to jerk awake.
The fall was swift and sudden. The resulting crash was loud and
painful.
He pushed himself off the wooden floor, trying to take in his

surroundings... and trying not to gag at the reek of moldy straw
and poorly treated inn-room wood.
"Why… in the seven hells does my head feel like it's been struck
with a hammer?" The man growled.
He curled his body and clutched at his head, his knees and feet
against the floor. With furious focus, he concentrated-- willing the
walls to slow their incessant spinning.
As if his entire body were trying to rally against him, his gut began
to rumble and bile began to rise to his throat.
The man had awoken, void of any useful memories. Erratic scraps
of knowledge flashed into his mind, fleeting and nonsensical.
1. His memories informed him that he was better than... most

everyone else.
2. He was a very... angry individual.
And 3. he'd remembered a deep, deep loathing of vomiting.
Arrogance. Anger. Hates vomiting. How shallow.

Using all of his willpower, he forced the acrid bile back down. An
uncomfortable film of sweat covered his face and formed a thin,
disgusting layer underneath his clothes. He squirmed around on
the filthy inn room floor, trying to adjust his body into a comfortable
position, praying desperately for the pain to go away.
Minutes passed in silence.
Gradually, the man's mind began to clear.
He briefly considered trying to find out *why* he was in the

situation he was in... but what use would that be? Only the future
mattered. More important was... who was he? And what was he
doing?
Thinking upon it, an actually-useful piece of information came to

mind.
4. He had a System, a cheat-like database of information, also

capable of automating functions.
In his mind, he thought a specific phrase:
« System, open status. »
A transparent window appeared in the eye of the man's mind, a

massive column of highly-detailed blocks of text and numbers, the
script garbled and useless. He felt his headache returning, trying
to make sense of it.
« Nevermind... System, close status. System inquiry: What's my

name? »
The transparent window closed and a friendly, somewhat-neutral

voice spoke in his mind.
[System response: The host's name is Tycondrius.]
It sounded familiar. That was somewhat of a relief.
Tycon sat up against his moldy, straw-filled bed and he began to

review his situation and examine his surroundings.
He had fallen off of a bed in an inn room. His forehead was
beginning to swell, but the injury was of no concern.
His eyes had quickly adjusted to the darkness-- suspiciously

quickly. The room was bright if the sun were out, though gentle
starlight spilled through the window from a dark blue evening sky.
Tycon forced himself to stand, feeling every ache of his muscles

and each creak of his bones. Was he sick? Was it an aftereffect of
strenuous physical activity?
He walked to the window to observe the outside. He was on a

second-story of a building, his window overlooking a quaint town
lit blue by starlight and a full, glowing moon. Cobblestone roads
were lit by candle-filled lamp-posts.
A few dozen people still walked the streets. He spotted a few

mercenary-looking men walking casually, lightly armored, armed
with sword and bow.
Armor and cold weapons seemed normal to carry in this place...
He frowned and tapped his fingers on the wooden windowsill

impatiently. Though he excelled with the setting he was in, he felt
like he couldn't yet relax.
Noise emanating from the ground floor was mixed with laughter,
yelling, and the garbled speech of dozens of speakers.
Tycon had no desire to surround himself with people-- he felt

vulnerable, as a confused, weakened amnesiac. However, the
delightful smell of sweet, burning wood and cooking meat forced
him to reconsider. He licked his lips and could swear that he could
taste his next bloody meal.
He preferred his meat cooked to medium-rare. And from a non-

sentient.
Tycon squinted his eyes in deep thought. Was it normal to specify

non-sentience in one's preferred meal?
He sat down on the uncomfortable bed and looked at his hands,
rough and callused. He had five fingers and skin, the color of
flesh... Wait, the color of flesh? Peculiar.
He plucked out a hair from his head. It was green. He hoped that
was normal.
He felt his face. His nose wasn't too big. He didn't have any tusks.
He didn't have any facial hair, either. Tycon didn't find anything
particula-- Ow.
His cuspids were sharp and had drawn blood when his finger had
pressed onto it.
Near panic, Tycon checked his pulse. He had a pulse. He wasn't a

vampire. That could have been problematic.
After examining himself, Tycon stood and explored the room.
He found a small bag of silver and gold coins. Because he was in

a private room instead of a common one, he reasoned that he
could well-afford it with the coin he owned.
He found a light suit of banded armor in his size. There was a

pack filled with adventuring gear, rope and bandages, and the
like...
He drew a sword from its sheath, finding it scratched and nicked,

though well-oiled and maintained. The shoddy sword-sheath and
the boring hilt made it look cheap.
Tycon grimaced as another bit of information came to mind.
5. He was cheap.
He looked over to a second pile of gear, which he'd separated

from the more standard-fare adventuring gear.
A hand-crossbow, easily hidden. A scroll tube containing a letter,

closed with an ornate wax seal. A cloak with a peaked hood, good
for hiding one's face, (if unnecessarily stylish.) Three vials
containing what he was fairly certain was injury poison. A sturdy
whip with sharp, wicked-looking metal pieces at its end. A dagger,
designed to be hidden in a boot.
Tycon unsheathed the boot dagger, finding a waxy substance was

smeared upon it-- likely the same substance as were in the vials.
He could be a very cautious individual. It was also plausible that

he was not a very good person.
He carefully resheathed the dagger, neatly packing his gear away

into what he assumed was *his* traveling pack. As if by instinct,
he knew how to pack-- which items needed to be at which level of
the pack and how to conserve space.
With practiced hands, he buckled on his armor, wore his sword at

on his waist, and donned the peaked cloak and hood over it all.
...He regretted not doing that earlier, as the warmth from the
armor and cloak made the evening chill far more bearable.
He walked to the table, the only decoration in the cheap inn room,
and poured water into a washbowl. Once he'd washed his hands,
he'd congratulate his findings with a meal.
A peculiar glimmer of gold caught Tycon's attention. With a feeling

of unease, he allowed the waters to still as he stared at his
reflection.
"Seven bleeding hells, I'm not human."

Chapter 3 Defending Her
Honor
Tycondrius stared at his dim, golden-eyed reflection in the water.
It wouldn't have been troublesome if his pupils were merely

uniquely colored. The entire sclera of his eyes were a mottled and
cracked yellowish gold and his pupils were black elliptical slits.
Tycon groaned in annoyance-- he had the eyes of a nocturnal

predator, hence the excellent night vision. He also induced that
the shape of his pupils also improved his horizontal peripheral
vision.
Was he... some kind of humanoid snake... Or a reptile...? Tycon's

initial shock had worn off and had been replaced with annoyance.
« System, inquiry: What is... my species? »
[System response: Host's species is medusa.]
Hm. So this is a world where the medusa and gorgon species are
different-- that wasn't terribly surprising.
Tycon took a deep breath in through his nostrils and exhaled into
an irritated sigh. Every creature he had seen thus far had been
human. Him being... not would greatly hinder his ability to move
about freely.
« System, inquiry: Is there a way to make my eyes look human? »
[System response: Medusae are capable of repressing their

supernatural ocular abilities so as to not affect allies and their
young. Medusa society refers to this as "dimming."]
Tycon grumbled in frustration as he stared into the washbowl,
trying to learn how to manipulate the muscles in his eyes.
Ignoring the protests of his empty belly, Tycon only emerged from
his room a half-bell later. By then, he was thoroughly confident in
dimming his vision and just as confident that he could eat an
entire grilled haunch of a moderately-sized non-sentient.
Upon exiting his room, he strolled downstairs and through a loud

cacophony of people, all patrons of the dining hall. A colorful bard
fiddled a festive tune while she danced on a stage, armored men
argued over a deck of cards, and a short-haired waitress skillfully
dodged a pair of running children, while balancing a tray of frothy
mugs.
Everyone in the dining hall was human. Of course, they would be.
Learning to dim his vision was not time spent wasted.
Tycon observed that smaller weapons, like swords and daggers,

were openly worn by the armored men and women. Heavier
weapons: crossbows, halberds, and a needlessly large greataxe,
were checked in by the inn's entrance, locked in a keyed metal
cage.
He scoffed inwardly at the unwieldy greataxe. The monstrosity

likely belonged to a skilless braggart. It was highly unlikely that the
weapon's owner was both strong and large enough to put it to
good use.
Mentally filing away the sights, sounds, and smells, he returned

his attention to the quest he held of utmost importance: To fill his
mouth and belly with delicious sustenance.
As he maneuvered his way through the tables, he noticed a

number of unfriendly gazes upon him-- his vision and senses
remained excellent, even though his eyes were dimmed.
« System, inquiry: What is the highest power level in the dining

hall? »
[System response: The highest power level in the dining hall is a
Level 15--]
« System, change setting: Use the Metallic Ranking system. »
[Understood. The highest power level in the dining hall is Bronze.]
Tycon didn't care to learn the System's complicated

measurements, so he changed its settings to match what he
knew. Bronze was a relatively brittle metal, still more than capable
of killing a man. Iron was stronger than that, more reliable. It
seemed self-explanatory.
With the highest power level being only Bronze, Tycon returned
the hostile stares, grinning fearlessly. If there was any danger to
be had in the dining hall, it would be from him.
The many pairs of staring eyes turned away, averting their eyes
when caught.
Even humans must obey the rule of the strong, The powerful rule
without contest and the weak avert their eyes in shame.
Upon finding an empty table seat, an attentive waitress arrived at

Tycon's side almost immediately. "Hello, my name is Sorina, and
I'll be your wench today!"
A what? No, he must have misheard.
The young human woman was of marriageable age, with neat

short, brown hair. She might have been pretty. Tycon didn't
particularly care.
He ordered a meat dish and two ales. Sorina cheerfully

memorized his order and hurried off to the kitchens... though her
departure prompted trouble to visit his table.
A dark-haired young man, the bridge of his nose marred by a scar

stepped up onto the bench opposite Tycon, then planted a boot
upon the table, leaning forward on his knee. Three light-armored,
nasty-looking thugs backed him from behind. They probably
thought they looked intimidating.
With a scowl, the man raised his voice, "You messin' with my girl,
boy?"
Tycon sighed in annoyance. Perhaps the fool standing on his

table thought he was defending Miss Sorina's honor? Was it
because Tycon was incredibly handsome? He hoped it was not
because he looked easy to coerce. That would be inconvenient.
Tycon pursed his lips, observing the few ruffians with pity. They
did not look very strong.
"Your name?" Tycon asked with a sigh.
The mercenary paused momentarily. Had he forgotten? What kind

of idiot forgets their name? "The name's Barza!! Of the
Shadowdark Wolves! Remember my name, villainous sc-"
Tycon held up a single finger, interrupting Barza's passionate

speech. "Very well, Mister Barza." He confidently gazed into the
man's eyes, "No. I was not, in fact, 'messing' with Miss Sorina."
"Well... It LOOKED LIKE Y--"
"If you wish to challenge me to a duel, do so now, Mister Barza,"

Tycon offered with a hint of impatience.
"OU… YOU-- Wait, what?"
The ruffian furrowed his eyes in disbelief. Tycon's proposition had

clearly caught him unaware. The arrogant glares of his
companions turned from confident to confused. They glanced at
each other, unsure of how to proceed.
Humans don't expect conflict. It's a strange hypocrisy.
Tycon spoke clearly and with measured words, hoping he could

make even the most foolish of their number understand, "Mister
Barza, I haven't had a decent meal in what feels like several suns.
Please forgive me, as I'm in a very, very poor mood."
Neither Barza nor his men would meet Tycon's gaze. Were they
even listening?
Tycon sucked in air through his teeth, exceedingly annoyed. He

had strongly considered gutting the man on the spot-- he was
certain he could maim and kill the lot of them. But he worried that
the resulting hassle would result in a denial of his promised meal.
"Now, unless you have business with someone far above your
station or are willing to die without a complete corpse, I suggest
you..." Tycon bared his teeth, his voice carrying a tinge of threat,
"--Find a different table."
Barza, the cowardly looking man audibly gulped. His lackey

companions looked around the dining hall-- perhaps for other
open tables.
Worthless trash.
Tycon just wanted a decent meal. No, he WOULD have one, even
if he had to murder four men in a dining hall entirely filled with
armed adventurers.
He gnashed his teeth, insulted by the amount of disrespect he'd

received.
Conflict was troublesome-- but not something to be feared.

Underneath the table, Tycon quietly released the catch on his
sword. A single strike was all he needed to kill each of them. After
all, his opponents were merely human.
But before Tycon could draw his blade... the shadow of a giant
that fell upon the table.
The biggest man in the dining hall had approached from behind
Barza and his three companions, three heads taller than any of
them. Barza and his goons looked like children in comparison.
"Hey, Boss! Finally up?" The red-headed giant spoke with a

booming voice, waving casually.
With a jovial smile, the giant sat at the table, the bench loudly
creaking beneath his weight. With a meaty finger, he pushed
Barza's boot off of the table.
Chapter 4 Glass Of Water
ycon examined the giant fellow sharing his table. His muscles
T
were comically oversized and the skin not covered by leather
armor was covered in healed claw-marks and cuts. His face and
smile were broad and his head was covered in a mane of bright
red hair.
He looked trustworthy... if a bit dim.
« System, inquiry: Who the hells is this? »
[System response: Dragan Ashlord.]
...Apparently, he wouldn't get anything worthwhile unless he asked

properly. How frustrating.
« System, search: Information on this Dragan fellow. »
[Dragan Ashlord. Dominant Bloodline: Giant. Reputation: Trusted.

Class:...]
« --That will do. System, display known names. And display

aggression level as the displayed name's color. »
[Setting change complete.]
"Bosssss!" The broad-faced giant grinned widely at Tycon, "Did

you order yet? I could really use an ale!"
Tycon glanced upwards to see a transparent green 'Dragan'

appear above his head.
A transparent green name appeared over Barza's, while his

associates had "??????" tags, colored in orange.
Tycon did a double-take on Barza's color. The bright green
signified that it was incredibly unlikely for Barza to attack him.
Dragan followed Tycon's gaze and seemed to gain an

understanding of the situation. Dragan spoke in a low voice, far
more threatening, managing to simultaneously sound playful... but
cruel, "BoSssSS! Are these guys botttherrring yoOOoouuU??"
Barza and his men visibly paled. One had his hand on his sword
hilt, which clattered in its sheath from a shaking hand. A fight
between Dragan and the four fools would be as one-sided as a
wolf against three raccoons and a pigeon.
Tycon was inwardly pleased. This Dragan gentleman seemed to

be useful to keep around.
...
Barza's companions all turned to him for an answer. Barza cursed

his own luck, searching frantically for an excuse.
"N-n-n-no, sir! We were just… was just talk'n! Talking! Ain't that
right, sir!" Barza stuttered. He begged with his eyes, hoping that
the young boss would show leniency.
The noble took a deep breath and sighed in response. Barza felt
his heart drop and splash into the deep pit of his stomach. He
glanced back at his companions, their faces revealing that they'd
reached the same conclusion: Offending the green-haired youth
was a mistake.
The young master's annoyed expression smoothly transitioned

into a friendly smile, granting Barza and his men a slight bit of
hope. But Barza felt an inexplicable, growing sense of danger.
"Mister Dragan! No, how embarrassing that you've the wrong

idea! In fact, Mister Barza had *just* offered to pay for our meals."
Barza's heart and soul shook, "Y-yes, that's right, Sir Dragan. We
were just talking to Sir.. uh…"
"Baron, actually. Baron Tycondrius," the noble responded with
confidence.
Barza's psyche was struck with a shock, much more traumatizing

than the others. He had offended a noble. He quickly glanced
around to see who'd noticed--
Everyone. Everyone had noticed. Every pair of eyes in the dining

hall stared at him with either pity or amusement.
Barza had approached his mark because he looked young, his

clothing wasn't especially opulent-- even his sword looked cheap!
But the man spoke so arrogantly that he couldn't be anything but a
noble...
"Mister Barza. On my honor... I cannot accept your kindness in

paying for my meal," Tycon placed his hand on Barza's shoulder.
Barza's heart soared. This was the forgiveness of a kind-hearted
nobleman! It was like in the stories...
Tears pooled at the corner of his eyes. Barza was not a wealthy
man. In order to afford to sleep with a roof over his head, he
needed to complete dozens of low-level missions from the
Adventurer's Guild each week-- his wages from being in the
Shadowdark Wolves were not nearly enough.
Every day, his hands and knees would be scraped raw from
collecting berries. He couldn't afford soap, so his armor stank of
old sweat and goblin blood. One moon prior, he was ordered to
lead the Wolves against a Dire Skunk --receiving a nasty cut on
the bridge of his nose for his troubles and the avoidance of his
peers for longer.
He wished dearly for a chance to work for a kind, wealthy, and

(most-of-all) generous noble like Sir Tycondrius.
...
The bubbly young waitress, Sorina, returned, placing down two

hefty mugs of ale in front of Dragan and Tycon. "Two mugs of ale,
Sir Baron. And your main dish is being grilled now."
Tycon nodded politely to the girl, then turned to Barza, "Mister
Barza, I must admit, I have been touched by your sincerity. I shall
allow you to pay the meal of my associate, Mister Dragan."
Dragan grabbed one of the mugs of ale, "Ayyyyy! You're a great

guy, Barzaaaa!" In a few scant seconds, the big man heartily
drained the mug.
He turned to Sorina, "Pretty lady! I want ten of what the Boss is

having!"
Sorina glanced at the size of the Titanblood before deciding that

asking for confirmation was unnecessary, "Of course, Sir. And
some more ale?"
"Oh, definitely! Thank you, Booze Angel!!"
Barza slumped down into the seat next to Dragan. The other
Shadowdark Wolves silently withdrew.
Avoiding conflict, even at the cost of abandoning one of their

own? Did that make them cowards? Or was it because they were
human?
Sorina cheerfully tilted her head, "And for you, Mister Barza?"
Barza stared at the wood of the table, "I'll… I'll have some water,
please."
Tycon noticed with slight amusement that the miserable fellow

failed to spot the tinge of blush that had appeared on Sorina's
cheeks.
Tycon finished his meal, quite content. Barza had excused himself
after emptying his wallet in paying for Dragan's meal.
Much of the dinner noise had died down, allowing Tycon to have a
reasonable conversation with his new source of information.
"Mister Dragan." "Yea, Boss?"

"Where are we?" "A town."
"Very well... What's the name of the town?" "I dunno. Townsville?"
"I... highly doubt that." "Yeah, I doubt it, too."
"What is our current quest?" "I dunno. You usually tell us that."
"Us? ...Who else are we traveling with?" "Oh, you know… Uh…
Tarquin. Lulu… Wolfbanger."
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Are those three different people or one
very long, stupid, name?"
"Three short, stupid names." Dragan raised his eyebrows, "Boss?

Are… are you okay?"
"I'm fine, thanks…" Tycon waved the question off.
Tycon gathered far less information than he had hoped for. As he

was called 'Boss', he likely held a leadership position. And from
the adventurer-heavy inn, he was logically a leader of a
mercenary guild or adventuring company.
He called over the Booze Angel, Sorina, and tipped her a gold
piece.
The girl blushed and twirled her hair, "Oh, Sir Baron. I-- I don't
know if Barza would--"
"Hey, pretty lady," Dragan sat the girl on his lap and she blushed
even more deeply. Tycon considered stopping that behavior, but
seeing that Sorina didn't look uncomfortable, he decided to allow
it.
"Miss Sorina, I've a few questions I hope you can shed some light
upon."
"Oh! Yes, Sir. Of course!"
"What's this town known for?"

"The town of Nice is mostly known for its trade hub. Since an
Adventurer's Guild was set up two epochs ago, merchant
caravans have been always able to hire cheap guards amongst
the various adventurers, guided or solo."
In a hushed voice, Sorina added, "The local noble is a baron

named Tavor. He's not popular."
Her response was clear, concise, and practiced. Tycon approved.

He wasn't going to tip her more than that gold piece, though.
Tycon held out a rolled-up scroll, stamped with an ornate stamped

wax seal, "Does this look familiar?"
Sorina crinkled her nose, looking up at the inn room's chandelier

in thought, "Oh! I remember. That's the royal seal. I saw it in a
teacher's textbook, once."
"Oho, Boss." Dragan chimed in, "The pretty lady's, pretty smart."
"Last question," Tycon interrupted. "Miss Sorina, have you seen

any of my other companions?"
"Oh, yes, um… The Weretouched and the kind-looking boy with
blue hair. They haven't come back since they left the inn this
morning. Oh, and your mount is still in the stables!"
Three. That matched Dragan's numbers.
Tycon sighed in reluctance. The girl was attentive and her

responses were not lacking in any way. He looked over to Dragan,
who appeared just as impressed-- it did not seem very difficult to
impress Dragan.
Tycon's face remained expressionless as he placed a second gold

coin on the table. A job well done must be rewarded. Still, Tycon
felt his heart bleed with the loss of his coin, "Thank you, Miss
Sorina. Direct me to the stables and that second coin is yours."
Sorina stood energetically and granted Tycon a polite curtsy, "It's

over that way, Sir!"
"Want me to come along, Boss?" Dragan asked, smirking and
placing his arms behind his head.
"You can stay."
"Great," Dragan poked Sorina's cheek, "Can I get another order of

the meat and potatoes?"
Chapter 5 A Bloody Mess
[After the events of the Prologue.]
The Shadowdark Wolves had tried to assault Tycon in a dark

alleyway.
The last of them attacked with blind fervor.
If a man can find a single hint of familiarity, he can rationalize.

With rationality, he gleans hope. And with hope, no matter how
small... the humans can struggle marvelously against their fates.
It was admirable.
Tycon had killed all of them, save Barza and his final surviving
companion.
He had transformed into a massive white snake and was

crushing the life out of... not-Barza. Even after the screaming
stopped, Tycon continued his hold until several more pops and
cracks resounded in the darkness.
He wanted to ensure the human was dead.
Tycon had tested the extent of his abilities admirably. He felt no

guilt. These humans were honorless bastards who would abandon
their kin at the first sign of trouble.
With the assistance provided by his System, he was easily able to

track his pursuers. Even from a distance, his attackers were
clearly tagged in his vision with bright red tags.
Barza was also clearly tagged with the green brand of cowardice.
« System, inquiry: How long does a snake of my size take to
digest its prey? »
[System response: The digestion process takes from several days

to several weeks depending on the size of the prey and the
temperature of the habitat. Colder habitats slow the Host's
metabolism.]
Tycon was relieved he had eaten prior.
He quickly unraveled himself around the corpse. Barza emitted a

high-pitched shriek at his sudden movement.
"As you can see, Mister Barza," Tycon spoke matter-of-factly, his
snakey head equal to the man's eyes, "I am a snake."
"Aha, haha ha. Yes." Barza laughed awkwardly.
The human sat upon the alleyway floor, dimly lit by lanterns
dropped by his fallen companions, their lifeless shadows flickering
on the walls. It was cold. The man hadn't even eaten. And he had
soiled himself. Tycon could smell it. Undoubtedly, the fellow could
feel it.
Tycon didn't dare flick his tongue. He was afraid of the taste of the
man's fear.
Barza opened his mouth to speak. "Ah--"
No words came out.
Perhaps the man was in a state of shock? It was a normal

response to witnessing several consecutive murders.
Tycon coiled himself into a curious S-shape, pondering his next

course of action. He decided to lighten the mood with a joke.
"I was planning on killing you."
Barza promptly fainted, his cheek wetly slapping against the

ground... in a pool of his own filth.
Tycon carefully reanalyzed the situation.
6. I am not good at making jokes.
It took Tycon several moments and a couple of failed attempts to

reassume his human form. Afterward, he dragged the corpses
and the unconscious Barza to the stable Sorina had directed him
to. He needed the bodies out of sight.
Blood would spark rumors. Bodies were more difficult to explain.
His stable was the farthest one away and only housed one
creature, a horse.
Tycon was pleasantly surprised. He was worried he'd meet

another creature with a fantastical bloodline, much like himself
and Dragan.
Tycon patted the horse on the side of its head. The horse,
somewhat lazily, jerked its head in response and shied away.
"(Ah, it's the snake! Go away, Snake.)"
Tilting his head in curiosity, Tycon replied with narrowed eyes.
"(You're a horse. You are larger than I am. What's the issue?)"
The horse pondered this for a moment, before deciding the logic
was sound. He moved back towards Tycon, who resumed his
petting.
Tycon inwardly sighed, lamenting over the fact that thus far, two
out of two of his companions were fools. He refilled the horse's
feed bag and seated himself on a nearby stool to brood.
He glanced over at the five corpses and one coward and sighed
again.
During his murder spree, Tycon had activated a skill when he'd
undimmed his eyes, and he wished to learn more of it.
« System, display effects of Vexing Gaze »
[Vexing Gaze: Ocular ability. Target takes damage from an illusory

poison, affecting both target's mind and body. If successful, target
becomes distracted and may go into anaphylactic shock.]
Tycon breathed in a sharp breath of air through his teeth. The Skill
he used had taken the life of an adult human male with relative
ease.
He was again, glad that he'd practiced dimming his vision. An

accidental activation of Vexing Gaze would be problematic.
« System, inquiry: Why can I speak to horses? »
[System response: The Host understands horses and horses can

understand him.]
...Tycon decided not to further that line of questioning.
« System, inquiry: What are the limits of my transformation ability?

»
[System response: The Host can transform into a Large form, a

Small form, a Human form, and a Hybrid form.]
A Hybrid form? What?
« System, am I…? System inquiry: Am I… contagious? »
[Negative.]
« Just checking. Thank you, System. »
Tycon looked back at the pile of bodies, "Now I've got to figure out
what to do with these..."
"(Why don't you just eat them?)" The horse calmly suggested,
nonchalantly enjoying his meal of oats.
Tycon rolled his eyes as a silent response.

…
Barza had a nightmare.
Black, vertical pupils. The eye-whites pale yellow and spotted. A

predator's eyes stared at its prey. Kevand begged for forgiveness,
blood gushing through clenched teeth and down his chin.
He was next.
Dozens of white-scaled tendrils wrapped around Barza's wrists

and ankles and began to mercilessly crush his bones. He
screamed desperately for help. He cried for his friends-- dead. He
cried for his mercenary companions-- dead and dying. He cried for
Baron Tavor-- his sinister laugh echoing in his psyche, laughing
breathlessly in his face at this futile struggle against pain and
death.
He cried for his gods. They remained silent.
He cried for Sorina, the tavern girl he'd fallen for at first sight... He
was too shy to talk to her, outside of the rare times he could afford
a proper meal.
He... wished he had the courage, back then-- even once.
And so, Barza cried. He cried for himself. He cried for his future--
not that he had any left. He cried because he was weak... he was
helpless.
And he cried himself awake.
"Mister Barza."
Hearing Tycon's voice, Barza's eyes shot open and he began to

scream. He had awoken staring at Denman's corpse, into wide,
bloodshot eyes, slightly rolled back in death. Barza was lying
amongst a heap made from the corpses of his dead coworkers.
"Mister Barza, do shut up. You're embarrassing yourself." Tycon

chided, a perfect example of calm amidst chaos.
Half-buried, panicked and clumsy, Barza struggled. He pushed the
corpses away, stood, took two steps, then keeled over and
vomited all over the stable ground.
Barza slowly lifted his head, supporting himself with his elbows
and forearms, vomit on his beard and some in his hair. The noble
sat on a stable stool but looked no less intimidating for it. It was
this noble whose eyes turned to a snake's-- no, who was a snake.
The sheer ridiculousness of the concept did nothing to diminish

his feeling of horror. It was the man in front of him that would
determine if he would live or die. Barza felt his gut rumble once
more, but there was nothing left in his stomach to release.
The noble, Sir Tycondrius, looked up towards the ceiling before

pursing his lips, "Mister Barza, I advise you to look alive."
Tears pooled at the corners of Barza's eyes as he cursed the

sickness of the man. Did he want him to stand and struggle
against death for his enjoyment? Did he want to extinguish the
last bit of hope he had? What had he done to deserve this?
...Will he ever get to talk to Sorina again?
The hot tears streamed down Barza's face. But in his blurred
vision, he saw Tycon's expression.
It wasn't a look of disappointment. It wasn't a look of curiosity... or

anger... or fear. The noble wore a look of uncertainty. And the
youth's gaze was directed… up.
Barza had recognized that he was in a building-- inside a stable

with Tycon... and a single horse. But as he looked up, he saw the
cold, infinite blackness of sky and the alien-colored glow of
unfamiliar stars. Half-caught in the ceiling were a dozen spectral
arms, thin and wasted, grasping and spasming erratically.
All the blood had drained from Barza's face as he scrambled

towards Tycon's bloody boots and tightly grasped his leg.
"Wh-wh-what's going on, Sir Tycondrius?!"

Looking up to see Tycon's face, Barza found himself mere ilms
away from a different one.
An angelic-looking boy, pale-faced, with sky blue hair and a sullen

look, stared deeply into his eyes with a lazy smile.
When... the hells... had this person arrived?
"Who's this boss?" The angel said in a soft whisper of a voice, "Is
he an enemy?"
Tycon responded annoyedly with a command that brooked no

argument, "Stand down, Mister Wroe."
"Aye, Boss." The young man stood up straight and comfortably

saluted an open hand to his chest.
"This is Mister Barza," Tycon introduced, "And he will be helping

with..."
Tycon spun a finger, pointing at the pile of Barza's former

companions, "...this."
Wroe tilted his head. Barza could have sworn that it rotated further
than a human's was supposed to, like... like an owl's...
"But Boss, I… can handle… that." Wroe whispered-- his voice

crescendoing to a high-pitched screech. The spectral hands...
they fell. Dozens... hundreds of ghostly, infinitely-long arms fell like
tied rope falling from a bridge.
They grasped at the fallen.
And the fallen jerked awake.
Silently, they screamed. Silently, they begged, blank eyes staring

at Barza, cursing him for remaining alive. Barza had seen magic
before... but not of this level... and not this... evil. He felt the dark
curses from his former companions creepy coldly, scratching deep
into the surface of his soul.
His former companions were pulled up into the darkness, out of
sight...
Louder than a catapult's crash, the sound of bones crunched.

Blood streamed down the walls of the stables, like spilled buckets
of rotted paint. Bone scraps and viscera fell to the stable floor.
Thousands of voices screamed in pain. And then...
All was silent.
",
Chapter 6 Special Ability
Barza had fainted.
Again.
Tycon raised a palm upward, incredulous, "Mister Wroe, you've

made a bloody mess."
The Daeva shrugged as if the sequence of events were natural.

They were not.
"I'll get the mop, then?"
The golden-eyed youth nodded, pursing his lips, "Yes, please do."
The angelic-faced boy was a bit taller than Tycon. A sturdy metal
breastplate guarded his chest, and adventurer's leathers covered
the other vital parts. Wroe also wore a straight blade on his side,
its hilt shiny and ornate.
...Much nicer than Tycon's own.
Most impressive about the fellow was his aptitude at wielding the
bucket and mop.
Wroe swept his fair blue hair aside and worked the blooded stone
floor with an almost-glowing smile.
Tycon did not consider himself a good judge of attractiveness.

However, he held a deep suspicion that this boy was, in fact,
prettier than he was.
The System saw fit to display the boy's name, transparent, above
his head: Tarquin Wroe. Its color was green, denoting he was an
ally. Whether it was from Wroe's subservient demeanor or from
the fact that the gentleman called him 'Boss', Tycon felt
comfortable ordering him around.
This was all in consideration of the fact that at Wroe's command,

dozens of ghostly spectral hands would emerge from a ceiling to
crunch on human flesh.
Tycon somehow doubted that that was the strangest thing he'd
ever seen.
"Mister Wroe, have you found any new information?" Tycon

prayed that this party member would be more informative than
Dragan or the horse.
"Yes, I have, Boss. The local power around town is a Baron of

House Tavor. He lives in a manor at the town's outskirts."
"Common knowledge, thus far. I pray you have more," Tycon

didn't actually know that information, but he prodded Wroe on.
The angel laughed at Tycon's annoyance, still mopping

systematically, "Lots of bad stuff. Extortion. Blackmail. Child
abduction."
"Lots of guards?"
"Yep."
"Is he wealthy?"
"Yep."
Tycon hesitated, "Would it be... Hm, how do I phrase this... Do you

think the group would be, uh... averse? To killing the Baron and
say... Everyone inside the manor?"
"Hmmmm" Wroe rested on the mop handle, "I'd rather not kill
*everyone.* But I doubt that anyone else in Guild Invictus would
have a problem with it."
Tycon nodded in thought. It seemed that he led a group of

psychopaths.
...He decided that he would as he pleased without thinking too
much on it. He looked away from Wroe, at Barza's snoring and
unconscious form.
Wroe followed Tycon's gaze and gasped with a realization, "What

are we going to do about that Barza-guy, Boss? Can we trust
him?"
Tycon shrugged as he took a damp cloth to his bloodied boots,

"I'm sure he's fine. I have a trick-- a special ability, if you will. If I
stare at someone for long enough, I'll eventually get the answer I
want."
Near half-a-bell had passed before Barza woke up, smelling of

vomit and... a stable.
"Where… where am I?" he focused his vision, recognizing the

distinct golden eyes that haunted his nightmares.
"Ah, so you've awoken, Mister Barza."
Tycon passed Barza a flask of water and indicated that he sit up

and drink.
"Sir Tycondrius. I… Apologize."
Tycon merely smiled silently in response. An ice-cold shiver ran

down the length of Barza's spine. The taller man with the blue
hair, Mister Wroe, stood nearby with a cruel smirk on his lips.
Barza desperately wanted to dismiss the entire evening as a

fleeting dream. Blood was no longer splattered on the walls.
Strange ghost-hands no longer dangled from the ceiling. But... he
still reeked of urine. The taste of vomit was still fresh in his mouth.
He could tell that blood was mopped up from the hard floor and a
bit of straw had been scattered where he remembered his
companions had been piled up.
But the worst evidence he could not deny was the neatly collected
pile of swords, daggers, and other effects from Denman, Kevand,
and the other Wolves.
Barza bowed deeply in front of Tycon, "I... I vow never to let

tonight's events leave my lips."
As a response, Tycon continued smiling, only raising an eyebrow.

The pressure from the silence was oppressive enough to make
Barza's chest feel tight. His heart pounded painfully and he
struggled to breathe. The cold evening chill had transformed into
an impossibly frozen wasteland of regret.
Barza fell to his knees with a painful bang and pressed his head to
the freshly-mopped, pine-scented stone. He gulped in vomit-
flavored fear as he fumbled to find the words, "I... Barza Keith...
would serve the lord Baron, if he would... have me."
Barza looked up fearfully, to see the noble's reaction. Tycon

nodded lightly, lifting Barza's mood sky-high. This was his chance
to never be poor again! "I don't even have to be paid much, my
lord, I can just--"
Tycon's eyes narrowed into a threatening glare. Barza's heart fell

into the deepest depths of his stomach and the corners of his
eyes stung with the threat of tears. He was going to cry in front of
his new employer.
"I'll even work without pay, my lord! I don't need it!"
A cunning smile had returned to Tycon's face, "Very well.

Welcome to Guild Invictus, Mister Barza."
Wroe turned away, trying to suppress his laughter.

Chapter 7 She Means
Business
ycon warmed his hands with the clay mug. The tavern girl,
T
Sorina, had filled it with a warm blackberry wine.
"So the sign outside of the inn… is a squirrel?" Tycon mused, "--
with two oversized testicles."
Dragan, the giant-blooded man with flaming red hair, drained

another flagon of ale. With a refreshed 'ahh,' he slammed it on the
table, making a satisfying plonk sound, "Well, Wolfbanger said it
was a chipmunk."
"A chipmunk then."
"This place's name is clearly 'The Big Ball Chipmunk Inn,'" Dragan
nodded sagely.
Tycon squinted his eyes in response. Dragan was far too proud of
himself for his theories... but the logic was sound. Big Ball
Chipmunk Inn.
It was late in the evening, so everyone had left the dining hall,
save for Tycon, Dragan, Wroe, and Sorina. Barza had excused
himself, exhausted after the day's events. As the man couldn't
afford his own inn room, Tycon had bid him sleep in his-- with the
caveat that he cleaned himself prior. Tycon doubted the man
would be able to sleep after recent events but the man deserved
some alone time to process it all.
Dragan had explained that he and Sorina had been getting along
fairly well, conversing about life, recent events, and the dubious
name of the inn. The chipmunk sign was the inn name's only
indicator.
Tycon hadn't initially assumed Dragan to be a good
conversationalist. but apparently that was incorrect. He refocused
his attention on his wine, licking his lips to enjoy an improved
sense of smell and taste from the subtle action.
Sweet bark, tree sap, and a hint... of citrus? The taste was lovely.
Suddenly, Wroe's eyes lit up as if he had an epiphany. He tossed

his light blue hair up and back out of his eyes and revealed a full,
white-toothed smile. The male Daeva was annoyingly beautiful.
Tycon happened to glance over at Sorina, who was clearly

staring. Wine was dripping down her open mouth, dribbling down
her chin.
"By the gods, Sorina, have some self-respect," Tycon said,

snatching one of the girl's cleaning rags and dabbing it against her
chin.
Wroe's smile fell upon Sorina's enraptured face. His deep, ocean
blue eyes, full of innocence and the vigor of youth, filled Sorina's
stomach with the feeling of tiny swirling fish. Tycon, either through
his improved senses or powerful imagination, could hear the poor
girl's heart rate quicken, threatening to pound through her chest.
"The Nutty Squirrel," Wroe proclaimed. He nodded to himself as if

he had ascended far above the troubles of mortal men.
"Chipmunk," Dragan corrected.
Tycon cleared his throat to gather the group's attention, "Let's put
aside discussing the inn name and of squirrels with testicular
cancer."
Dragan opened his mouth to argue, but Tycon cut him off,
"Chipmunk. My apologies."
"...He said it was a chipmunk, Boss," Dragan muttered.
"Onto other topics. Dragan--"
"Yeah, Boss?"
"When I asked you who else was in our party, you said Tarquin,
Lulu, and… Uh. What was it… Wolfbanger?"
Wroe quietly slurped his tea, a decidedly non-angelic way of

drinking, "Mm. By the way Boss, I appreciate you finally calling me
Wroe."
"I figured it would be confusing, because people call me Tycon,"

He quickly made an excuse.
Dragan spoke simply, "But we call you Boss."
Tycon ignored Dragan's comment, "Where is Lulu?"
Sorina spoke up, flustered for whatever reason, "Lulu? She... She
went into the forest."
Tycon narrowed his eyes, sensing her unease, "And what's wrong
with the... forest?"
The tavern girl grimaced, "Sir Tycon, they say a demon lives in the
forest."
Tycon leaned back in thought, readjusting his seating on the table

bench.
"Mister Dragan. Mister Wroe. Should I be worried?"
The two gentlemen looked at each other before looking to Tycon,

"Nah." "I doubt it."
"Well, there you have it, Miss Sorina. I'm sure Miss Lulu won't be
troubled."
The girl placed a hand over her heart, breathing a sigh of relief,
"Mm. Alright."
"And then I've met the horse." Tycon continued, "So that makes
four, including myself. With Barza, Guild Invictus is at a solid five
members."
Dragan tilted his head, "Boss, what about Wolfbanger?"

"I... don't know. What about him?"
"Aren't we counting him as part of the team?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I thought the horse was Wolfbanger."
"No, Boss..." Wroe interjected, tilting his head, "That's Horse."
"Does Horse look like he bangs wolves?" Dragan met Tycon's

gaze with an uncharacteristically serious expression.
Feeling an inordinate amount of pressure from Dragan's gaze,

Tycon felt a great need to avert his eyes.
...Then a greater issue came to mind, "Mister Dragan, are you

telling me that we call this person... Wolfbanger... because he
'bangs' wolves?"
"Boss?" Wroe's voice took on a worried tone.
"Not now, Mister Wroe." Tycon interrupted. A worrisome new

mystery had presented himself.
The young barmaid raised her hand as if she were in a classroom

lesson, "Can I join your group?"
"What?" Tycon furrowed his eyebrows in surprise at the woman's

forwardness. "Why?"
"Well, Mister Barza's in your group." Sorina nodded.
Tycon's mouth twitched, "Have you... any skill at fighting? Miss

Sorina?"
"I slapped a man last week for putting a hand on my butt," she
declared proudly.
"How do you fare under pressure?"
"Sometimes, I have to work in the kitchen and the head chef yells
at me the entire time."
"Do you have any special skills that would make you useful in a
mercenary guild?"
"Well, Sir Tycon," Sorina blushed and twiddled her fingers, "I can
read and write."
Both Dragan and Wroe 'ohhhh'ed in awe, as if seeing the young

woman in a new light. "Boss, she can read. Let's keep her!" "A
woman as skilled as she is beautiful!"
Tycon was momentarily stunned speechless but managed to

maintain his composure. He hadn't realized that basic literacy was
a lauded ability...
Still, he had yet to be convinced.
"Miss Sorina, understand that I am the one in charge of Guild

Invictus... The conditions we travel, the dangers of--
Tycon stopped, realizing the young woman was practically

glowing with confidence.
He raised an eyebrow in amusement, "There's something you

haven't told me."
Sorina smirked, scoffing defiantly, "Sir Tycon... I must inform you

that I have... A Business Degree!"
Silence reigned in the dining hall. Dragan's broad, chiseled face

turned solemn as he nodded to Tycon. Wroe held in a breath and
his eyes glowed from blue to a heavenly gold as if he had
glimpsed upon greatness.
Tycon nodded in awed acceptance, "It would be my greatest

pleasure to welcome you to Guild Invictus, Miss Sorina."
"Thank you very much, Sir Tycon. I look forward to working with
you all."
Tycon reintroduced Dragan and Wroe to Sorina, and the four

shook hands. Tycon reassured Sorina that he'd formally introduce
her to Horse, Lulu, and… Wolfbanger, when appropriate.
The evening wound down and Sorina agreed to let the manager
know in the morning that she'd be submitting a letter of resignation
in order to seek a life of adventure and glory. The three gentlemen
bid her a good night and watched her leave the table.
"A nice girl," Dragan smiled as he drained his last flagon of ale.
"Agreed," Tycon mused. He drained the last of his wine.
"Boss?" Wroe gently prodded.
"Oh, Mister Wroe." Tycon smiled with chagrin, "I interrupted you
earlier. For that, I apologize."
"Oh, no, it's cool, Boss. I was just worried about something."
Wroe looked to Tycon and Dragan, as if looking for

something, "Where's Bucket?"
Tycon looked from Wroe to Dragan, seeing frowns of worry and

confusion set into their faces.
He narrowed his eyes at Dragan, "Who is Bucket and why do I

care?"
Dragan frowned, "Old Boss' kid? You told Quay you'd take care of
him when you got guild leadership?"
He pointed hastily to Wroe, "And I thought he was WITH YOU!"
Wroe raised his hands in shock, looking to Tycon, "Boss, I thought

he was with Dragan!"
« System… Inquiry… What age is Bucket? »
[System response: Bucket is approximately 9 years of age.]
Dragan pointed angrily, "You lost Bucket!"
Wroe pointed back, "You were the one who lost Bucket!"
Tycon stood up from the table, slamming his palms down, "WE
collectively lost Bucket. Now get off your arses. We're going to
find him, NOW!!"
Chapter 8 Found Him, Boss
evil didn't want any trouble. His main job as a militia guard was
N
breaking up fights (with strong words) and holding a halberd (very
menacingly). Anything he wasn't sure he could handle, he'd report
to either Guard Captain Varen or the town's Adventurer's Guild.
He liked being a militia guard. He earned consistent pay on the

first and fifteenth. With that, he could afford poultry and fresh
vegetables.
His younger sister was getting married in a few weeks, so he was

drinking less and saving money where he could. Weddings were
expensive, after all. One of his coworkers offered him one of his
night shifts to help. Old man Varen approved it after being
informed of Nevil's financial situation. He was a good superior.
Nevil looked forward to a quiet evening, enjoying the company of

his menacing halberd, his trusty lantern, the stars above, and the
noisy crickets in the grass.
A young green-haired man ran out from behind a building as if his

life depended on it. Skidding to a halt, the youth made a rapid 90-
degree turn and began running towards him.
Nevil readjusted the buckle on his guard helmet and cleared his
throat. The running youth was a mild threat to his worry-free
evening... as it was his duty to confront the suspicious young
individual-- or at the very least, have him stop running in the
streets.
However, soon appearing behind the youth was a pale, blue-

haired boy who easily closed the distance. They ran side by side,
though the pale boy's movement resembled more of a magical
glide than a run.
Nevil rubbed his eyes in disbelief.
When he looked once more, he'd found that a giant of a man ran
with leaping strides behind the two of them. The red-headed
behemoth wore a terrifying grin on his face, running comfortably
while carrying a far-too-large greataxe on his shoulders.
Nevil decided he wanted nothing to do with whatever in the seven

hells was going on.
He placed his lantern on the street and promptly power-walked

into an alleyway, out of sight. He held his breath in worry...
watching the peculiar trio run past. He listened carefully for their
fading footsteps, only breathing a sigh of relief when they'd been
well out of earshot.
Adventurers. Cold sweat covered the whole of Nevil's back. It was

common knowledge in Nice that the more unique that adventurers
appeared in dress and action, the more inherently dangerous they
were. By that measure, any interaction with those three would
have been more trouble than it was worth.
"Still, though… I wonder what they wanted…" Nevil spoke his

worries aloud to a brick and mortar wall.
...Then wall rippled... like... something falling into a pond.
Nevil looked curiously on, as the bricks began to crack and

crumble, revealing an inky blackness underneath. From the
darkness, a white ooze-like visage of a dark-haired woman
emerged, her pale skin, glossy as if made of wax. Bright red blood
began to stream from her eyeless sockets, soaking into her
unkempt black hair.
Nevil stared at his hands in the starlight and found that they too,
were covered with blood.
Slick in his hands, stinking of iron... it couldn't have been anything

else but blood.
He opened his mouth to scream, but found his throat had been
closed tight.
And then he heard its voice.
Its voice spoke before him, behind him, with his own tongue, with
that of the dead, and in languages that the living no longer knew.
"(WHaERRrreeee iSss tHaa ChhHiiiiIIIiiiiiLLLLDDDD?!?!)"
Blood-curdling screams rang out sporadically in the evening town.
"I found him, Boss." Wroe happily declared, gently gliding

alongside Tycon, "I had to ask a few people, but I have a pretty
good idea of where to find Bucket."
Tycon was clearly out of breath, no match for Wroe's or Dragan's

constitution. He responded to the best of his ability using half-
words and grunts, "Mhm. Ya. Yeah?"
The trio slowed down to a stop as Tycon struggled to catch his

breath. Wroe continued, nonplussed, "A young child was seen
earlier today being taken to the Baron's manor. Probably Bucket."
Dragan seemed to choke on air, placing his hands on his hips and
bursting into unapologetic laughter, "The pedo guy? Bucket got
captured by the PEDO GUY?!" He wiped tears out of his eyes,
before continuing, "Haha! Yeaaaah. We have to save him, haha.
That's-- that's terrible."
With what little energy Tycon had, he used it to glare daggers at

Dragan, "If the Baron molests Bucket, I'm going to have you do
the same to the Baron."
"Whaaat?!" Dragan looked both hurt and unwilling, "But Boss?!"
"Consider it motivation. Go back to the inn and get Barza-- and

make sure he is armed with a decent weapon!"
"Alright, I'm on it," Dragan placed a hand over his chest. "Should I
get the girl, too?"
"If you want. I'm going ahead to scout the manor."
"But Bossssss, you're gonna get to kill all the bad guys!" Dragan
the Difficult feigned indignance.
Wroe smiled a smile too wide, "He's right, Boss. You can't have all
the *fun.*"
Tycon stood up, sweating, breathing hard, and generally

miserable, "First, I wish it known that I hate both of you."
Wroe offered a weak smile, "Yeahhhh... you've told us."
"We knew that, Boss," Dragan shrugged.
"And second, I don't plan on killing anyone. The Baron should

have trained and armored troops." Tycon's voice dripped with
annoyance, "Now. Go."
He watched the two respectively glide and bounce away as he

finally was able to catch his breath. According to Sorina and
company, the Baron wasn't well-liked in the town. If his business
practices were poor, the Adventurer's Guild or whoever was in
charge would likely look the other way if a conflict were to arise.
If Guild Invictus avoided slaughtering Baron Tavor's forces, any

upper echelons would look upon his actions more favorably.
Tycon was unsure if he could defeat the mass of armored guards
bloodlessly, but he had no doubt that with his companions,
Dragan and Wroe, the process would be more than plausible.
Tycon took in another deep breath of air.
« System, directions: Baron Tavor's manor. »
[Calculating route.]
A transparent, simplified map of the area displayed in front of

Tycon. Empty night. The manor was the near-opposite direction of
where he had been running.
Tycon moved his legs, adopting a steady jog, as he headed

towards the noble's manor.
Chapter 9 Kidnapping Khloe
aron Zindo Tavor's manor was suitably opulent. Foreign rugs and
B
tabards warmed the walkways and halls. Oversized paintings
were expensively illuminated by magical ever-burning torches.
Servants operated in a pretentious, orthodox, some would say
archaic style. When the Baron came around, servants were
expected to bow, walk quickly to a corner, and face away.
Servants. Furniture. Tools. Like any object, its greatest joy should
come from being used by its owner.
Tycon thought it an asinine orthodoxy.
Very few servants walked the halls, with respect to the time in the
evening. Only a single servant remained hard at work, a young
female frantically scrubbed the floor in a lounge. The task would
take far less time if the brush she was given hadn't been broken.
Her uniform was quite new, and her face, even judging at a
distance, was far too fresh.
All that together made her a perfect target for the repugnant scum
of a lech that was Zindo Tavor.
"I'm sorry, Sir. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," The young maid's voice had
a light, squeaky tone, like a mouse or mewling fox-pup.
She had encountered the Baron at a disadvantaged time.

Perhaps, she had moved too slowly to adhere to the rules of the
household. Or she could have moved too slowly in hiding herself.
Even a single servant or guard was around would have provided a
measure of protection.
She had none.

"Hahaha. Don't move, little girl. I have to welcome you to the
household," Zindo licked his lips.
The Baron was an older man, a bit overweight from either age or
from decadence. He wore a scummy mustache on his face, too
thin to be any means of impressive. His greasy hair was either a
poor style choice or an unfortunate medical condition. He may
have been attractive some years ago, but the unwelcome lust in
his voice and his unshy hands made him naught but the worst
example of corrupt nobility.
"No, Sir, please don't," the girl bowed her head, petrified in fear.
An expensive ceramic vase happened to be within throwing

distance of the two. Stained on it was a magnificent array of
Rokugani warriors and wingless lizards or tentacle beasts-- Tycon
didn't look closely.
With a little help, the vase tipped over, crashing upon the
expensive treated-wood floor, shattering into thousands of pieces,
and alerting the entire west wing of the manor.
The young woman "Eep!"ed out of the room in a clumsy run, not
caring about the state of her disheveled clothing. The greasy
Baron eyed the broken vase, cursing under his breath. Within
minutes, three lightly armored knights and a sharp-eyed, but
armorless woman made their way into the room. The Baron
waved the knights away in an angry huff, leaving him and the
woman alone.
Tall. Proud. Dark-haired and defiant. The woman had a split nose,
a common injury from hand-to-hand brawls, and a clear scar
across her face, leaving her with an eerie but exotic glass eye.
The strict look on her face did not mark her as an 'easy' woman.
"The vase, Lord Tavor…" The woman had a soft, subservient

voice.
"An unstable, cheap display, mercenary. Nevermind that," the fat

man waved flippantly.
"Intruders?" She frowned.
"How ridiculous!" The Baron frenetically waved away the notion,

"Intruders? Are you an idiot, Seldin?"
The woman narrowed her eyes. Tycon had the feeling that if she
held a weapon, she'd have gutted her employer.
The Baron screamed his dissatisfaction, "We're not in the middle

of the woods or some goblin-camp! You're not an adventurer
anymore, you one-eyed wench. Just do as you're told and don't
bother me with the frivolities."
The woman lightly bowed and spoke through gritted teeth, "I
understand, Lord."
Pleased, the Baron approached her and reached out his hand.
The woman glared. Tycon, in his hiding spot, involuntarily
shivered. Even at the distance, the woman's glare had sent an icy
chill down his serpentine spine.
Tycon made a mental note to remember her name. Seldin. Strong.

Former adventurer, too.
« System, inquiry: Seldin's rank. »
[System response: Seldin is Iron-Rank.]
Tycon was glad the Baron lacked the prudence to search for an
intruder. If he was found, he did not want to risk fighting the Seldin
woman alone.
Seldin looked up from her bow, her functional eye peeking through
her hair, a dark crimson in the ever-burning torchlight. Her voice
was deeper, near a growl, "Is there anything else, Lord?"
The Baron had smoothly retracted his hands, placing them behind
his back, as if she hadn't just glared a hundred daggers at him.
"Ah, yes. The matter of... the boy?"
"In the dungeons." The woman grimaced in revulsion, "Will the

Lord be... partaking, tonight?"
Tycon found it ominous, the way the woman used the word
'partaking.'
The Baron waved dismissively, as he turned to walk away,

"Perhaps later. I have a strongly worded letter or two I must write
to the Council. And the matter cannot wait!"
"Very well, my Lord."
Seldin resumed her bow as the Baron 'hmph'ed and withdrew.

Afterward, she righted her posture and held her lower back,
sighing.
Walking to the vase, she began to pick up the large shards, piling
them to a corner.
She whispered to herself, "It's all for the pay, Korr. Do as you're
told. It's all for the pay..."
Tycon, in his snake-form, slithered frantically away in the

shadows. Seldin's speech began to devolve into mumbles and
cursing. Had she cut herself on the sharp fragmented edges?
Only after slithering away for several minutes into an empty

room's open door, did he begin to relax.
First, Tycon transformed from tiny-sized-snake back to regular-

sized-human.
Being a snake was beginning to feel far too comfortable. He

decided to spend most of his time in human form. He doubted the
prejudices of the Realm would allow him an easy life as a literal
snake.
Second, he locked the door from the inside. He was the only
person inside the room and he wished for it to stay that way.
Third, he checked his gear.
During his transformations, he's found that his immediate effects

would be magically stored. Post-transformation nudity would
greatly reduce the versatility of his transformation.
It seemed that Bucket was safe at the moment.
Still, he was left with the problem of an Iron-Rank female and

however-many additional guards...
Tycon pulled a chair from a desk and sat down.
He deliberated for a time... He could work to sabotage the Baron's

forces... but it would perhaps be wiser to meet with his party.
Anyroad, Dragan seemed to be the overly violent type and Wroe
seemed the type to summon a babbling nightmare creature that
couldn't differentiate between humanoids.
As he was about to stand, Tycon examined the 'desk' he was

sitting beside. He noted the discerning look on his own face,
staring at the sizeable and expensive mirror atop it.
A vanity table?
Tycon observed his surroundings, noting a stuffed plush doll, a

number of 'cute' minimalistic clay sculptures, and several one-
handed weapons-- the most unassuming of which radiated mana.
On a mannequin rested a slim set of metal half-plate armor, held
together by dozens of leather straps.
Tycon's voice took a tone of amusement, "Lady Seldin's room?

How lucky~"
On the opposite side of the room, Tycon's eye caught a dainty

triangle, hanging out of an intimate clothes drawer.
It was a brief moment that Tycon considered the matter.
No. No, that wasn't in his best interests.
Tycon shook his head of any inappropriate thoughts as he took

out his boot dagger.
The Iron-Rank Seldin was an enemy.
With swift and practiced hands, Tycon cut a small incision on

every single leather strap on Miss Seldin's fantastic half-plate
armor. Without replacing the straps, the armor would be effectively
useless.
'Why shouldn't I? A professional fighter used to wielding heavy

armor would be far less threatening without it.'
With a resolute and deserving heart, he placed Seldin's fantastic

magical sword on his waist.
'Why shouldn't I? A professional fighter with a magical blade

would be a danger to me and my companions.'
Tycon hesitated before the final robbery. Eventually, he relented,

taking Seldin's huggable, stuffed cat plush.
'Why shouldn't I? A professional fighter… Shouldn't have these

cute things.'
Chapter 10 The Hide-In-The-
Bush Plan
arza didn't have time to clean his and his companions' effects, so
B
he left them still mottled with blood. He strapped two swords to his
upper back, one on his waist. A wicked curved blade rested
horizontally on his lower back and a hatchet was strapped to his
right upper thigh. A quiver of a half-dozen javelins on his left side
ensured that he had a response to enemy archers. He wore a
smart pair of gauntlets with thick, metal armguards, as well as
comprehensive, riveted leather armor, complete with two tall metal
pauldrons that effectively guarded his shoulders and the sides of
his neck.
While they walked, Barza was even able to quench his thirst by
way of the conveniently placed water canteen, strapped to the belt
on his rear right side.
He thought he looked rather intimidating, stained in still-drying

blood and armed for war. At the very least, he figured he looked
like a professional-- a veritable dealer of death, prepared for any
situation. He felt far more confident than only a few bells prior,
when he was fainting and soiling himself.
"Hey, Gear-Queer," Dragan's accusatory voice woke Barza from

his introspection.
"Ahem." Barza adjusted his gear, "My name is uh... Barza… Um,
Mister Dragan."
"Ah, right. My bad."
Barza couldn't afford to be rude to the mountain of a man. The

man laughed at his blood-covered equipment. The thickness of
the man's fingers, alone, could tear apart his--
"Hey, Gear-Queer."
"...Yes, Mister Dragan?"
"Got any tobacco, man?"
Calling to mind some painful memories, Barza involuntarily

shivered. He claimed all the possessions of his former
companions: weapons, tools, and a few silver pieces. The most
unique item he claimed was a small hinged metal box full of dried,
shredded tobacco.
Barza fumbled through some pouches on a bandolier across his

chest before handing the small box to Dragan.
"Ah, thanks, man. I'll get you back tomorrow."
"No, that's fine. I don't… do that, Mister Dragan."
"You sure, bud? Well, oOOokay!"
Barza shut his eyes as he, Dragan, and Wroe jogged towards the
Baron's manor. He certainly hoped that Dragan's 'tomorrow' would
come. He had enough of the present and wanted the night to be
over. He invoked a silent prayer for his fallen comrades. He wasn't
treated well by them, but he hoped they were at peace, wherever
they were.
Opening his eyes, Barza nearly leapt off the road. The wide and
hauntingly blue eyes of Tarquin Wroe were staring at him.
"Mister Wroe. You startled me," Barza tried to laugh politely. It

sounded pathetic.
Dragan was a monstrosity of a man, 3 yalms tall, covered in

rippling muscles, and wielding a greataxe large enough to fell a
giant. Barza was intimidated by him. Anyone would be intimidated
by him.
Tarquin Wroe... Barza was absolutely terrified of Tarquin Wroe.
The man spoke strangely and he moved with a weird, inhuman
elegance.
"They're suffering, you know," Tarquin Wroe's soft voice froze

Barza's blood. He gulped in fear, trying to calm his heart.
"H-huh? Who… Who is suffering, Mister Wroe?"
Wroe closed his eyes, smiling as if happily reminiscing of days

past, "I can hear them. They grind their teeth. They claw at their
eyes. They bang their heads upon yet unblooded stone."
As they jogged and talked, Wroe's face didn't change. Barza

pursed his lips as he realized... that other than when Mister Wroe
shut his eyes when he smiled, he'd never seen him blink.
Barza very much did not want to have this conversation, not with
the topic, and not with the strange man...
But... he needed to know... even if the knowledge was not meant

for humans to hear, "Mister Wroe… What… What do they say?"
Wroe motioned him closer. Barza gulped as he leaned in to hear.

He feared that the whisper of words would contain secrets he
wouldn't forget for a lifetime...
"They cry out… Gear-Queer."
"The manor is not entertaining visitors, sir. Please return in the

morning."
Lit by a roaring fire of a brazier, a single guardswoman stood in

front of the Tavor manor gates. Beside her was a bell that she
could ring to sound the alarm.
"Oh, I was here to seek entrance to the manor, but I've changed
my mind," With a smooth motion, the tall and slightly effeminate
Tarquin Wroe took hold of the woman's gloved hand.
"S-s-s-s-sir. P-p-please. I'm… I'm on duty," the guardswoman
turned away. She did not retract her hand.
"Of course. But isn't it boring out here, by yourself? My name is

Tarquin. What's yours?"
...
With a hop and a step, Dragan quietly cleared the top of the 8-
fulm wall. The beast of a man didn't even use his arms. The
soundlessness of the massive warrior in leathers and carrying an
impossibly heavy axe instilled both confidence and a healthy
dosage of terror in Barza's heart. Barza reached up to grab
Dragan's outstretched hand, scaling the wall with ease.
The pair crept through the well-maintained manor garden, flitting

from shadow to shadow, before finally settling behind a bush
within dashing distance of the main entrance. With worry in his
heart, Barza gripped either hand on two of his sword hilts.
"Baron Tavor employs dozens of guards," He whispered to

Dragan. "If the three or four of us fight well, we'd have a good
fighting chance at defeating each individual group as they arrive."
Barza's heart pounded. He'd never snuck into a noble's house

before. If he were caught, he'd be killed. Failing that, he'd rot in a
dungeon for the rest of his life.
"We have to be careful, though... There's an invincible armored-

warrior named Seldin who works for the Baron... She was famous
in the adventurer's guild before her--"
"Hey, Gear-Queer," Dragan interrupted him.
Barza cleared his throat, "Ahem. Y-yes, Mister Dragan?"
"What would you do if you were alone in a woman's room--"
"Wh-why would I be alone in a woman's room?" Barza's tone of

whisper went up an octave. He couldn't believe the absurdity of
Dragan's questioning in such a tense situation.
"Shut up, I'm not done yet-- what if you were in a woman's room…
And you saw her underwear. What would you do?"
"I-- what? What, why?"
Dragan raised his palms up, "But what would you do, though?"
Barza grew quiet. Moments later, he turned away, hoping the

darkness would hide his reddening face, "I wouldn't... do
anything."
"Haaah?" Dragan waggled a meaty finger, "Youuu thoooought of

something. What was it?"
"I, err… No. I didn't."
"What waaaasss iiiiiiiiitttt? Don't liiiiiiie," Dragan taunted in a sing-

song voice. Hearing his voice taking on a higher pitch made Barza
uncomfortable.
"It wouldn't be pleasant," Wroe whispered sternly.
Barza clasped his mouth before he could yelp in surprise. He

collapsed onto his side in shock. Where did Wroe come from? Did
he just emerge from the darkness? Wasn't he still talking to the
guardswoman?
Wroe had appeared between Dragan and Barza in a crouch,

"Seeing the woman's delicate undergarments sloppily spilling out
of her wardrobe, I would place them neatly back into the drawer…
But upon closing it, the attractive woman would have returned to
the room with impeccable timing to witness it."
Dragan nodded in seriousness, "Yeah. Knowing your luck, that'd

definitely happen."
"What's worse is my first reaction would be to yell, 'It's not what it

looks like.'" Wroe looked up at the moon, wistfully.
"Riiight. And yelling that only makes you look more guilty," Dragan
agreed.
"And even if I stayed silent and looked confused, the woman
would just grow angrier and angrier."
"Yeah, you'd be dead," Dragan concluded.
"Right, no chance," Wroe agreed.
"Is there someone over there?" A guard's voice called out.
Barza began to sweat, 'Oh, crap. Oh, crap. It's happening.'
Wroe looked over to him and back to Dragan. "I'll go."
"Is it a dude or a chick?" Dragan asked.
"A guy, unfortunately. What's the plan?"
"The Hide-in-the-Bush plan," The giant replied without hesitation.
Wroe frowned, "You know, Boss is going to throw a fit."
"Yeah, whatever. Boss isn't here. AND it's a good plan! I don't
know why Boss doesn't like it."
"Alright, see you in a bit," Wroe stood up out of the bush to quickly

intercept the guard, "Oh, excuse me! I'm a bit lost!"
Barza righted himself into a crouch, quietly drawing two of his

blades. His heart rate and breathing quickened, adrenaline
beginning to take hold of him.
He turned to Dragan and nodded, "I think I'm ready."
"But what would you do, though?"

Chapter 11 The Lone
Shadowdark
roe was a skilled and brave sword fighter, as Barza had hoped.
W
But as the first guard cried out, another came. And soon after,
came another.
Barza nervously looked to the big man crouched behind a bush,

beside him, "Mister Dragan… Should we…?"
The massive brute scoffed and shook his head, "Pff. Nah! He'll be
fine!"
How could he find this situation funny?
"But Mister Dragan--"
"Look, man," Dragan pointed all the fingers of his hand at Barza
repeatedly, to emphasize, "We gotta stick. to. the plan."
Barza looked over their protective bush, uncertain if it was really

wise to listen to Dragan.
Tarquin Wroe stood tall, an eerily imposing image. Shining metal

breastplate and pauldrons. Unfailing smile and flowing, silky
smooth hair. He was the perfect portrait of a legendary hero.
But as Wroe fought the guards, Barza could see the man's
movements begin to slow and his breaths become more labored.
Wroe had even sustained a bruise on his left cheek and the
leathers on his arms and legs had taken a couple of superficial
cuts.
Through the opened door of the manor, Barza heard the clatter of
leather and plate-- yet another squad would be arriving to further
outnumber Wroe. Barza regripped his two swords as Dragan
rolled his eyes.
"You aren't gonna stick to the plan, dude?"
"Mister Wroe needs help. And if you won't do it, I will."
"Well, alright, bud." The big man shrugged, "Just don't be

surprised when Boss rips you a new one."
Barza furrowed his brow and looked away in deep thought. He

was fairly certain Mister Wroe said that Boss-- err... Sir Tycon
didn't like the hide-in-the-bush plan.
He shook the useless thoughts away, "Doesn't matter. I'm going."
Barza leapt to the side, allowing his shoulder to smoothly

transition him into a combat roll. Righting himself, he sent a quick
upward slash to deflect a guardsman's warspear before she could
strike at Tarquin's blind spot. With a turn, he used the momentum
to strike another guard's longsword, the resounding clang sending
the weapon flying across the yard, several fulms away.
He stood beside Wroe, whose face had somehow taken on a

more-amused smirk. Faced with Wroe's soul-piercing blue eyes,
however, Barza couldn't help but look away.
"I h-hope you don't mind me joining you, Mister Wroe."
Wroe held his sword, pointed strictly upwards, to his smiling face,
a knight's militaristic dueling pose.
"Not at all, Mister Barza. I was beginning to fear I'd be the only
hero tonight."
Barza looked to Wroe in awe. His spirit was roused and the fear
that had gripped his heart was replaced by pride.
But seeing his dashing and androgynous figure… it felt like

swirling fish were swimming circles in his stomach.
'...W-wait, am I falling in love? No way! I'm only into short-haired
girl-next-door type girls! Ones named Sorina!'
"Here they come again, Mister Barza!" Wroe warned.
The pair fought valiantly against the guards for a few exchanges,
the energized Barza swinging his blades with zealous ferocity.
This was it. Barza was working for Guild Invictus now. He'd protect
his new life with his own two hands.
"Back off!" Barza roared, swinging his blades in a cross-cutting

arc. A few guards jumped back to dodge, but his target took two
deep gashes on his leather-armored chest.
"You cut me, Barza, you BASTARD!" the wounded guard yelled.
Barza hesitated and retreated a step back, "I uh… Sorry, John."
"Watch it," Wroe calmly suggested.
Barza lifted his blades reflexively in a cross-pattern block,

receiving a heavy blow from a halberd. His body was drenched in
sweat from fighting, and he felt his stiff muscles struggle and
strain to push the weapon away. A swift kick to the gut from the
halberdier ended Barza's struggle, forcing him back. Acting out of
reflex, he was able to roll backward and back on his feet.
Guard Captain Varen spun his halberd in a smooth flourish, as

disappointment set into the lines on his aged face. His black-and-
white pepper beard and mustache framed a deep frown.
Varen pointed to his guards, "You two, get medical supplies. You,

the blonde girl, get Miss Seldin."
The three guards stood and responded in a series of salutes and

'Yes, Captain's. As a credit to their formal training, they ran off, not
daring to look back.
"And you, Barza…" Varen shook his head, "Are the Shadowdark
Wolves rebelling against House Tavor?"
A nearby bush snorted with barely-contained laughter, but Barza
quickly answered to avoid suspicion.
"Guard Captain Varen… The Shadowdark Wolves are no more…"
Barza wiped the blood from his mouth. Varen's kick and the fight
reset made him realize that he was injured. Furthermore, his two
swords were damaged in the clash. He tossed the two of them
away, drawing another blade and his hatchet.
Slowly and deliberately, Barza held his weapons forward in a

combat pose, "Now it is only I... The Lone Shadowdark."
The nearby bush shook with thunderous laughter, followed by a

single man's applause, and an 'ohhh, man.'
Varen, Barza, and the guards looked over to the bush behind
Wroe. The tall blue-haired boy shrugged and smiled with his eyes
closed, opting not to add to his heroic speech.
Varen cleared his throat to continue, stroking his neatly trimmed

beard.
"Even so, Barza, why don't you stand down?" The older man
reasoned, "You know that you're no match for Seldin."
Barza shook his head, "I can't... Captain Varen, a young boy's
gone missing."
Varen's face darkened, "Those are just rumors, Barza. There is no

proof that Baron Tavor participates in such vile--"
"Just rumors, Captain? The rumors keep coming! And people

keep going missing! And you and I both know that no one's
mounted an investigation. Even the Adventurer's Guild hasn't
been able to intervene!" Barza yelled back.
It didn't make sense. He'd worked with Guard Captain Varen

before and he was an honest, fair man.
"That's because there's no evidence!" Varen exclaimed. The

volume in his response trailed helplessly.
Wroe stepped forward, his sword sheathed, and his hands folded.
"If I may, gentlemen..."
Varen and Barza glanced at each other, before again turning to

the tall, lanky boy.
With a gentle smile, the boy's eyes seemed to glow in the

moonlight, "There is a dark mist surrounding the manor. There are
equally dark forces at play, perhaps the kind that requires a blood
sacrifice?"
With a look of worry, Varen shifted uncomfortably, "That's a heavy

accusation, young man."
"My eyes see the truth that most would prefer never come to
light," Wroe replied simply.
"But still, it is an issue that should be submitted to the

Adventurer's Guild..." Varen bared his teeth in a grimace, "They
can request for a Scholar or Priest to verify, then an investigation
can be launched."
Wroe gave a disinterested shrug, not bothering to verbalize a

response.
"There's no time! A life is at stake!" Barza yelled. He had to make

the Guard Captain see reason.
Guard Captain Varen pursed his lips, "So I suppose there's no

chance that the two of you would relinquish your weapons and
come quietly?"
Barza stretched his arms, again resuming his combat stance,

"Sorry, Captain. I won't be following your orders, anymore."
Varen nodded slowly... He turned to his guards and raised his

voice, "The Shadowdark Wolves have turned traitor to House
Tavor. Your orders are to detain them until Seldin arrives."
Turning to Barza, Varen assumed an offensive stance, ready to

bring the oppressive weight of his halberd down again upon the
young man.
"I had hoped to be civil, on account of you being friends with my

niece. 'Tis a shame, Barza!"
"That's not my name, old man," Barza grit his teeth. With a yell, he
leaped into the crowd of guards, launching a flurry of steel, fueled
by recklessness, fear, and adrenaline.
"My name... is... the LONE. SHADOWDARK!!!"
",
Chapter 12 Tycon’s Kindness
ycondrius opened the second-story window with human hands

T
and peeked his head out.
There was a lattice for climbing-plants. It looked nice, but was a

security vulnerability.
With his sneaky-snake transformation ability, Tycon slithered

successfully down to the courtyard. He continued through the
grass and brush, towards the sound of noise.
A score of guards remained standing. Near twice their number

were defeated, laying about, groaning or tending to their injuries.
Tycon's snakey head bobbed up and down in a nod.
Perhaps they wouldn't need his help. He slithered to behind a

nearby rock to watch.
...The longer he watched, the more he grew disappointed.
Barza couldn't strike a single guard. He could receive their strikes

just fine.
Wroe was a remarkable swordsman... but... why was he using a

sword? Tycon thought that thing was just for decoration.
He was a caster. He had to have been a caster. Maybe he was

just... showing off?
...And where... where in the seven. hells. was that big-boned

buffoon, Dragan?
Tycon reassumed his human form and picked up a guardsman's

sword that had fallen nearby.
"I'd better do something before all my friends die..."
...
Barza threw his weight into his swing with a curved sword,
successfully forcing one of his attackers back. With the
emergence of Guard Captain Varen, the sleepy guards seemed to
have remembered how to fight, effectively covering each other's
weaknesses-- attacking at intervals. Barza couldn't find any
opportunities to land a decisive blow.
Wroe flourished his longsword, "Just another day in Invictus."
Barza steeled himself. If Wroe still had the energy and confidence
to joke in a life-or-death situation, it was too early for him to lose
hope, "So this happens all the time, Mister Wroe?"
"Too often, I think, Mister Shadowdark."
A quick sword slash from Barza managed to unbalance an

attacker, "Just Lone, lea--"
Another guard thrust a lance forward, forcing Barza to retract and

parry, "--LEAVE the Shadowdark out, please."
"Mister Lonely? A rather strange choice of name, but very well."
Captain Varen spun his halberd above his head. "This next strike
will end you, Lone Shadowdark!"
Barza readied his curved blade against the attack, a flash of worry
in his eyes, 'I'm not so sure I can take this…'
Barza spotted something in his peripheral vision, and he

crouched, rolling to the side.
A sword had been thrown and violently and accurately spun

through the air, forcing Guard Captain Varen to deflect it.
"Who goes there?" The Guard Captain yelled out.

His response came through the darkness, as the keen whistle of a
whip wrapped around Varen's back foot. The whip retracted,
causing the old Guard Captain to lose his footing and fall onto his
back, smashing the back of his head on the hard ground.
"AAAHAAAA!!!" A loud rumble shook the ground, as Dragan

jumped out from behind the bush. Bounding forward, he leapt up
and above Wroe and Barza, landing near Guard Captain Varen.
"No deaths, Mister Dragan!" Tycon shouted.
"You got it, Boss!"
Dragan, the giant of the man, pointed the bottom of his greataxe's
haft down at the Guard Captain's helmeted head. With a
masculine grunt, he smashed it downward.
The strike sounded a clear and loud CRONK of something

breaking.
The helmet cracked. The ground beneath the old man's head
cracked. Barza was almost certain that Captain Varen's skull had
cracked, along with it.
Every single standing guard took a step back, fearing the worst.
"Captain, no!!" "Th-they killed the Captain!" "Oh no, Captain

Varen!"
Barza looked down at the Captain with guilt in his eyes. Wroe
rolled his eyes at Dragan, shrugging his shoulders in an
exaggerated manner.
Dragan waved a free hand angrily, "No, no! I used the blunt end--
not the sharp end!"
...
Tycon dropped his whip and walked forward, his hand covering
his mouth in shock. He hoped... that older fellow was tougher than
he looked.
Clearing his throat, Tycon raised his voice, "Baron Tavor has been
implicated in crimes against another the Noble House, the House
of Charm."
Tycon scowled, "My house."
He scanned the area, the armored guardsmen, and he saw only

fear, "You will comply with--"
One guard stepped forward, his fear making him foolish, "You
killed Guard Captain Varen!"
Tycon calmly closed his mouth and narrowed his eyes at the
offender. The young man who stepped forward also realized that
his companions had subconsciously distanced themselves from
him-- they stared, silently judging.
The guards feared nobles. The boy did not know his place.
He looked around nervously, releasing an audible gulp. None of

his peers would meet his gaze.
Tycon clenched his teeth to show his displeasure, "I strongly

dislike being interrupted, young man."
"Mister Barza," Tycon waved a hand, "Strike that man down."
Barza readied his blade, trying his best to shrug off his fatigue and
to hide the amount of damage his battered, beaten body had
already taken.
"You mean Lone Shadowdark? Are you BLIND?! What can he do

in his condition?" The young guardsman scoffed.
Tycon raised an eyebrow. At first, he wanted nothing to do with

the boy. But he found his actions unacceptable. It would weigh
upon his consciousness if he allowed the guardsman to continue.
Barza attacked, mustering a sound battlecry, but the young

guardsman stepped away, expertly maneuvering his sword to
deflect and dodge Barza's telegraphed swings. Growing impatient,
Barza attacked with single-minded fervor. But in a one-on-one
duel... and with his poor fighting condition... and against an
energized, younger opponent, Barza was at a great disadvantage.
Tycon decided to provide some verbal encouragement.
"Mister Barza," Tycon commanded in a low voice. "You will do as I

say."
Barza turned, granting Tycon a face full of shame.
[Commander's Strike activated.]
Tycon smirked as he heard the System's voice in his mind confirm

the usage of another of his Skills.
...
Barza turned to the young guardsman, adopting an expression of

simultaneous anger and helplessness, but then... he was filled
with a surprising surge of vigor.
Strength returned to his arms. His eyes regained focus.
Courage filled his heart. The scream of a crazed madman filled

his lungs.
He swung his blade.
Barza's blade shattered into a half-dozen pieces, but the boyish

guard lost hold of his own weapon. Undeterred, Barza tackled the
younger man to the ground and struck his face with his hands.
Dozens of fists rained down, bruising the guardsman's face.
"Yeah, GET 'EM!" Dragan cheered.
"Oho! That's the spirit," Wroe laughed.
Barza, gasped for air, utterly spent. With the young guardsman
defenseless and unmoving, Barza raised his hands in victory. The
crowd looked to each other, unsure of what to do.
"Mister Barza," Displeasure was still apparent in Tycon's voice, "I
have not given you my permission to stop."
Barza furrowed his brows in confusion, and he turned his head to

look at Tycon. Guard Captain Varen was beaten. His opponent
was beaten. None of Tavor's guards were still attacking. They had
won?
He looked down at the young guardsman's swollen face. Barza

saw his lips move.
"M-mercy," the boy begged in a barely audible whisper.
"Mis.ter. Bar.za," Tycon stood over the both of them.
Barza closed his eyes for a moment before solidifying his

resolve... "I'm sorry."
And so Barza pulled back his arm... and he continued to beat the
boy.
His hands were covered by the boy's blood, spilling from his nose
and from the swollen cuts on his face. His fists stung, having been
split open on the boy's cheeks. Barza punched the boy, ignoring
his own fatigue the best he could.
He inscribed every detail of this scene in his heart. This was what
happened when speaking out against Baron Tycon.
Every strike broke the boy's arrogance... showed him his

weakness... showed him his inability. But every strike showed his
loyalty to Guild Invictus.
Barza's fists began to slow with his fatigue.
Tycon's hushed voice continued to urge him, "Hammer down. Use

the bottom of your fists. Utilize gravity to damage your opponent."
Barza nodded, as he committed Tycon's lesson to memory. The

beatings continued.
None of the guards wish to deal with either the sword prowess of
Tarquin Wroe or the greataxe-wielding Dragan. None were brave
or foolish enough to attack a noble. They could only swallow their
anger as they watched and waited.
"You don't stop when you are tired, Mister Barza," Tycon said
leisurely, "You stop when I am tired."
Barza hammered down at the boy's bloodied, swollen, and wholly

unrecognizable face. His gut churned as he saw the boy's missing
teeth stuck in the dirt. Near collapsing and struggling to catch his
breath, Barza half-turned to beg, "Please, Sir Tycon… I can't--"
With a surprising swiftness, Tycon was kneeling down, mere ilms

away from his face.
"Mister BARZA. You are a WEAPON." The noble growled furiously

through clenched teeth, "You do not THINK. You only ACT."
Barza felt fear. How could he be so foolish to question a noble?!

He tried to lift his arms... But they wouldn't move.
"Sir… My arms… They won't--"
"If your hands cannot move, use your elbows or your knees. Your
entire body is a weapon, Mister Barza, and I will have it used as
such."
Barza could only grit his teeth as he laid sideways on the young
guardsman. Straightening a leg back, he shot it forward, striking
his knee against the boy's side. The fallen youth groaned as a
new pain wracked his body.
"Again... Again..." Tycon's voice drilled without emotion..."Again."
The crowd watched in grim silence. When Barza again slowed

and could barely move, Tycon began to micromanage his
movements.
"Straighten the leg. Strike. Opposite knee. I SAID! OPPOSITE!

KNEE! Good. Now, strike!"
Only once Tycon was certain the guardsman was unconscious
from pain and broken bones, did he pat Barza on the back, "Rest."
"Th-thank you, Sir," Barza sobbed. He couldn't even lift his bloody
hands to wipe his tears.
"You're speaking an awful lot for a man I thought was too tired to
move."
Barza quickly shut his mouth and avoided Tycon's gaze.
Tycon stood to face the crowd, once more.
"You will comply with House Charm's investigations. As the

highest rank among you has been bested and no nobility stands
among you to contest me... I am not asking you, I am
commanding you!
"And if ANY of you is FOOL enough to question my orders as both

a noble and man of honor--"
Tycon stomped a cruel boot down. It struck the defenseless, fallen

guardsman's ugly, misshapen face.
"Then I will not be AS KIND as I have recently demonstrated."

Chapter 13 Bucket
ycon led Guard Captain Varen and two other guardsmen through
T
the manor and eventually to a lifted portcullis.
"This..." Varen stared in shock, his mouth agape, "They told me

the iron gate was sealed! The chain it's connected to-- it's
obviously broken!"
Tycon looked towards the open gate so Varen wouldn't see him
rolling his eyes, "And you believed that, Mister Varen? Trust your
subordinates, but verify. You can clearly see that the visible chain
is wholly unrelated to the door mechanism."
Tycon had only realized the fact after bypassing the portcullis in
his snake form. The Guard Captain didn't need to know that.
Varen averted his gaze in shame "P-perhaps I had been too eager
to deny such unsavory rumors, Sir."
Some time earlier, Tycon had resuscitated the old Guard Captain.
The latter had awoken with a splitting headache and had to be
gently recapitulated of the situation. Tycon was fairly certain the
old man had irrecoverable brain damage. If the effects did not
surface soon, they'd advance quickly, in respect to the man's
advanced age.
That would be a problem for Future-Varen. Present-Varen

remained useful, still.
Tycon had assigned Wroe to help in treating the wounded. His

androgynous likeability and charm would do much to appease the
simple-minded guards into accepting Tycon's hostile takeover. He
sent Dragan to recover Baron Tavor. As long as Tavor came back
alive, Tycon didn't particularly mind the condition of the target.
The group of four had finally come across the dungeon cells and
the subsequent stench of decomposing flesh.
"By the gods, the smell..." Varen retched.
Tycon glanced into the cells and began to coldly summarize. "Yes,
the rotting corpses within are of children, mostly between ages 7
to 11, with the oldest being the young girl in the second-to-farthest
cell on the left."
"This is monstrous…" "We've been working for this--this villain?"

The guards were unable to hide their disgust, spitting upon the
stone dungeon tile and sharing their 'I should have known's.
Had Tycon not opted to use his own manpower to capture the
Baron, he was certain the guards would have led a mob of angry
townsfolk to burn the man alive on a stake. Though Tycon found
the prospective thought of torches and pitchforks amusing, the
royalty of the Kingdom wouldn't be nearly as amused. After all, an
organized collective of citizens rising up to brutally murder a
nobleman would be a cause for concern among the higher
echelons of nobility, irrespective of the circumstances.
Hm. Tycon knew of the Kingdom's royalty, but he didn't know

about anyone's history in Guild Invictus. Peculiar.
Tycon stopped in front of one of the old-wooded cell doors. With a

strong rear kick, the door flew open, revealing a young, dirty-
blonde boy, no more than 10 years of age, hanging by his wrists
from manacles.
The guards rushed in, while Tycon walked steadily into the room,
glaring at the young boy. Bucket shivered in fear, tears running
down the cheeks of his dirt-covered face.
"Look how scared he is!" "It's quite alright, young man, we'll get
you out of here."
Tycon didn't take his eyes off of Bucket, "Mister Varen, order your
men to find the keys and release this boy. He is my charge."
Bucket shivered with the way Tycon phrased his statements. He
knew he had f*cked up.
Baron Tavor had been taken away and was to be held by the
Adventurer's Guild until further ruling could be delivered. Tycon
was confident he wouldn't have a good ending, due to the number
and the quality of witnesses, not to mention how everyone
seemed to fear Tycon's noble backing.
Tycon had commandeered the Tavor Manor and dismissed the

guards for the evening, ensuring them that he'd handle the
financial takeover of the estate in the morning. Relieved that
they'd keep their jobs, they left without complaint, promising to
return on the morrow.
Tycon did not inform them of their impending pay cuts.
A mere group of four attacked the manor and captured their

Baron. If the situation were normal, Tycon would have them all
fired.
Tycon relaxed on a chair in the cozy fire-warmed living area of the

manor. Paintings of past generations adorned the walls, looking
down solemnly at the unwelcome golden-eyed intruder. There
were plenty of tables and seating. It was quite nice.
Bucket sat on a chair opposite of him, wrapped in a blanket and

holding a still-steaming bowl of porridge. The boy's ears were
slightly pointed, hinting at his non-human heritage.
"Bucket," Tycon spoke sternly, "Have you eaten?"
The boy stared into the soup bowl, "N-no, Sir."
"I advise you to eat. It will recover some of your fatigue from today
and will grant you strength for our activities tomorrow."
The boy continued staring into his soup bowl for a time.
"I'm… not hungry," he finally mumbled.

It was obvious to Tycon that the boy was at his limits of fatigue
and hunger. Still, Tycon sat patiently, watching. The boy was
dreaming if he thought he could win a waiting game against him.
"I'm not hungry, Sir," Bucket said, looking up and speaking with a
bit more volume.
Tycon smiled in response, "Whether you eat or not, we will talk,

afterward."
Under Tycon's unmoving gaze, the boy succumbed to his advice.

He picked up the wooden soup spoon and began to eat. Quickly
and voraciously, he finished the child-sized portion of porridge and
placed the bowl politely on the table.
"...Thank you for the meal," Bucket said in a quiet voice.
Tycon nodded in approval.
"Y-you…" Bucket began. Tears began to form at the corners of his

eyes, "You guys left me."
Tiny streams of tears silently ran down the boy's face. Tycon
remained unmoved.
"You were taken."
"B-by an adult!"
"Bucket," Tycon's voice remained cold and impassive.
"Y-yes?" the child sniffed.
"Did you fight?"
"What?" Bucket was stunned. "No, she was an--"
"An adult, yes. So you didn't fight."
"N-no, but--"
"Bucket, I just need answers for now." Tycon gently chided. "After
my inquiries, you will be given a chance for a rebuttal."
"Y… yes, Sir."
"Did you fight?"
"No, Sir, I couldn't."
"Did you yell for help?"
"Y-yes, Sir. No one c--"
"Did you struggle against your kidnapper?"
"Yes, Sir, I--"
"Did you kick?"
"...No, Sir."
"Did you bite?"
"...N-no, Sir. I didn't."
Tycon steepled his fingers and leaned forward in his high-back

chair.
"Young man, anyone in Guild Invictus can be captured by the

enemy. You were taken. You did not fight back or struggle to the
best of your ability. It sounds like you had resigned to your fate
and just... waited for someone to save you."
"N-no, b-but I… I--"
Tycon's voice took on a darker tone, interrupting Bucket's mewling

sobs, "That is not how we operate, young man..."
The boy continued to sob quietly, but Tycon continued on... "As
soon as we leave town, you will begin a new training regimen."
The boy looked up, his puffy, teary-eyed face and sandy-brown
hair looking miserable in the living room torchlight, "Are-- are you
finally going to teach me how to fight?"
Tycon resisted the urge to roll his eyes, "It is not a reward, young
man. You will need basic skills if you are to One: defend yourself
and Two: Participate in the defense of the Guild…"
Tycon stood up and leaned over the table to accentuate his final
point, "This incident will not be repeated, do you understand me?"
Bucket wiped his eyes with his filthy coat sleeve, trying to hold his
excitement. "Yes, Sir!"
"Now, do you have any issues or questions?"
"No, Sir!" Bucket responded heartily.
Tycon reached his hand over to pat the boy on the head-- but
decided against it. Instead, he pointed to one of the room doors.
"You can sleep in that room over there... but before that, I'd like
you to fetch Mister Wroe."
"Y-yes, Sir! I'm going!"
The boy seemed a bit... single-minded. Concerning his age, that

was permissible. Then with how quickly his mood changed from
wallowing in self-pity to enthusiasm, Tycon expected that the boy's
oncoming training would yield good results.
The boy pushed himself forward in the chair in order to allow his
feet to touch the ground. Then he rushed off in a display of
youthful exuberance.
Tycon hoped he'd keep that energy.
He would need it to survive the coming suns.

Chapter 14 Shut Up And
Follow Me
"You wanted to see me, Boss?" Tarquin entered the living area.
Tycon had wrapped himself warmly in a blanket in front of the

fireplace, slowly sipping on a heated cup of wine. After Bucket's
departure, he had discovered a prominent wine rack in the corner
of the room.
As Tycon had commandeered the entire estate, Tavor's vintage

wine collection was also his.
Delicious.
Tycon examined the Daeva. Wroe was half-a-head taller than he

was. His light-blue hair was a few ilms longer, where Tycon kept
his short enough to not need excessive styling. He wore leather
armor, reinforced by metal shoulders and a chestguard. Unlike
Tycon's dark, peaked hood, Wroe had a white hood. That and the
white clothing underneath his armor matched well with his
somewhat-obvious angelic bloodline.
Tycon glanced down at Wroe's side, frowning with disdain at

seeing his longsword.
"Indeed. I wanted to discuss something with you, old friend."
As frustrated as Tycon was at the whole situation, he couldn't help

but feel a deep kinship with both Wroe and Dragan. He hadn't
many memories of them, but he wasn't too worried. More
memories would come and he could always inquire about
whatever was missing.
Tycon poured a second cup of wine for his companion. Wroe
smilingly accepted it, taking a seat for himself.
"Should we get a third cup for Dragan?" Wroe asked.
"Nah. We'll start ahead of him. I believe we both know how much
that man drinks," Tycon chuckled.
The pair clinked together their cups in a friendly toast, draining

them in smooth, practiced pulls.
Tycon took the wine bottle and again, filled the cups with the
sweet red.
"Well, what's up, Boss?" Wroe inquired.
Tycon gently swirled the wine in his smooth, wooden cup, letting
his gaze wander about the room, "I wished to inquire about your
swordplay tonight."
Wroe placed his wine cup on the table beside him and smiled
sheepishly, "Oh? You saw that, huh? It's the… Zarovich-style
blade forms, I learned it when I was in--"
"No, no," Tycon held a palm up, interrupting him, "I mean to say…
Why didn't you fight at range?"
"What? Because... I don't have a ranged weapon. Well, I earned

an Expert badge with a crossbow, but..."
"No, wait, hold on," Tycon drained his wine cup, trying to think. His
concern was steadily rising.
"What is it, Boss?"
Tycon decided to be clear, "Magic, Mister Wroe. Why didn't you

use magic?"
Wroe laughed derisively, "Haha. I don't know any magic, Boss.

That's silly."
Tycon's eyes set into a confused glare, "What the... but the...
Arms? And when the ceiling ate the corpses?"
"Oh, yeah, that was kinda weird, huh?"
"And gathering information about Bucket's whereabouts? All those

screams we heard around that time?"
"I just... kinda hear voices, sometimes?"
Tycon was standing and yelling at Wroe, "And I was told you
IDENTIFIED the DARK MAGIC surrounding the MANOR?!"
It was all he could do to not begin strangling the man. Wroe felt
his Boss's rising anger and stood up, trying to calm Tycon down.
"Boss, I just-- kinda, sorta felt it! Do-Don't be mad!"
"I'M FURIOUS!"
"Boss! Boss!" Wroe put his open palms forward, "Can we just all
caaaalllm--"
« SYSTEM! Inquiry! What class is Tarquin Wroe? »
[System response: Tarquin Wroe, Bronze-Rank Duelist]
« System, inquiry! Just to be absolutely, perfectly clear, does the

Duelist class have any magical capabilities? »
[Negative.]
Tycon's eyes widened in surprise at the System's answer. He

began to gnash his teeth, trying desperately to rein in his anger.
"Shut up! SHUT UP! Shut the hells up, Tarquin Wroe, and follow
me!"
Tycon kicked open the door. Inside was Barza, snoring like an
innocent child, yet somehow also like an ugly, roaring beast, trying
to attract an equally ugly mate.
« System, inquiry: What class is Barza Keith? »
[System response: Barza Keith, Bronze-Rank Ruffian]
"Pah, as bad as I thought," Tycon cursed aloud.
Ruffian sounded like a lower-tier version of Rogue. With Barza's

fighting style, a more upront and domineering class would be
more beneficial to him. He'd be trained along with Bucket.
Tycon slammed the door shut.
Tycon kicked open the door. Bucket was startled awake, "Dad?"
"Nope, Quay's still missing. Might be dead. It's just me. Every day
you live, you learn of pain and suffering."
"O-oh, okay," the boy pouted.
Wroe frowned and in a hushed tone he whispered, "Oh, come on,

Boss, really?"
"I don't care, Mister Wroe."
Tycon stared at the half-elf boy in the bed, who had quickly
nodded back to sleep.
« System inquiry: What class is Bucket? »
[System response: Bucket, Unranked Novice]
"Well, at least that's good news."
"Boss, what's this all about?" Wroe prodded.
The Novice Class was an excellent one. Bucket would be able to

learn skills from any class-- though the completion rate would be
lower. Even better was that the Novice was a transitioning class
ensuring that when he did class-change, he would attain a
standard-tier, and possibly a high-tier class.
Because his main class hadn't yet been determined, Guild Invictus

could cultivate his abilities to match his talent… Unlike a certain
Duelist.
Tycon again glared at Wroe as he quietly closed the door.
Tycon kicked open the door.
A woman with a scar over one eye looked up with puffy, tearful
eyes. Her room looked as if a whirlwind had gone through it, a
table lamp illuminating all sorts of clothing and personal effects
strewn haphazardly onto the floor.
Was Seldin… looking for something? The guards seemed unable

to summon her to rebuff their attack on the estate.
"Sorry," Tycon apologized, "Wrong room."
The armorless Seldin, in her long white shirt and black skirt, didn't
bother to stand, nor hide her sniveling.
"Wh-who are you guys?" Seldin asked in a quavering voice.
Tycon glanced over to Seldin's armor. It was still in one piece. The
woman hadn't even tried donning it.
Could this woman have been tearing apart her room for the past
two bells?
Tycon shook his head and spoke in rapid-fire, "Good-evening,-I'm-

Baron-Tycondrius,-s'nice-to-meet-you. The estate is under new
management. I'd-like-you-to-continue-working-for-me.-We'll-
discuss-terms-of-your-continued-employment in the… uh,
morning? Wear-business-casual-for-the-interview.-Good-night."
« System inquiry: What class is Seldin? »

Tycon politely, but firmly shut the door and began to dash away.
"Boss? Wh-why are we running?" Wroe asked while hurrying after

him.
[System response: Seldin, Iron-Rank Berserk Knight]
Tycon only ran faster.
Barza continued to snore, sounding like a wood saw slowly and

violently torturing a tree. An ugly tree.
Tycon took a stuffed doll out of his side-pack and placed it

amongst Barza's belongings.
Wroe watched in curiosity, "Huh. Okay."
Tycon shut the door.
...
"Heyyyyyyyy!" Dragan smiled, drinking from an open bottle of

wine. Over a score of bottles laid on the floor, opened and
unopened-- more open than not.
The Titanblood and four guards sat in a circle, in various states of

undress, seated around a deck of cards. One of the drunken
female guards looked up lazily, blinking her eyes in disbelief.
"Huh? Isn't that the Sir?"
The other, slightly more sober guards looked up in a bit of mild

panic. One whispered, "Sh-should we report?"
Tycon stared for a moment before he dropped his head with a

sigh... "No, nevermind."
Tycon slammed the door shut...
« System inquiry: What class is Dragan Ashlord? »
[System response: Dragan Ashlord, Iron-Rank Swordmage]
"...Wait, what?" Tycon raised his hands and asked aloud in

confusion.
"They looked like they were playing a form of strip poker, Boss?
Did you want to ask to jo--"
"What? No. No! Seven hells, man, no! Just… Just come with me.
I'm going to fix you."
"Fix me? Well... Alright, Boss," Wroe hurried forward to walk

beside Tycon, "Where to, next?"
Tycon scoffed, "Tss. Where else? To the dungeons."

Chapter 15 Using The Torture
Equipment
plotches of crimson stained the tile at the center of the ritual

S
room. Skulls of man, beast, and beast-man were piled up artfully
around the room in strategic positions. Eighty-eight dusk red
candles, standing upon skulls and candelabras added well to the
room's ominous atmosphere. At the room's center, a sacrificial
altar glowed eerily, illuminating a four-layered magic circle carved
into the stone. Sigils, glyphs, and additional magic circles were
drawn on the floor tiles in a thick chalky substance as an added
layer of arcane protection.
Baron Zindo Tavor's superbly decorated ritual room was damning

evidence in support of the man's incarceration. A fresh corpse had
even been recently removed from the stone table, perhaps but a
few bells prior. Flies buzzed lazily about a pool of blood that had
yet to be cleaned at the table's edge. Not everyone was as skilled
with cleaning as Invictus Guild's Tarquin Wroe.
Tycon crossed his arms and leaned back against the door frame,
a deep frustration still set into his face and brow.
"Here we are, Mister Wroe."
Wroe looked around at the room's decor in wonder and awe.
"Very well, Sir Tycon. Shall I get the mop and bucket?"
"While tempting, Mister Wroe, no. Instead, I'd like you to…"
Tycon stopped mid-sentence.
...How does one attain a Warlock pact, anyroad? He silently

consulted his System but was unable to get a meaningful answer.
Tycon stuck out his chest, feigning confidence, "Well, Mister
Wroe. I'd like you to, uh... stay here for a time."
Wroe tilted his head, smiling helplessly, "Boss… what am I

supposed to be doing?"
Tycon had no idea. He decided to be mysterious and hope for the

best. It would solidify his status as 'always having a plan' and
'always expecting the best from his guild members.' Tycon tried to
hide any signs of uncertainty on his face by assuming a 'more
annoyed than usual' expression.
"I believe you'll understand, and... soon. It should just... click."

Tycon snapped his fingers to make a point, "--like that."
Wroe nodded steadily, "So... I'll just get it? Like--"
He snapped his fingers.
The sound of the snap echoed a dozen times, growing deeper

and deeper in octave, before rapidly multiplying. The dungeon
room's eighty-eight candles lit simultaneously, burning dim, grey
and purple flames. Streams of wispy ink, dripped like water from
the stone ceilings, burning colder than ice when exposed to the
skin. Whispers from tens of speakers speaking a dozen
languages filled Tycon's mind. More distressing still was that most
of the languages, he could recognize, but he could not at all
identify from whence he did.
"Like… that…?" Wroe finished his sentence.
Tycon promptly turned on a heel, took two steps forward, and

silently shut the double doors behind him-- the voices had stopped
immediately.
He barred the doors from the outside, for good measure.
That they could bar from outside the ritual room was an
uncommonly well thought out safety precaution.
Tycon then spent another 10 minutes pushing heavy torture
equipment from a nearby room to barricade the door.
"I didn't think I'd be able to make use of these things, so soon.
How fortunate."
A maid knocked on the door when morning came. Tycon had slept
well-- too well, in fact. Opening the door, a young woman in the
Kingdom's orthodox maid attire bowed deeply at the waist. Her
light-brown hair was worn in two long pigtails that reached the
floor as she bowed low.
"Good morning, my lord. Will you be having breakfast in the hall or

in your room, today?"
Tycon peeked outside the door, seeing a wheeled food cart that
had been brought from the kitchens. Tycon glanced behind him,
noting the high sun in the windows.
"What time is it?" Tycon frowned.
"11:00, my lord," the maid replied, not lifting her head and keeping
to her strict bow.
Tycon rolled his eyes. He placed a finger on the woman's chin and
gently lifted her face so their eyes met. Tycon noticed the teenage
girl's eyes drifted a bit too long on Tycon's chest. His nightgown
was unbuttoned.
"Young lady, I am not like your previous employer. I would have

you meet my eyes, as one human being to another."
The girl's face took on a deep red blush, righting her posture, but
still averting her gaze, "Y-yes, my lord."
Tycon breathed in and let out a deep sigh. Though it was a hassle
to do the right thing, it was better than being annoyed by the
currently accepted behaviors.
"Name?" Tycon demanded.

"C-collette, lord."
"A rather odd name… Coca-Colette, is it?" Tycon smirked.
"No, my lord, it's--"
The blushing girl looked up in surprise, her gaze meeting his. She
stared into the young noble's deep golden eyes and lost her
words. Tycon granted the young woman a pleased, if amused,
smile.
"Very good, Miss Collette. I'm glad you could follow my

instructions."
"Of course, my lord…" the young girl returned a shy smile.
A few other (mostly female) servants had heard the exchange and
began to not-so-stealthily sneak peeks at their new, very-
handsome, young lord.
Tycon noticed, of course, and decided to raise his voice to make a

point.
"Baron Zindo Tavor is a boorish and crude imitation of a proper

noble and has served to be a poor precedent. It is his fault, and
not yours, that the servants of this estate show such poor
promise. As young men and women working as servants for
House Charm, you will learn cooking, housework, as well as
finance and etiquette. I want all of you to learn well, in order to
follow your dreams-- to be a sought-after housewife if you wish, or
to be a self-sufficient gentleman or lady, otherwise."
The announcement sent the servants into an uproar.
"The new noble isn't a gross, ugly pervert!" "I hated bowing to that
raunchy sleazebag, Zindo." --Some of the idle conversations were
passably interesting.
"I-I… I need to learn how to cook and do housework, so I can

marry my boyfriend!" --Collette, herself, had an admirable goal.
"M-maybe I can be Lord Tycon's wife!" "...Lord Tycon's too pretty
of a man to be interested in girls, maybe I have a chance!" --Tycon
decided to fire those people if he could ever match their voices to
their names.
"Is Lord Tycon abandoning us?" "I've been serving House Tavor
for 22 years!"
Tycon raised a hand to quiet the gathered crowd, "These are my

best wishes, ladies and gentlemen. Of course, House Charm will
always accept honorable individuals willing to serve. Whether you
choose to serve for four years or forty, I wish for you all to learn, to
work, to serve-- to better yourselves, for your own future."
Tycon received a round of applause, to which he smiled and

waved politely.
As the crowd dispersed, Tycon stopped the young lady he made

an example out of, "Miss Collette?"
The twin-tailed Collette gasped in surprise, "Y-yes, what is it, my

lord?"
Tycon let out a good-natured sigh and gave a defeated smile. He

motioned towards the food cart, still in front of his room.
"May I ask what's for breakfast?"

Chapter 16 Go Back
ycon stood rigidly in the central hall of the manor, glaring at the
T
ostentatious wood and ivory grandfather clock.
Dong. Dong. Dong. The clock rung several times in sonorous

brass clangs, signifying the midday bell.
He turned to face the crowd. In the right formation were servants,

including housekeepers, botanists, stablehands, and half of the
kitchen staff. In the center formation, the guards had formed strict
and neat lines, a credit to Guard Captain Varen, who stood at their
front. In the left formation was… Sorina, a former tavern wench;
Dragan, a massive drunkard, still nursing a hangover; Bucket, a
literal child; and Seldin Korr, a mercenary previously employed by
Baron Tavor.
Tycon reintroduced himself, promised everyone continued pay

and job security, and introduced a few somehow surprising rule
changes. Notably, he explicitly forbade physical or verbal hazing,
sexual harassment or assault, blackmail, as well as anything
illegal. Offenders were to be tried and punished by either himself
or the local Adventurer's Guild, who could act as a neutral party.
...All of the staff wore expressions of surprise at Tycon's attempt to

guarantee basic human rights. The mumbles in the crowd seemed
generally positive, so he decided not to worry about it.
Tycon dismissed the servants and guards to resume their duties,

ordering Captain Varen, Seldin Korr, and the members of Guild
Invictus to stay behind.
Gathering the five of them, Tycon looked them over.
Guard Captain Varen had combed his beard and wore a faded
military coat. The old man was still wide in shoulders and stood
rigidly, despite his age. Thankfully, he had also yet to show signs
of severe brain damage.
Seldin Korr wore business-casual: a long-sleeved crimson shirt

and a light yellow cloth tied in an elegant pattern beneath her
collar. She wore her dark-red hair up in a combat-ready bun and
wore small, subtle pearl earrings. Her efforts were apparent in
applying makeup, as her eyes were far less dark and puffy as
when Tycon had seen her during the previous evening.
Bucket wore his shoes on the correct feet and wore his long-
sleeve shirt the correct way.
Dragan, the big drunk bastard, was missing a shoe and-- when
concerning his shirt, his left arm was through the same hole as his
neck.
"Bucket," Tycon blinked several times at Dragan before shaking

his head, "Go get Mister Wroe."
"Yes, Sir!" Bucket replied before running off.
"Dragan," Tycon pursed his lips, looking up at the larger man.
"Y-yeah, Boss-- *hic*"
"...Where are the others?"
"Well…" Dragan held his broad forehead, blinking overmuch at the

bright sunlight streaming through the windows, "Horse said he'd
be late. Haven't seen Tarquin or Barza. Lulu and Wolfbanger are
missing."
"...Alright. Any ideas where Lulu and Wolfbanger are?"
"N-nah, Boss," Dragan began to look worryingly and increasingly

sick, "M-maybe Horse knows?"
"Alright, you big lug, Sod off. We'll talk later. I'll ask Wroe when he
comes around."
Dragan didn't argue. The double doors of the manor opened, and
as Dragan stumbled out, an arrogant, if handsome chestnut-
brown horse strode in.
Captain Varen shared a surprised look with Seldin Korr, "Miss

Seldin… Is that a horse?"
The professional mercenary struggled to keep her surprise

hidden, "...Y-yes, it appears to be so."
The horse clopped within a stride of Tycon, before shaking its dark
mane as a show of arrogance.
"(I'm here, Snake.)"
Tycon placed both of his hands on his waist.
"(Why are you late, Horse?)"
Tycon didn't mince words with Horse.
"(Because I don't care about your rules, Snake,)" Horse looked

down and sneered defiantly at Tycon.
Tycon shook his head, "(I believe I'm the one who ensures you get
paid... or... fed, at least.)"
Horse bucked up in shock, neighing, "(OhhHhh, NoOoo! I've

made a mistake!)"
Tycon glared at Horse, "(Now what do you have to say?)"
Horse knelt down the best it could, placing his head low to the
ground, "(Please forgive me, Snake.)"
Seldin couldn't help but lean over to Sorina, "Is Sir Tycon talking
to the horse? And is this normal?"
"At this point, Miss Seldin..." The brunette pursed her lips, "--I'm
too afraid to ask."
Tycon patted the horse on the side of its neck.

"I forgive you, Horse. Now go back and eat your fill. We'll go out in
a few days."
The horse neighed in response, "(Thank you, Snake.)" Then he

turned around and clopped out the front doors, closing them
politely, afterward.
Varen, Sorina, and Seldin watched the scene play out in its
entirety.
Varen gave Sorina a deep, heartfelt smile, "Little Sorina, the

Baron is amazing, isn't he? Are you two close?"
Sorina averted her gaze and smiled, "No, Uncle Varen. We only
met the other day."
Varen gave a polite bow to Seldin, who was examining them both
closely, "Ah, Miss Seldin. This is my brother's daughter, Sorina.
She's your junior, now, so please treat her well."
"Please treat me well, Senior," Sorina gave a bow.
Seldin glanced disdainfully at the younger woman and coldly

clicked her tongue before turning away.
After a moment of awkwardness, Varen patted Sorina's shoulder,

"Miss Seldin has a rough exterior, but she is professional at her
work. As a matter of fact, she's something of a local legend at the
Adventurer's Guild."
Sorina looked more disappointed than angry, "I understand,

Uncle."
While the three were talking, Bucket had returned.
"He wasn't in his room, Sir."
"How odd." Tycon pondered, "Wait-- don't tell me..."

Tarquin Wroe stumbled through a side door. Black ink spilled from
his eyes, wide open, pupils shrunken and shaking. A preternatural
grin plastered his face, and the corners of his mouth were cracked
and bleeding. His cloak and armor were gone. The man wore no
tunic or shoes, just torn, ragged trousers. Overlapping carvings of
elaborate sigils adorned his chest in blood-- depictions of hands
and eyes, more hands, and more eyes.
"She... she carves them... line... line by line..."
Tycon moved immediately, "Bucket, wait here."
"Um. Okay."
Tycon shoved Wroe back into the hall he had emerged from.
"Mister Wroe, what did you see?" Tycon asked calmly.
"T-tycon.. She--- she... She was so beautiful..."
Wroe's sobs grew louder, black ink streaming down his face and
hands. As the ink fell upon the floor, the drops fanned out like
spiderwebs.
"Yeah, so?" Tycon badgered, "Did you make a pact?"
"She reached out her hands... her long... white... PaaALe

HAaaAAANDDSSS…"
Wroe's voice began to change, gaining an intimidating twin echo.

He no longer stood up, floating several ilms above the floor.
Outside, clouds blotted out the sun, and lightning and thunder
shook the manor. Wroe raised his arms to praise whatever entity
held him.
"BEHOLDER OF MY HEART AND MIND... in YouR MaNYY

BEAUTEOUS HANDS AND EYES!"
A hundred hands spilled from the shadows, from the ceiling, from
the cracks in the floors, bleeding from the glass windows-- and
they embraced him. Eyes were birthed from the dried paint, from
the wood of the doors, made of bleeding flesh and trying to focus
their vision on something just out of vision.
The door behind Tycon opened and Captain Varen stuck his head
out.
"Sir Tycon, is everything alr-- arr..ahh.... Wha... whaaa--?"
Captain Varen lost his words as he saw the floating nightmare.

Blood began to drip from the old man's nose as he stared, his
mouth agape at the screaming cultist.
"THE FORGER OF BLADES OF STARLIGHT! OF BLACK

MOONS OF ETERNAL UNREST! I EXALT THEE! MY GODDESS
OF THE WELL!"
Lightning struck in the outside courtyard. Several razor-sharp, 6-

fulm-tall, ivory-colored swords burst from the dirt, standing upright.
Tycon glanced outside, pursing his lips, "Never seen that before."
"Nothing to worry about, Captain." Tycon placed a finger on

Captain Varen's forehead and gently pushed him back behind the
door, closing it firmly once his head was cleared.
Tycon turned back to the floating Wroe.
"THE THOUSAND DREAMS ARE BUT FORFEIT!!! THE ONE

DEVOURER BUT SATED!!!" Wroe sobbed in great wails, "THE
TWELVE AND THIRTEEN FLAMES BUT COLD HUSKS OF--"
Tycon held out an open palm to Wroe, questioningly, "But... did

you make a pact?"
Wroe uncovered his face, revealing empty eye sockets, thick

black globs of ink, achingly churning out slow, falling smoke.
"DON'T YOU SEE, BROTHER??!" Wroe cried. "ALL BEND TO

HER!! MY QUEEEEEN!! I COULD NOT--"
"Go back," Tycon said simply.

The nightmarish-faced Wroe opened his mouth in confusion,
"Huh?"
Tycon tightly grabbed ahold of Wroe's ankle. Putting all of his

weight into it, he pulled Wroe down and slammed him into the tile
floor with an abrupt crack. Almost instantaneously, the clouds
withdrew, and with them, the shadows. The black ink that stained
the floor receded, rushing back into Wroe's open mouth.
Tycon leaned to the side to look at Wroe-- the back of his head
had sunk a few ilms into the cracked tile.
"You... you good, Wroe?"
No response.
"Wroe?"
"Y-yeah. I'm good, Boss."
"You... uh... need me to--"
"No, I'm fine, Boss."
Tycon glanced out of a nearby window. The gigantic sword

statues outside the manor remained.
How peculiar...
"Your ah… chest? Are you bleeding?"
"Nah… Wait-- Yep. Yeah. I'm bleeding."
"Where are you… going after this?"
"Dungeon."
"Well, I like your spirit. But go ahead and have a maid clean out
your wounds with soap and water and get bandaged up before
you go back."
"A-alright, Boss... Hey, uh... Boss?"

"Yes, Mister Wroe?"
"Can I just... wait here for... just a few minutes?"
"Yes, that will be fine. I need that pact made by close-of-business,

today, please."
"...Can do, Boss."
The fallen Wroe lifted one of his forearms, raising a thumb from a
closed fist.
Tycon re-entered the great hall, shutting the door behind him,
ignoring the nearby, fainted Guard Captain Varen. Bucket and the
two women looked to him with concern.
"Nothing to worry about," Tycon smiled. "Now, where were we?"

Chapter 17 The Strength Of A
Business Degree
hen Tycon re-entered the room, Seldin Korr stood up rigidly,

W
though a worried gaze drifted to the fallen and unconscious Guard
Captain Varen.
Sorina's concern was more apparent. "Is Uncle Varen going to be

okay?" She asked.
Tycon raised an eyebrow. So those two were related? He

supposed that could make things easier... if that useless Captain
Varen wouldn't so brazenly sleep on the job.
...But he did have brain damage... and Tycon felt slightly guilty
about it. He decided not to punish the old man.
"A momentary distraction, Miss Sorina. Your 'Uncle Varen' is made

of sterner stuff, after all, he's an Iron--"
« System, inquiry: What rank is that Varen fellow? »
[System response: Varen, Bronze-Rank Warrior]
"--uh... an Iron-willed veteran. He'll be fine."
Probably.
Sorina wrung her hands and puffed her cheeks in response.

Seldin narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms.
"Dozens of spiders and millipedes with faces were crawling out of

his mouth," she said coolly, though Tycon noticed her voice
quavered with the word 'millipedes.'
"...Rare delicacies from the western lands." Tycon said without
hesitation. "They're an acquired taste."
The two women glanced at each other dubiously.
Seeing their skepticism, Tycon offered, "Would you like to try?"
The two of them paled in an instant.
"N-no, thank you, Sir," Sorina fidgeted.
Seldin Korr narrowed her eyes, "Not a chance, my lord."
Bucket, who listened patiently and went largely forgotten, raised

his hand, "Can I try?"
"No, Bucket. Dear gods, no. (Maybe when you're older.) I've a
task for you," Tycon tossed him a small pouch of silver, "Go out
and make sure Dragan's okay. Then take him to town and help
Barza with resupply."
Bucket missed the catch, but hurriedly picked up the pouch and
fallen coins. "Okay, Sir!" he yelled as he rushed out the door.
What a clumsy child-- but he was eager to do perform.
Tycon turned his attention to Seldin and Sorina, "Let's have a

seat. I have something to discuss, with the both of you."
...
A silver-haired maid served tea and ornate, miniature cakes.

Tycon glanced above her head and gave a professional smile.
"Thank you, Miss Pascale. I appreciate your expertise on the

sponge cakes and how ours are different from the traditional
Alizeaun 'fraisier.' I can clearly discern your love for the craft."
The maid glanced up, clearly surprised, "Y-you know my name,

lord?"
Tycon laughed politely, "Yes. You introduced yourself this morning.
How could I possibly forget?"
Whenever Tycon learned a person's name, the System

conveniently placed it onto a floating, transparent display above
their head. It was quite possibly the System's most convenient
feature.
"May I ask why you're working here?" Tycon asked.
"Oh! My lord... I've always wanted to be a baker, since a trip to

Merylsward when I was about 10."
"Have you learned much, since being here?"
"Well, Sir... Sometimes I get chased away from the kitchens when
I eavesdrop with the other apprentices."
"Nonsense, Miss Pascale. Inform Patissier Noel that on my order,

you are to learn with the other apprentices. I pray you will not
disappoint, young lady."
"Oh, of course, my lord-- I mean, I would never, my lord."
The maid blushed and averted her gaze (which Tycon thought
was happening far too frequently) and hurriedly excused herself.
Sorina ate her dessert quickly, enjoying every bite. The Kingdom's
pastries were easily the best in the continent, after all. Seldin
carefully watched Tycon's interactions as she tried her best to
leave her slice of cake alone. Unfortunately for her, Tycon noticed
she would sneak quick, subtle glances down at the strawberry-
topped, strawberry-filled dessert.
The young Seldin Korr didn't seem too honest with herself.
And so, Tycon stretched out the polite conversation with Sorina
until Seldin's willpower finally failed her. She consumed her
dessert swiftly and without mercy, leaving her tiny plate clean and
spotless.
"I will be assigning--" Tycon glanced above the girl's head, "Lady
Sorina Capulet as financial officer and the chief executive of the
estate. Miss Capulet, you will only be subordinate to me."
"S-sir Tycon," Sorina lost her usual perkiness and began to stutter,
"I h-have a boyfriend."
Tycon rolled his eyes back so hard, he leaned back in his chair.
"Seven hells, I'm not trying to bed you, woman. Have some self-
respect!"
"Oh... O... kay."
Seldin twisted her lips to the side, "Who's your boyfriend?"
Sorina gazed dreamily out of a nearby window, "Y-you don't know

him, Miss Seldin. He lives far away... in the future."
Tycon continued, "On the morrow, Guild Invictus will be leaving

towards the Mosswood Wilds to train near the base of the Icehorn
Mountains for a season. Before winter, I plan to head to the
northern port of Caractere."
Seldin nodded, "The Mosswood is a dangerous place... I lost my

eye there." She brushed her bangs to the side, revealing the scar
on her face and her glass eye.
Tycon nodded, making a mental note of it.
"What will you be doing over there?" Sorina asked.
"That's classified information, for now, young lady. I haven't even

instructed Guild Invictus' main body," Tycon assured her.
The scroll he had, closed with the royal seal, had detailed the
quest... but due to its contents, he would keep it as need-to-know
information.
"Miss Korr, I'll have you stay here with Sorina as her guard."
Seldin widened her eyes in surprise before she looked down at
her empty plate, disappointed.
"I understand, my lord. A broken woman like me has no place in

the field."
Sorina began glaring at Tycon.
...Did she really say that? Really? Tycon screamed in his mind.
And why was the Capulet glaring at him? Those two didn't even
know each other before today.
"Miss Korr, you're a very attractive woman, you're obviously very

health-conscious, and you're still of marriageable age. If you like, I
can easily find you a dozen bachelors that would literally fight to
the death in seeking your hand."
Tycon's rapid-fire reassurance seemed to lift Seldin's mood, "I

need you here because I respect your achievements, I trust in
your abilities as a guard, and lastly, as you're a woman of
intelligence, you're the only one I would trust to guide and
complement Sorina's strengths. Now, will you accept this
assignment, Miss Korr?"
Seldin Korr nodded shyly in acquiescence. Tycon thought he

could hear her heartbeat begin to race, but he desperately hoped
he was wrong.
"Now wait a second, Sir Tycon," Sorina stood up. "What if I don't
want to manage the estate-- I want to go adventuring with you!"
Tycon began to cry internally. He glanced to the door, wishing he

had resuscitated Varen instead of leaving him to collect dust in the
main hall. Maybe the old man could talk some sense into the girl.
Tycon nodded, looking down, "Very well, Miss Capulet. Before I

can accept you on our expedition, I'd like to ask you a few
questions:"
"Hard work and DETERMINATION!"

Tycon frowned, "That... wasn't an answer to any of my questions,
Miss Capulet."
The girl sat down obediently, "Oh, go ahead, Sir Tycon. I'm ready."
Tycon took a deep breath and steepled his fingers, facing the
young woman.
« System, inquiry: What is Sorina Capulet's class? »
[System response: Sorina Capulet, Bronze-Rank Calculator.]
That was... an incredibly rare class. It had a slow growth-rate, but

if Sorina ever ranked up to Gold, she could join the main combat
team for some niche strategies.
Tycon nodded, sizing up the young woman, For now, she'd be

more effective operating logistics than in the field. If Guild Invictus
doesn't have to worry about finances in the long-term, they'd be
able to expand with fewer issues.
"Miss Capulet," Tycon began, "the last mission we completed for

the Adventurer's Guild gave us 800 silver--"
Seldin's eyes widened in surprise for a moment. Clearly, she was

surprised by the abilities of Guild Invictus.
"--How do you propose we budget our expenses?"
Sorina thought for a moment before responding, "Well, there's

zero-based budgeting, then there's value-proposition, which is
similar, and then there's incremental budgeting, which takes the
previous period as baseline for what we can spend on. So with
zero-based--"
Tycon raised a hand to stop her, "Th-that's good, Miss Capulet."
He began to sweat, facing the pressure of a Bronze-Rank

Calculator... With only the rumors to go on, he had grossly
underestimated the Class' domineering nature...
Tycon gulped, his throat parched. He was uncertain he wanted to
continue. The fire in Sorina's eyes daunted him more than any
beast he could imagine facing. He picked up his ceramic teacup
and sipped his tea, deliberately stalling for time.
Chapter 18 Not The Same
Little Girl
It was Tycon's obligation.
He needed to test the girl-- to understand where her strengths

lied.
Steeling his willpower, Tycon removed two thick ledgers from his
bag and placed them onto the table. Tycon's golden eyes flashed
a spark, meeting the ardent green-eyed gaze of the determined
Sorina Capulet.
The woman laughed coldly, seizing upon Tycon's show of

weakness. Her voice dripped with arrogance, "What are these,
little lordling?"
"These, Miss Capulet… are Zindo Tavor's accounts from the past
two fiscal periods."
Tycon pushed them gently forward. The young woman snatched

them from the table impatiently and began thumbing through the
pages, "Hm. Amateur work. But I can deal with at least this."
Tycon steeled his courage and slammed his hands on the table,
"The accounts! How would you present them?"
The woman merely raised an eyebrow at Tycon's violent demand.

Slowly, she leaned back, crossing one long leg seductively over
the other. Raising her delicate hand, she revealed three fingers.
"Three parts, Sir Tycon...
"The Balance Sheet: Guild Invictus' assets and liabilities. The

Income Statement: Our revenue and expenses. And The Coin
Flow Statement: The revenue and expenses from operation,
investment, and financing. These three financial reports together
at the very minimum will give clear financial understanding of the
Guild."
Tycon recoiled in shock at Sorina's clear and concise answer,

"This-- this…"
Seldin Korr blinked several times, glancing back and forth at the
two, "Excuse me. What's… what's going on?"
Tycon and Sorina looked over, realizing they had overdramatized

their interview. The two calmly retook their seats, sitting normally.
"Your answers were very good, Miss Capulet."
"Thank you, Sir Tycon."
"Now, Miss Capulet, you are aware that we are traveling to the
Icehorn Mountains."
"That's right, Sir."
"What would you pack in an adventuring kit? Both I and Miss Korr
will be judging your answer."
Seldin nodded, crossing her arms and waiting silently. Sorina

rested her head on her tiny fist, thinking seriously.
After some deliberation, her tiny voice squeaked, "Um... extra

undergarments?"
Tycon shared an incredulous look with Seldin.
"A book? A... walking stick?" Sorina added.
After about a dozen answers, Tycon raised his hand for the
Calculator to stop. Each answer suggested a vacation trip to a
trade city rather than a dangerous trek into unexplored wilds.
Seldin had already closed her eyes, distancing herself from the
world.
"Miss Capulet," Tycon massaged the bridge of his nose.
"Yes, Sir?" Sorina perked up, her fists clenched together in front of
her chest.
"I have found the difference between your financial expertise and
substandard adventuring knowledge to be... tragic, at best."
Sorina's face fell, "A-aww… But… what does Miss Seldin think?"
Seldin opened her one good eye, "Don't talk to me right now."
"O... oh."
Tycon sighed, "Miss Capulet, really. Is it your wish to go out and

adventure or would you rather stay in Nice and earn fat sacks of
coin?"
Sorina plopped her chin on the table, rolling her head cutely left
and right, "It's so difficult to make money, though... we'll need
capital, connections... I don't even know where House Charm--"
Tycon plopped a third book onto the table, "Baron's journal. Inside
is the combination-code to his safe. Contained within is a list of his
business contacts and the deeds to quite possibly all his
properties."
Sorina gripped the journal to her chest, "When will you be leaving,
Sir?"
Tycon glanced down at the table-- he hadn't seen when she had
taken the book.
...His perceptive abilities were very good. He was literally a snake.

How could... what?
Guard Captain Varen kicked the door open.
"Now wait JUST A MOMENT! MY LITTLE NIECE CAN'T HANDLE

THE RESPONSERBILLERTY!!"
Seldin looked over to Tycon. Tycon whispered, "Brain damage"
under his breath. Seldin nodded, pouting sadly.
Varen began to shout, tears formed shamelessly upon his cheeks,

"I've watched you grow up, you're still just a little girl! Tell the
Baron you're not ready!"
"Fufufufu," the young woman laughed as she arrogantly slammed

a small white rectangle on the table, leaving a finger pointed down
upon it. "Oh, Uncle Varen… I'm not the same little girl I was all
those years ago. You have no idea what you've done..."
"You're bluffing, girl! Just--" Finally, Guard Captain Varen felt that
something was wrong. He began to sweat, breathing heavily. His
knees began to buckle from the pressure, "W-wait, what's this?
What's happening?!"
"Uncle Varen," Sorina's taunting voice crescendoed to a fierce,

domineering shout. She flipped the white card on the table,
"You've ACTIVATED MY BUSINESS CARD!"
...
Tycon had taken Seldin by the hand and led her out of the room.
He closed the doors behind them as he breathed a sigh of relief.
The Calculator Class was terrifying, almost as terrifying as--
Tycon glanced over to Seldin Korr, the Berserk Knight. She was
absentmindedly staring at her fingers.
"Is everything alright, Miss Korr?" Tycon asked.
The woman continued to stare in a daze.
Tycon shrugged. He still had more paperwork to deal with,

examining servant and renewing servant contracts, and dealing
with Zindo's accounts. He chose to escape before he became
embroiled with something else troublesome.
...
The humans knocked loudly at the door to Tycon's room.
He grumbled to himself as he left the warmth and comfort of his

bed. It was the middle of the night, and just because someone
else couldn't sleep, didn't mean that he should be bothered.
"Baron Tycondrius? Are you awake?" Asked a muffled voice from

behind the wooden barrier.
Tycon opened the door, seeing over a dozen people huddled in

the hallway holding candles, including Bucket, Collette, and
Pascale. The representative they had elected to knock on the
door was... an especially-terrified Barza.
"By the gods, Barza Keith, what do you want?"
"C-can't you hear it, Sir?"
Tycon stared blankly at the man, pursing his lips. An anguished

wail resonated throughout the manor.
The servants, mostly female, huddled together, some of them

yelping in surprise-- Tycon and Bucket winced at the harsh noise.
"The ghosts of everyone the Baron had killed!" "No, it's the Tavor
ancestors-- they've grown angry!" the crowd murmured.
Bucket was trying his best to look brave. He held Barza's hand
and patted his arm, "It's okay, Mister Barza. Ghosts aren't real."
Some of the more cowardly servants began to calm down, hearing

the boy's bravery. Tycon decided not to correct him.
With a deep sigh, he said, "Fine, fine. Go back to your rooms, all
of you… I know how to deal with the issue."
The crowd breathed sighs of relief. "Oh, I knew Sir Tycon would
have a solution." "Oh, he's so dreamy." "I'm not actually afraid of
ghosts, I just wanted to see Sir Tycon in his nightgown."
Tycon judiciously buttoned up the front of his top.

The servants began to disperse, and even though Barza wanted
to leave, Bucket had resolutely held onto his hand.
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Is there something else, young man?"
"I... I want to help you, Sir... fight the ghost."
Tycon nodded in pleasant surprise. It seemed that the boy knew

that ghosts were real, but spoke aloud to allay the servants' fears.
The boy was more clever than he'd initially estimated.
"That's very noble of you, young man. However, I am confident

in... negotiating with your ghost. I will call upon you if necessary."
The boy tried to reply but failed to stifle a yawn. "Okay, Sir Tycon."
"Mister Barza."
"Y-yes, Boss?"
Tycon crossed his arms and stared in annoyance. He was fully

awake and unhappy about it, "Why didn't you offer to assist me?"
"I uh.. Err... I figured you had it, Sir Tycon? Boss? ...My lord?"
Tycon closed his eyes and sighed deeply.
"Go." Tycon waved them away, "Tuck the boy into bed."
"Ah… Alright, Boss. You can count on--"
"Juuuusst go," Tycon urged firmly.
Barza rushed off, carrying Bucket in a princess-carry. Tycon

looked down the dark western hallway. With the stars shining
through the windows, his eyes saw the hallways as clear as in the
day.
And so, with a reluctant heart, he began to walk towards the

source of the noise: Seldin Korr's bedroom.
Chapter 19 The Escalation
Approach
Tycon decided not to kick open the door.
'I'm not scared. I mean, why should I be?' He thought.
The green-haired youth struggled to take each step forward, as if

he were wading through physical dread. Slowly and carefully,
Tycon opened the door to Seldin Korr's room and peeked inside.
Dimly lit by the starlight spilling through a window, the young lady
sat alone on the floor of her room amongst strewn clothes,
blankets, and adventuring gear. The dark-haired woman had been
crying-- and was still crying, her anguished wail ghastly enough to
spawn ghost stories.
Tycon decided to try the 'Escalation' approach.
Tycon tried knocking.
The crying continued, the woman unaware.
He opened the door a bit more. "Excuse me, I couldn't help but--"
Nothing.
He stood inside the room and admired the woman's handiwork.

She had torn apart her footlocker, the drawers of two wardrobe
dressers, and flipped her mattress. Two larger packs of
adventuring gear and several smaller sacks had been emptied
and sorted through. A small pile of bricks had been collected in a
corner, having been pulled from the walls without the aid of tools.
One half of the room was neatly organized, various items stacked
and ordered.
One half of the room was neatly organized, its various contents
stacked and strictly ordered. The remaining half was a chaotic
mess and included a woman curled in on herself, sobbing
miserably into a pillow.
Tycon exited the room, gently closing the door. He took a deep
breath and relaxed his shoulders.
Then he kicked open the door.
"Wh-wha?"
The abrupt sound of the door bursting open startled the woman,
and she sat up in an instant. She clutched her pillow closer,
straining her eye in the darkness to see, "Wh-who's there?"
The distressed young woman looked up innocently with puffy red

eyes, tears sparkling at their corners. Her dark eyeliner ran
horrendously and stained her pillow grey and purple.
Tycon's anger immediately abated, seeing the pathetic sight. He

felt a pain in his chest, a feeling of pity in his heart. He imagined
the feeling was much like seeing a whining puppy.
Tycon knelt beside the woman and took her hand. He examined
its roughness, its calluses; it was a hand familiar with the grip of a
blade, with pulling bricks from wall, or strangling an adult of
average size and strength to death. It was the same hand he held
in escaping the pressure that was the Calculator, earlier in the
sun.
Tycon's golden gaze pierced into Seldin Korr's soul.
"Who hurt you?" Tycon whispered harshly. A shade of anger he

could not explain had affected his voice.
[Vexing Gaze conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]
« System, do not activate. Thank you. »
Seldin's eyes widened in realization, managing a surprised

whisper, "Lord Tycondrius..."
She weakly tried to pull her hand back, but Tycon held on.
The woman looked away, futilely wiping at her eyes messily with
her opposite sleeve. "Sir Tycon... This... this isn't appropriate."
Tycon looked down at her held hand. With her strength and her
Berserk Knight class, she could easily free herself from his grip,
had she wished. He took this as a good sign.
"Tell me..." Tycon urged.
The woman refused to meet Tycon's eyes.
Tycon sighed in his mind. He could only continue.
"You work for me, now. Your problems are my problems." Tycon
adopted a solemn look, cool and professional.
"It's... It's okay, Lord Tycon..." She half-mumbled. She placed a

short-nailed finger on a stone tile and began to draw circles.
Tycon raged in his heart. The woman was an Iron-Rank Berserk

Knight. With that rank and class combination, she could easily
tear heavy wooden doors off their hinges, wrench a man's arm out
of its socket, or bench-press Horse.
All that and she chose to sit on the floor-- preferring to wallow in
sadness.
Tycon took his free hand and gently lifted her chin to meet his
gaze. Tycon tried to channel his inner Tarquin Wroe. He wished
he could remember the foolish drivel that came out of his mouth
when he spoke to the opposite gender.
"Hey. Talk to me."
The damned Wroe made it look so easy. Had he been alone, he

would have pulled out his hair and banged his head against a
wall. He'd been thinking for what felt like ages and all he'd
managed was 4 words.
The woman pulled away.

Tycon's heart sunk. Had he failed? Had this mission all been for
naught? Had he been woken up for nothing? He was asleep! He
could have had a full night's rest in a comfortable bed! He had
sacrificed SO MUCH!
Seldin Korr's good eye peeked out amidst her bangs and she
nodded lightly.
Tycon felt warmth and contentedness in his heart.
This was the first step. He had to remain vigilant for the next.
Dealing with a woman was not a task he could handle carelessly.
Tycon knelt down, trying to find a comfortable spot to sit.
In a panicked tizzy, Seldin rushed over to one of her piles of junk.

She produced a pillow, dyed and shaped like a lettuce leaf, and
presented it to Tycon. The springy pillow provided exemplary
comfort and support, as he sat and crossed his legs.
"Now, would you please tell me what's bothering you, Miss Korr?"
Seldin Korr mumbled a response, hiding her entire face behind

her pillow.
"S-sorry, what was that?" Tycon leaned forward with eyes full of
hopeful confusion.
"...Change it."
Tycon was thoroughly confused, "I'm sorry? Change what, Miss

Korr?"
"No more 'Miss'..." she mumbled into her pillow.
Tycon sucked air through his teeth, "No honorific? So you're

uncomfortable with me calling you 'Miss'?"
Korr nodded her head rapidly like a chipmunk.
"I'll just call you Korr, then."

Korr puffed her cheeks in disagreement.
Tycon smirked, "That's all you're getting, for now, young lady. And
what will you call me?"
Korr's eyes brightened at the prospect, with a curious smile, she

whispered, "Leader?"
"Call me as you like... Seldin."
The bleary-makeup girl beamed at the mention of her name.
"Now, Miss-- err, no... Seldin, now will you tell me the issue?"
Tycon sat on his lettuce pillow and waited patiently. Minutes

passed as he watched the girl switch between staring curiously
and opening her mouth to talk. Her eyes again began to moisten,
when she decided to finally speak.
"L-leader... someone took Khloe."
Tycon narrowed his eyes. This story could be more complicated

than he'd initially thought, "Who is Khloe?"
"You can't laugh..." She whispered indignantly.
Tycon looked up from his pondering. Korr was staring at him with
serious, bloodshot, and deep crimson eyes. He felt a cold chill
down his snakey spine that he surmised had to have been a
Berserk Knight ability.
"I... promise I won't laugh."
"Khloe is... my stuffed cat doll."
Tycon shut his eyes and nodded as if he understood. Deep inside,

he was struck with a deeply set, bone-chilling truth.
Seven hells and eleven heavens... It was the doll.
"...And of what significance is this... doll?" Tycon asked, knowing

he would regret hearing the answer.
The quiet and usually reticent Seldin Korr became animated. In a
zany adventure of repeating herself, providing too much
information for minutiae, and having to backtrack to provide
information she had forgotten, Tycon eventually formed a tentative
gist of the story:
1. Khloe was a childhood friend.
2. Khloe shared her food with child-Seldin.
3. Khloe had cancer and had less than two arms and two legs (the
number fluctuated throughout the story.) Wild animals attacked
them. They were robbed by bandits. Khloe got pneumonia.
4. A promise was involved.
The woman didn't actually say that Khloe had died. Tycon refused
to risk Seldin's mood by asking. He listened to her tale patiently,
carefully observing the girl's mood, which eventually normalized.
As she finished, she paused for a moment.
"Leader… Have you heard rumors of… a ghost?"
Tycon lost his balance and nearly fell, "Whaaaat…? What's this
about a ghost?"
"Colette came by earlier… The servants were saying there's a

ghost in the manor…"
Tycon crossed his arms, placing a concerned fist over his mouth.
'The ghost is you, woman,' he thought. But Tycon gained a stroke
of inspiration.
"Korr… I might be able to track down your… Khloe."
She turned to Tycon with sparkling, expectant eyes, "Leader, can

you?"
Tycon nodded gravely.

"Are we going to the dungeons to defeat the ghost so you can use
the remnants of its malevolent spirit to travel to the spirit plane so
we can release Khloe from her ectoplasmic prison?"
Tycon was stunned momentarily. He had just heard the stupidest

conclusion anyone's ever made in his presence.
He nodded. "I'm glad we're on the same page. Let's move."

Chapter 20 Sorina’s Night Visit
he two trekked down into the dungeons, their way lit by a

T
bedroom oil lamp. (It was for Korr's comfort. He could see, just
fine.)
The pair reached the entrance of the ritual room and balked at the
disorder. It was littered with debris, shards of wood, scraps of
metal, all from broken and shattered torture equipment.
"This is horrible," Korr gripped Tycon's hand tighter... "A vengeful

spirit lurks here."
He averted his gaze so the woman wouldn't catch him rolling his
eyes.
The mess was from when Wroe had to make a deal with an
otherworldly and utilize inhuman strength to break out of the
barricades Tycon had set for him.
Hmm.
In order to lead this woman to her doll, Tycon had to pretend to

focus to track a ghost that didn't exist.
"Look, Leader! The ghost does exist!" Korr yelled, pointing

excitedly.
Tycon slowly turned his head, his jaw hanging slightly open,
"Ehhh?"
The slightly transparent shade of a tortured victim crawled on the

floor towards them. Wisps of dark smoke hazily drifted from its
spectral form, as its too-long limbs-- twisted and broken, dragged
its body forward.
Tycon stood in front of Korr, his back straight. He cursed his lack
of preparation. The pair of adventurers had neglected to bring any
weapons, much less any tools effective against ghosts-- no spirit
powders or holy water or spell wands or blessed beads.
His mind spun its gears as fast as it could, his head growing hot,
trying to find an effective plan. He'd be able to use Vexing Gaze--
even though that would give himself away as a non-human. He
was willing to take the risk of trusting Korr, as long as they could
survive this. He'd have her withdraw first, with him following
behind.... If Wroe successfully made his Warlock pact, his magic
would be--
"GIVE ME BACK KHLOE!!" Korr gave off a shrill battle cry as she
rushed forward.
The walls shook with her rage as the woman grabbed the specter
by its neck, and began to punch its ghostly face.
Tycon watched the woman strike the ghost nearly a dozen times
before his brain finally registered the situation. "Oh."
"STUPID! GHOST! GIVE! BACK! MY! KHLOE! GIVE! HER!

BACK!!! GIIIIIVVE!! HEEEERRRR! BAAAAACK!!!"
The ghost looked somewhat familiar-- Tycon tried to recall where

exactly he'd seen it. The lounge with the portraits? One of the
Tavor ancestors, then... It had no mouth and it tried to scream. As
it took more and more damage from Korr's attacks, it could only
suffer in silence.
Seeing that she wouldn't be finished anytime soon, Tycon placed

Korr's lettuce pillow on the dungeon stone and sat down, waiting
patiently.
After Korr defeated the ghostly 'kidnapper', Tycon informed her he

had sensed Khloe's location. To lend further credibility to his
charade, he extinguished the oil lamp and led Korr back to the
main hall using his night vision. Wandering in a zigzag pattern, he
finally stopped in front of one of the doors.
"I sense... something here," Tycon said mysteriously.
"Oh, no, Leader... This is Mister Keith's room," Korr shook Tycon's
arm.
"Wh-what? Barza's room!" Tycon spoke with forced surprise as he

widened his eyes-- all while checking Korr's reaction.
"Oh, no! What do we do?" Korr had believed the act in its entirety.
Tycon inwardly rejoiced.
Tycon took hold of Korr's arms, "The kidnapping ghost may have
possessed Mister Barza. We must tread carefully, Korr..."
"I'll... I'll fight the ghost, Leader," she spoke shyly, but she was
confident of her fighting abilities.
Tycon pursed his lips, wishing that this woman could provide a
solution that was not bone-breaking violence, "No, Korr. The
mission is to secure Khloe's safety."
Korr's eyeliner stained eyes widened in shock, then she lowered

her head in shame, "You're right, Leader..."
"I'm always right. Never question me again."
Tycon quietly opened the door. Barza was asleep, his loud snoring
was like an elephant-sized devil-bear gargling rocks and dirt.
"It's horrible, Leader. Mister Keith is fighting for control over his
body from a terrible existence," Korr said anxiously.
Tycon furrowed his brows. The woman had somehow managed to

accurately but horrifyingly describe the man's snoring, "Y-yes. But
have faith, Korr. The men and women of Invictus will not fall so
easily to evil. Now quickly, we must search for Khloe while the
ghost is occupied."
Frantically, Korr scanned the room, soon spotting Khloe among
Barza's belongings. Sneaking hurriedly, she grabbed the doll and
embraced it in tearful success.
But the snoring stopped. The room fell into an unsettling calm as
Barza's snoring inexplicably calmed to the level of deep, wheezing
breaths.
Korr placed Khloe into Tycon's hands but did not exit the room.
Tycon tucked the plush cat doll beneath an arm, "Korr... We've
succeeded... We must away. Why do you hesitate?"
Korr shook her head, "I can't leave him like this, Leader."
Tycon grit his teeth and pulled a breath of air, his eyes wide. His
voice took on a hint of panic, rising in pitch, "And why not?"
Korr gave a gentle smile, "I'm part of Guild Invictus now..."
What did that have to do with... anything?
Korr took a step backward-- a step towards Barza's sleeping form,

"The ghost has fully possessed Mister Keith. He has failed."
Tycon put a hand forward, trying to find the words to stop her, "No,
Korr... It's too late."
The woman raised her hand, forming a fist, and she stared at it in
contemplation, "I'm not good with words, Leader. And with just my
strength, I haven't been able to save anyone-- even the people I
truly cared about."
She blinked the tears out of her eyes, averting her gaze, "I...
worked for years... for a man I didn't respect... because after
Leader died... I mean, after my previous Leader died... I didn't
think anyone in this world had use for me any longer."
She looked up with a pained smile, enchanting sparkles forming at

the corners of her eyes, "But now... right now... I can save
someone with my fists."
"You don't have to do this," Tycon pleaded. "Korr... Please."
The woman shut her eyes and shook her head, tears falling down
her face. "Regardless of the danger I face, Leader... I'm going to
punch Mister Keith in the face until the ghost is destroyed."
Sweat poured down Tycon's face...
'I'm sorry, Barza,' He cried in his heart.
Tycon half-turned away from Korr with a regretful expression...

"Do what you must."
Tycon shut the door behind him, sighing wistfully. 'I tried, Barza.
Truly, my friend. I tried.'
"Oh, Sir Tycon--"
"Huh?" Tycon glanced up in surprise.
A slim woman in her nightgown walked the halls. If Tycon hadn't

recently seen a ghost's spectral form only recently, he would have
thought that Sorina Capulet was an ethereal spirit, herself.
"Oh, Miss Capulet. You're..."
Sorina crossed her arms, shivering in the cold. Tycon could clearly
see dark lace undergarments underneath her sheer nightgown,
her efforts clear towards looking seductive. Tycon glanced over
his shoulder at the door behind him, inducing a conclusion. He
raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Invictus was about to go into the field. The Capulet-girl was trying
to meet with her lover. It's a shame that the situation is... wrong.
"Um... Sir Tycon... Why are you standing in front of Mister Barza's
room?"
Tycon sighed. This wouldn't end well, "Go back, young lady. You'll
catch cold."
Sorina wrung her hands, then began tapping her two forefingers
together, "I-I can wait, Sir Tycon. I have something I needed to
discuss with Mister Barza..."
Sorina approached the door without fear as Tycon sighed in

regretful acceptance.
Once close enough, Sorina halted her steps, her eyes wide in
shock.
Muffled through the door, she heard the sounds of bone striking
flesh. The bed creaked under the weighty strikes of an Iron-
ranked Berserk Knight falling upon Barza's unarmored face. Barza
cried, likely sniveling snot and tears as he screamed.
"Stop, Miss Se--arrgh! Please! It hurts! It hurts!"
"Endure it, Barza! You'll feel better after the release!"
Sorina's paled as white as paper, as all the blood drained from her
face. Tears began to form at her eyes and her mouth began to
quiver. "Sir Tycon... Mister Barza is... with another woman?"
"I give you my word that he will regret it," Tycon frowned, shaking
his head. "I... I tried to protect you, Miss Capulet."
The young woman sniffled and bowed deeply in respect. "I... I

know, Sir... I know... thank you, Sir."
Tycon raised a hand and... awkwardly patted her on the shoulder.

Pat pat, "There, there."
"Th-thank you, Sir... I... I need to go." Sorina turned and ran off,
back towards her room.
Tycon gave a sigh of relief. Korr's screaming Berserk Knight voice

wasn't recognizable at all-- and less so, muffled by the heavy
wooden door. Sorina didn't need to know that it was Korr who was
in the room, giving Barza the pounding he'd never forget.
Several... painful minutes later, Seldin Korr emerged from the

room, her fists dripping with a thick layer of blood.
"It is done, Leader. The ghost has released its hold on Mister
Barza."
Detached professionalism had returned to Korr's voice. Tycon was

pleased.
"Get some rest. I'll have you help packing our supplies in the
morning."
"Yes, Leader."
Raising a bloody palm to her chest, Korr gave a salute... as well

as a hint of a smile.
Chapter 21 Mosswood
Training
ycon drew the sword from its sheath and held it up to the sun. It
T
was a simple blade, unassuming-- no spikes or serrations or
nonsensical blade widenings. A single S was carved in the metal
near its hilt. And it felt a ponze heavier than a longsword should--
or least that's what Tycon felt.
"Six… seven… Eh… Hey, Boss! What's after seven?!" Dragan

yelled from a distance. Next to him, a shirtless Bucket was
hanging from a tree branch four yalms up. A fall from that distance
could seriously injure the boy, though Dragan showed no sign of
worry. If anything, Tycon was more worried about Dragan's
confusion at the horrifying prospect of arithmetic.
"M-mister Dragan! Eight! Eight is after seven!"
"Oh! Right. You're at seven pull-ups. Do one more and that'll be

eight."
"B-but Mister Dragan!"
"Huh. Did you say something, Bucket? Because I thought I heard

you say six."
Bucket let out a panicked yelp before continuing his struggle in

silence, finishing another set of pull-ups. It had been three weeks
since they left Nice, three weeks since they left Sorina Capulet in
charge of the Tavor estate, and three weeks since hellish training
began for Barza Keith and the young Bucket.
Tycon placed the sword back in its sheath. He had appropriated

the magic longsword from Seldin Korr when they were still
enemies and thus had felt no obligation to return it. Of the things
she'd lost, she was far more concerned for her fat cat-doll, Khloe,
than any missing sword. It was likely that she had no idea of its
properties... Anyroad, with her class, she would perform better
with a heavy two-handed weapon than a single longsword. Tycon
was doing her a favor.
« System, identify. »
[Shatterspike. Second-Circle Magical Longsword. Deals increased

damage to weapons and objects. Soul bind possible. Soul bind?
Y/N?]
« Negative. »
Tycon placed the sword with the rest of the dried rations and
adventuring supplies. The sword would prove useful someday,
though Tycon preferred his lighter short sword and the bladed
whip he carried. He had finished checking everything--
recalculating the amount of time Invictus could spend in the
Mosswood Wilds before needing to resupply, reaffirming the
quality of everyone's weapons and armors, counting ammunition.
It was boring but necessary work.
Tycon breathed in the cool winter air. He needed to ensure the

training was effective. He told Sorina they'd be at Port City
Caractere by winter. What he didn't tell her is that the scroll he had
in his bag was a magical contract for a quest to be completed in
Merylsward, a major city between Nice and Caractere. As Sorina
had previously spotted the scroll and the royal seal, she hadn't
asked any questions about it, since. Tycon would share the
quest's details to his companions once they were closer, but for
now, it was kept on a need-to-know-basis.
Tycon checked his pocket watch-- one of the few frivolities he

purchased in Nice. It was time.
Tycon picked up a short spear from the pile. Its wooden haft was
heavy, solid. Its blade was reinforced with metal and its pommel
had a wicked spike at its end. Though Invictus would train the boy
in all manners of weaponry and skills, Tycon decided that he
would focus primarily on the spear to make up for his reach and
height disadvantage.
"Dragan! Time!"
"You got it, Boss!"
Dragan grabbed Bucket's waist and placed him onto the ground.
Tycon took both hands and put his strength into spinning the
spear at the boy. Running towards the spear, the boy snatched it
out of the air-- a feat he probably wouldn't have imagined himself
doing three weeks prior. "Thank you, Sir Tycon!"
The boy could catch a spear but not a pouch of coin. Ridiculous.
Dragan placed a heavy log onto Bucket's back. Tycon and he had
nailed a beast's hide to it, so the boy could carry it around without
fear of splinters.
"M... mister Dragan?"
"Yeeeap?"
"Is this… a lighter log than--?"
Dragan laughed as he scratched his head, ruffling his fiery red

hair in the process.
"You got me, Bucket! Ahaha!"
"Sir Tycon will be mad if you keep losing the log, Mister Dragan..."
the boy scolded.
"Ahhh, it'll be fine. I'll tell him we chucked it at Barza," Dragan

assured him.
"So I'll do one lap around the full course?" Bucket asked.
Tycon was walking over to the two, "Short lap, Bucket. Head to
the waterfall and bring Mister Wroe back to camp. Dragan and I
will fetch Mister Barza. The faster you go, the sooner we can
prepare lunch."
"Yes, Sir!"
The shirtless boy with pointed ears ran off, bounding over rocks
and brush. Dragan and Tycon watched in silence until the boy was
out of earshot. Dragan's arms were crossed and he looked
uncertain.
"The boy's gotten used to the second log. Should we get a heavier
one?"
Tycon shook his head, "That's good for now. The log's twice as
heavy as my armor, much less than what he'll be wearing. We'll
either need to introduce obstacles or make him increase his
speed if we want to increase his efficiency…"
"Agility training, then."
"Agility training. Let's go recover Barza."
...
Bucket leaped over the brush, ran past a tree, and tilted his body
to adjust for the log's weight and his running direction. He had
quickly learned to identify bushes he did not want to jump over,
bushes with thorns or spines or itchy leaves--
Ergh. Boss Tycon always insisted on cleaning scratches out with

soap and water-- he complained about it, but Boss just yelled and
told him if he didn't, the wound would get red and leak yellow pus
and he'd get sick.
Bucket smacked a nearby tree with his spear, making a hollow

sound. It was one of the Striking Trees in his full route. When he
struck the hollow trees, Boss Tycon would know where he was.
He told him it was 'so you could stay honest,' but Bucket didn't
quite understand what that meant.
Mister Dragan said that no one would mourn him if he died, but he
know his dad would be sad. He told him so.
Bucket remembered that when he said that, everyone became

very quiet-- as if he had said something that he wasn't supposed
to. He was about to apologize, but then they started to throw hard
fruit at him.
All of Mister Dragan's throws were really fast. Boss Tycon's throws
would hit him the most-- they'd come when he wasn't expecting it,
like right-behind one of Mister Dragan's fruits or bouncing a fruit
off of a tree to hit him in the face. And Mister Wroe's throws... He
didn't know why the fruits Mister Wroe threw all seemed to look at
him. And sometimes they followed his movement?
After Tycon discovered the magical hard fruit, he beat Wroe with a
switch he got from a tree. Then he gave Bucket permission to use
his spear to block and deflect Wroe's throws.
Bucket missed his dad. It had almost reached his nameday again,
since he'd been gone... But he was definitely out there, training as
hard as he was.
...He wondered how his dad would throw fruit.
Bucket dashed towards the mossy rock near the waterfall, using
the momentum to slide forward and up a natural rocky ramp. He
kept grip of his spear, and pushed his log away as he slid off of
the cliff. He laughed, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness... and
soon, he and his log crashed into the small pond, splashing water
all around.
Bucket swam towards the log to grab it, then surfaced towards
land. Emerging slowly, Bucket scanned his surroundings,
searching for Tarquin Wroe.
Chapter 22 Devilbeast
A nearby bush had rustled without provocation.
Movement!
Bucket pointed his spear towards the bush.
"I found you, Mister Wroe! Come out! It's break time!"
A confused boar piglet emerged from the bush. Seeing the spear,
it oinked out in panic.
"(What have I done? I'm so sorry!)"
Bucket lowered his weapon in apology.
"I'm sorry, Mister Pig. I was looking for my friend, Mister--"
SPLASH!
Unfortunately for Bucket, a ball of water struck him on the side of

the head and knocked him off balance. In his moment caught
unaware, he dropped the log. Bucket yelled out in frustration,
looking all around him.
"Bawwww! You made me drop it, Mister Wroe! Where are you?!"
"Over here."
Hearing the voice, Bucket looked up. Tarquin Wroe was lying in a
hammock hanging from a thick tree branch. The tall blue-haired
adult waved one hand while concentrating on a small, black
rectangular stone in his other hand. He called it an Allagan
Tomestone.
It had games on it that Bucket liked to play sometimes.
But if Mister Wroe was above him... It meant that he didn't see him
drop the log. It was a chance! Bucket picked up the log.
A slimy tentacled monster emerged from the water, five times

Bucket's size.
Bucket dropped the log. Mister Wroe was above him. He wasn't
the one that threw the waterball.
The thing crawled onto land, eight slick and gooey-looking arms
lashing out at him. While Bucket was trying to think of a way to
fight it, one of its arms wrapped tightly around his leg; it felt like
sharp nails were pressing against his skin. Yelling out, Bucket
slashed at the tentacle with his spear.
A slash, a stab, and a cut managed to free him from the devilish
creature's grasp. He had to get away. He ran two steps and
jumped, using his spear to vault him to higher ground. Using his
new vantage point, he scanned the area. The 8-armed creature
was huge, purplish and spotted, and was very intent on pursuing
him. Bucket's eyes wandered as he also found a Summoning
Circle scrawled into the sand, closer to where Mister Wroe was.
"Mister Wroe! You SUMMONED A MONSTER!!"
Wroe rocked the hammock lazily, still staring at the Allagan

Tomestone, "Eh. It's probably fine."
"What's probably fine, Mister Wroe?! It looks really mad!!" Bucket

jumped forward, rolling away and breaking out into a run. He had
to make distance between him and the devilbeast so he could
come up with a plan.
SPLASH!
The back of Bucket's head was struck with another waterball.

Bucket growled in frustration, sucking up the pain, as he started to
run in a zigzag pattern. More waterballs smashed into the nearby
trees, breaking branches and terrifying the local wildlife.
Soon Bucket was running forward alongside panicked deer,
rabbits, and a very terrified, very confused piglet. Behind them,
the devilbeast's massive crawling tentacles, trampled the forest
undergrowth and cracked apart the trees in its way.
Bucket and his woodland friends began to run faster. Bucket

grabbed a low branch, swinging up onto a tree, abandoning his
forest-dwelling running companions.
"Leave them alone! It's me you want!"
The devilbeast's arms raced forward towards Bucket, decimating

the branches and vines in its way. Bucket breathed in deep,
before letting out the strongest, scariest warcry he could, slashing
and stabbing at the creature's arms. With a grunt, Bucket rotated
his entire body into a spear slash, cutting off a big chunk of
tentacle.
"GRAAAARRRWRRGHHHH!!"
"Take that, monster!" Bucket declared arrogantly.
Another four tentacles rocketed towards him. He abandoned the

tree, a lot less arrogant than a few seconds earlier, "Sorry! I'm-
sorry! I'm-sorry!"
The creature had arms with painful grips-- so it could definitely

climb, too. There were so many arms that he'd be at a
disadvantage if he were to stand and fight it.
He needed an advantage.
Bucket landed on the ground, painfully, rolling with the

momentum. He gasped as he thought of an idea-- at the same
time ducking to dodge another waterball. Excited by the thought,
Bucket sprinted back zig-zaggedly towards the water.
...
Wroe was concentrating on his Tomestone. In it contained a

veritable wealth of knowledge: forbidden lore, rituals with varying
difficulties of complexity, but most importantly, blade techniques--
the mysterious and rare mana-activated techniques more
commonly known as Skills.
Much of it came naturally to him. He was naturally curious about

the darker sides of the world, so he retained the knowledge he
gleaned from the Tomestone much like a dry sponge to water.
He didn't have to meditate to try to focus his mana. He simply

prayed. He willed his love for his goddess and her pale, gently
guiding hand guided the mana through his body-- or whatever
black ink entropy she willed through him. The pain, too, was a
form of worship.
He no longer had to exercise. He devoted his body towards praise

of her name. Every drip of sweat from his brow, every rushing
droplet of blood, the mass of flesh he called his body heaved and
strained-- its whole existence was hers.
His mind changed, knowing too much, but capable of learning of

the cosmos, of the rise and fall of entire civilizations, of the names
of gods long dead, and the whispers of their inevitable return.
His very physique changed. He had promised her his heart. And
where it once beat-- he doubted that part of him could still be
called human.
He was a tool for her glorious will, to serve and worship

throughout time everlasting.
He was in love.
Wroe looked away from his Tomestone, glancing down to see a

pair of trees collapse as his summoned creature chased after the
boy. He shrugged.
"S'probably fine."
...
Bucket remembered seeing a big tree leaning towards the water's
edge. After witnessing the devilbeast's capacity for destruction, he
hatched a plan to lead the creature there and trick it into
smooshing itself.
As he ran, he picked up smooth rocks near the water's edge,

throwing them when he could.
"Follow me, you big stupid!"
"GRAOHHHHHHH!"
Dashing away from the monster's roar, Bucket reached the base
of the tree. It was huge, and its weight would definitely pin the
devilbeast in place if his plan worked. Bucket took his place in
front of it-- he didn't have to wait long.
The devilbeast was barreling through the brush and sand, furious
from the rocks and the taunts. Bucket finally got a good look at it.
Its body was a grey-purplish blob with bumps all along its skin. Its
head was swollen with fluid and its dark pupils were an evil-
looking wiggly shape. Its long tentacles were as thick as Bucket's
waist, with their tips as thick as his arms.
"Come at me, I'm not scared of you!"
Bucket was a little scared. But he figured his dad wouldn't be

scared at all. Boss would say something like, 'it's fine to be
scared, as long as you win," but he didn't want the monster to
know he was scared.
He hoped that was okay.
Massive tentacles whipped down at him, each with enough force

to smash him into pulp. He sidestepped a tentacle, dashed
forward and stabbed at the creature's main body. The spear point
sank into the creature's soft, springy flesh, a stinking viscous fluid
spurting out. The beast's tentacles had damaged the tree's
exposed roots and made it creak forward, threatening to fall.
Bucket needed to move quickly-- one more hit and the tree would
fall and crush him along with the monster.
The creature roared loudly in pain, forcing Bucket to hold onto his
ears. One of its tentacles latched onto one of his arms. Bucket
yelped, it hurt soooo much, but he refused to drop his spear. If he
dropped his spear, he would lose.
He reached for the knife on his back and began to hack away at
the grey-purple meat. Recoiling in sudden pain, the devilbeast
released him.
"Yes, here's my chance!"
As he charged forward, one more angry tentacle lashed out at

Bucket. He ducked and slid, watching it smash into the tree's
base. The massive tree began to fall.
Tentacles lunged forward, entrapping both of Bucket's legs and his

spear arm.
"No! No!! Let go of me! I don't wanna die too!"
Bucket began to panic. His eyes grew hot and his heart began to
beat crazily inside of his chest. He kicked and struggled, even as
the tilted tree roared and cracked from its own weight. If he
couldn't escape, he'd die. And if he died, he'd fail.
And if he failed, he'd never see his dad again.
He couldn't give up. But as he thought of his dad, he found words,

buried deep in his mind-- words that didn't make sense to him, but
words that he somehow knew he needed. He yelled them as loud
as he could.
"MAGNUM… BREAAAAK!!"
Heat burned through his arms and legs. It felt like his heart was on
fire. He opened his eyes and fire actually was all around him, a
blazing flash of red and gold.
"GRAHHHHHZZRRZZZAAAAAAAHH," The devilbeast's tentacles

that were grabbing him sizzled as it screamed in pain.
Bucket swung his dagger again, and three swift cuts later, he
rolled out of the way of the groaning and crashing tree. Sand and
stones flew up as the creature was crushed underneath. It
squirmed and struggled, but the gross liquid just continued to
bleed out, the creature must have been pierced through, more
than it was pinned. Its arms tried to grip on the massive tree and it
tried to push it off.
Bucket stabbed it in its eye. Its what Boss Tycon would do.
'Take away all their hopes and dreams,' he'd say.
He drove the spear as deep into the creature's body as he could,

then he ran off-- his trusty log was nearby. He grabbed it and used
it to hammer his spear deeper into the creature's eye. Several
moments later, the creature stopped moving. It started to become
see-through, crumbling away into fat clumps of magic dust.
Bucket breathed a sigh of relief as he tossed the fluid-covered log

onto the sand. He sat down on his comfy leather-covered log and
drank some water. He wasn't incredibly sure what happened, but
thanks to that Magnum Break thing he did, he was barely able to
get away from the tentacle monster in time.
A heavy splash kersplunked into the water behind him, so Bucket

swiveled around on his seat to look. Wroe rose up out of the
water's surface, water dripping down his blue hair and naked,
muscular chest. Eventually, he stood magically upon the water.
"Hoho, you've done a little bit better, this time."
"Yeah, but I still dropped the log… I lost."
Bucket groaned, looking dejected.
"Not quite. Boss said you get half-points for holding onto your
weapon. And you get bonus points for surviving against the
monster."
"But I beat the monster!"

Wroe snickered.
"The summoned monster was on a time limit and the time ran out
just now. Wherever it is, it should have turned entirely into mana
dust by now."
"Oh, okay," Bucket nodded. He had seen the creature start turning
into magic dust after he killed it. It made sense.
"You just have to wait to see if Mister Barza can pass his test,"
Wroe warned.
Bucket shot up, grinning wildly.
"That's right! Mister Barza will be able to pass, for sure! Let's go
back so we can eat, Mister Wroe!"
Wroe returned the grin and in a puff of watery smoke, he

disappeared and reappeared beside Bucket, placing the boy's log
back onto the shirtless boy's shoulders
"Shall we have a friendly race, Bucket?"
"You're on, Mister Wroe!"

Chapter 23 Barza Of The Twin
Blades
Three weeks prior, Tycon had ordered Barza Keith to shave.
Without his lustrous and majestic facial hair, the cold winds
penetrated his face all the more keenly. A merciless gale blew
cuttingly against the rocky cliff face, not enough to threaten his
life, but easily enough to make him question the wisdom of joining
Invictus. He willed himself to move, to keep moving, to keep the
blood flowing in his hands and fingers...
When he was first introduced to the cliff, it seemed easy with its
plentiful rocky footholds.
He did not account for the cold. Or the fact that his only protection
from it was a simple linen tunic.
He did not account for the fact that he was wasn't allowed a safety
rope… or climbing gear… or even gloves, only relying on using
his bare hands to climb.
He did not consider that on the first sun of training, his hands
would bleed upon the sharp rocks. Nor did he realize that
sometimes, the rocks would break. And that if he fell, he would
break his body upon the jagged stones below. Death would not
offer a soft cushion, but instead, a cruel mangling of his bones
and the cracking of his skull, allowing the beasts and scavengers
to prey upon his delicious insides.
And when he reached the top… For some reason, there would
always be someone waiting. By then, his hands would hurt. His
endurance and willpower would be drained to near nonexistent.
But they'd offer no congratulations, no words of encouragement.
Instead, they'd throw a sword at his feet and tell him to pick it up.
Tarquin Wroe would attack with tricky movements and feints.

Sometimes what he said was confusing, but he was always
smiling, always good-natured. His swordplay was skillful and he
knew how to use strength at the right moments. But sometimes,
the man would disappear-- moving too fast or somehow disrupting
his vision or… perhaps a dark sort of magic. Adapting to Wroe's
supernatural attacks was difficult for Barza, but he was confident
that he'd learn with practice. Barza didn't mind fighting Mister
Wroe.
Mister Dragan moved much faster than his size would suggest.
His voice offered friendship, but his words were full of poison,
cruel and nonsensical insults, strings of curse words in foreign
tongues. Dragan's words, Barza learned to ignore-- they were
whetstones that he used to sharpen his focus to a deadly edge.
The giant man's sword movements were oppressive, strong,
sweeping. Barza had to focus to meet or fully dodge the heavy
strikes-- counterattacking was a dream. Both of Barza's arms
would ache from Dragan's heavy sword, and when he was caught
off balance, he'd fall and tumble, scraping his skin. Barza hated to
admit it, but he learned more from Dragan's sword than Wroe's.
Barza had finally reached the top of the cliff face. Searching for
victory, he threw a callused hand up to grasp at its edge... but
instead of sharp stone, he felt a hand grasping his wrist.
Confused, he grabbed hold, and was subsequently lifted up by a
green-haired youth.
"Sir Tycon…"
"You're on time."
Tycon pulled Barza onto secure, flat ground before handing him a
waterskin.
"Oh, thank you."
"Nn," Tycon only grunted in response.

Barza drank small sips of water, recovering slowly. He noted that
Tycon also had sweat running down his brow. Nearby, the red-
headed half-giant Dragan waved a pair of sheathed swords. The
two had eschewed armor, instead adopting lighter clothing, easier
to sweat in. It appeared to Barza that the two ran over. Boss
Tycon's endurance was lower than Dragan and Tarquin's, and
Barza took a tiny bit of relief that the Mosswood Wilds training was
for everyone, not just him and Bucket.
"You know what happens next, right?" Tycon's asked in a stern

voice.
He was always a harsh teacher. But he was logical, sensible.

Barza couldn't help but give the entirety of his attention to the
noble's words. Barza glanced at the weapons-- Tycon and Dragan
both carried their personals, a thinblade and a greataxe that was
heavier than it made sense to be. And Dragan carried two familiar
sheathed swords.
Barza smirked at with confidence, "Yeah. I've been thinking for

some two hours about how to get back at this bastard."
Barza was excited. He had realized that even though Dragan's

offense was difficult to handle, his accurate swings were primarily
fast, low risk attacks that made it easier for him to defend. In light
of the man's size and bulk, he was a defensive fighter. Barza
decided to risk a more offensive strategy, risking injury in order to
force Dragan into a harder defense. He'd be able to control the
duel instead of being forced to match Dragan's pace.
Barza raised an arm up, palm open towards the big man. Dragan
grinned like a feral beast, unsheathed a sword, and spun it at
breakneck speed towards Barza.
PAH.
Barza caught the sword by its leather grip, spinning and

flourishing the blade in front of Tycon. It was pretty bad-
ass, "Boss, with your permission, I'll show you the results of my
training."
Tycon did not respond, only granting him a suspicious glance,
before his eyes flicked again towards Dragan.
Towards Dragan?
Out of the corner of his eye, Barza saw something else hurtling
towards him. Half-turning his body, he realized a second sword
was spinning towards him at a curve. Focusing his concentration,
Barza reached towards the second sword.
PAH.
Barza caught the sword firmly with his offhand. Holding both
swords was a comforting feeling. His attack strings were far safer
when he could continually attack. He would get tired faster
swinging two blades, but his endurance had improved
tremendously with his training regimen.
But it felt odd to him. Barza looked to Dragan with confusion. Was
Dragan going to use his greataxe? Barza couldn't use the same
risky strategy he'd thought of earlier against a heavier blade. Even
a glancing blow from Dragan's heavy greataxe would have severe
effects on his stamina and fighting ability.
In the distance, Dragan crossed his arms, his shite-eating grin

never leaving his face. Barza felt his heart shake.
Something was wrong. He could feel it. But his mind couldn't
calculate the possibilities fast enough.
A great force battered his body, throwing him forward and onto the
hard ground. Sharp pain, like being stabbed with a blunt knife,
radiated from a spot on his lower back, paralyzing him as cold
shock spread through his entire body. In moments, the shock
localized to his left side-- but even the blood flowing through his
veins felt painful.
In a panic, Barza ignored the pain and scrambled away,

desperately resisting the urge to scream or vomit or defecate
himself in the extremities of his agony. Tycon had struck him with
the pommel of his sheathed sword. Without so much as a smile,
the young noble slowly drew the blade and began walking
towards.
As fear and realization began to grip at Barza, he heard Dragan's

unforgiving laugh from only a few yalms away, "Ahhhahaha!
Whoops! You'd better get up, my dude."
"By the gods! Grk…" Barza rubbed his back where he was struck,
"This-- wasn't part-- of the deal! Dragan?! Why is Boss--"
Dragan gave an exaggerated shrug, "Maybe he wanted to see the

results of your training?"
Tycon was walking forward, the tip of his sword drawing a line on
the ground. For a moment, Barza forgot the pain. He forgot his
thirst, his hunger, his regrets, and even his unrequited love for
Sorina. Everything in Barza's mind and body screamed for him to
get away... to run as fast as he could from this place and never
return.
He knew only fear.
All of Barza's instincts pleaded for survival. All of his senses were
honed to the sharpest edge of human limits. And so, even as
Tycon spoke the barest of whispers, every syllable was a
resounding crash in his eardrums.
"Iron Dragon Rend"

Chapter 24 Iron Dragon Rend
arza stared at the destruction. The earth had been rent in two
B
where he had stood only seconds prior. Dust and sand swirled in
the air and a light rain of pebbles peppered Barza's face from the
attack's aftermath.
"Th-there's no way I can survive fighting Boss!"
Shocked, Barza stood up, his swords at the ready. He glared at

the voice's owner, Dragan, who was crouching atop a nearby
boulder. Dragan grinned sheepishly, like a guilty thief finally
caught, "Oh, come on, man. That was preeeetty funny!"
"I nearly died!"
Dragan pointed a meaty, mocking finger while revealing his

insufferable smile, "But'cha didn't!"
A figure rushed through the dust clouds, and Barza's body reacted
before he figured out what was going on. Crossing his blades
defensively, he blocked a powerful downward slash. Seeing
Tycon's serious face, Barza finally cracked a smile. He could take
Tarquin Wroe's sneak attacks and he could somewhat handle
Dragan's heavy and precise blows. Barza felt as long as he could
dodge the Boss' abilities, he'd pass.
Maybe Boss was being nice? Maybe he wasn't actually trying to

kill him?
Not a second passed by when Barza realized something was

wrong. He glanced down and to the side, realizing instantaneously
that Tycon had landed a sharp mid-air kick to his left side-- the
same side he'd attacked earlier.
It hurt. It hurt a lot. Barza wanted to curl up on the ground and
shut his eyes, but... he might literally die if he did that. Looking up
again, Tycon had lifted up the sword again to strike him down.
Barza lifted up a sword to block, his opposite sword guarding his
vulnerable side.
Barza saw white, and then the brightness of the blue sky. He had
been punched in the face. He fell to the ground.
"Gah! Hahaha! Hahaha! Oh, man!" Dragan's laughter pounded in

Barza's ears as he lied on the ground. He was defeated. And
soundly. Barza deeply felt the sense of loss-- of having improved
so much, but not enough. He grew arrogant. That was why he
lost.
"Haaah. Oh man! Barza! Dude, get up! You're gonna die!" Dragan
yelled.
Barza swung a sword up-- relying on pure instinct, deflecting a

downward stab aimed at his chest. Quickly, he rolled backwards
and got to his feet. Barza's legs shook and his heart was pumping
out of his chest. His side ached dully, but the adrenaline coursing
through his veins had refused him the full sensation of the
otherwise crippling pain.
"What… What was that…" Barza gasped. That attack was aimed
at his heart.
"No sssafety rope, Mister Barza," Tycon muttered.
"Sir?"
Tycon's voice was a low growl, like a predator warning his prey.
Barza was confused. What did him not having safety ropes for
climbing have to do with the duel.
Tycon held his sword with his right hand, and rolled his left wrist to
stretch it, before switching it back, "I'm trying to kill you, Mister
Barza. Do try to survive."
Barza blocked three quick slashes. Cold sweat poured down his
face and back, as he realized afterwards that two of the slashes
would have sliced open his throat. Barza leapt back to dodge a
sidewards kick, effectively resetting the fight. His hands trembled,
but he gripped his swords harder, willing the blood to rush back to
his fingers. He couldn't lose either of his swords in this fight. Barza
glanced up to ready himself for the next assault--
Not there. Barza looked left. Dragan pointed. Barza quickly turned
and was greeted by a clump of dirt thrown into his face.
The noble, Tycon, had picked up dirt and thrown it into his face.
This wasn't a duel. This was bullying.
Rubbing the dirt from his eyes with his wrist, Barza suffered a kick
to the gut and a sword pommel to the top of his head. He fell to
the ground, vomiting water, tearing up from the pain and the
debris in his eyes. A swift kick to the ribs turned him over.
"M-mercy, Sir Tycon," He begged.
"Get the hells up."
Barza coughed blood and leftover vomit. The pain had resurfaced
and he was holding on desperately to consciousness, "I-I can't…"
"You know the boy would get up," Tycon mocked.
"I'm… not as strong as the boy."
Barza's pleading was met by silence. He imagined Tycon and

Dragan standing over him, meeting each other's gaze in
disappointed silence. Barza felt a hand grip his face. It lifted him
up. Mercilessly, the back of his head was slammed down against
the hard ground.
Then twice.
Three times.
Barza finally gained a surge of strength, shoving Tycon back and

rolling to the side. He stood half-way up and he rolled by instinct.
Feeling that he wasn't far enough, he stood again and threw
himself forward in another roll.
"Boss, is he… is he Fat-Rolling away?"
Tycon shrugged in response, "It's a legitimate strategy."
Barza, still dazed, managed to keep one sword. He pointed it

towards Tycon, his knees buckling. Tycon tossed the dropped
sword to Dragan, and the two slowly walked over to flank Barza.
"Hey, Barza, what's wrooooong?! Gonna PISS YOURSELF

again?!" Dragan taunted.
"Sh-shut up, motherf*cker! Not this again!" Barza shut his eyes
and keeled over, taken over by a coughing fit. Everything hurt.
"Haha! Idiot!" Dragan shrugged.
Barza grit his teeth and attacked Tycon. If he went down, he'd go
down fighting. Tycon smirked, deflecting and dodging the single
sword with expertise. Tycon leapt backwards, allowing Dragan to
smash a heavy boot into the broad side of Barza's back. Dropping
his guard, Tycon stepped forward. Kick to the thigh, kick to the
side, kick to the face, which turned Barza's head violently. He tried
to force his vision forward, to his attacker, but he was too late to
react to Tycon's sword slash.
An upwards diagonal slash cut across Barza's chest, a mist of

blood spraying everywhere.
Barza fell to his knees in disbelief, staring at the pink mist of his
life essence in the air. Tycon had cut him.
Tycon slashed his sword to the side to shake off the blood before
he sheathed his sword and crossed his arms, "Giving up, Mister
Barza?"
All of the strength had left Barza's body. He tried to lift his sword
but couldn't. He slumped slowly to the ground and stared at
Tycon's boots, feeling his body quickly growing cold as hot blood
spilled out from his chest.
Tycon crouched forward to meet his gaze, "You know… Miss

Capulet tried to visit you one evening."
"Sorina? She… She wouldn't. What… what did you do…"
A spark of confusion and anger lit up in Barza's eyes as he

struggled to get up. No harm would come to Sorina-- not if he
could help it.
Tycon smirked, "Simple, of course. I sent her away. She had no

business dealing with a weakling like you."
"Wh-why would you do that?" Barza could feel all of his willpower

float away. With nothing left to hold him, he crashed back down
into the dirt.
Tycon stared at the fallen Barza in silence.
Dragan somersaulted off of a tall rock, and with the assistance of

gravity, smashed his elbow into Barza Keith's beaten and battered
solar plexus. Barza felt himself groan, but felt no pain. He watched
the two men through a clouded gaze, as if he was an outsider,
watching on.
Dragan stood up and took his place beside Tycon, wiping off the
splatter of blood on his elbow. with his opposite hand The two
stared at Barza's unmoving form in silence.
Tycon turned to the Titanblood, "Mister Dragan… I believe Mister

Barza was finished before the elbow drop."
Dragan sucked in air through his teeth, "Yeah. Hm... But besides

that-- you know, Boss, that's not how you mess with someone."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, he kinda gave up after what you said about making that
girl go away."
"What? But that's what I did. I told him the truth."
"I mean, you could have said that you sent her to MY room."
Dragan grinned, "That would have riled him up!"
"Your room? Seven hells, why would I send the girl to YOUR
room?"
"That's not important. Hey."
Dragan's voice took on a shade of worry. He prodded Barza with

his boot, who only groaned unintelligently in response, "Barza.
Heyyyy. Hey, wake up, man. You gotta stay with us. You can't
close your eyes like that."
Barza took a last, longing glance at his friends. The big man,
Dragan, was shaking him. His boss had beaten him, cut him, and
only continued to glare at him with disappointment. It was a
shame about Sorina. It was a shame that he couldn't live up to
Tycon's expectations. He closed his eyes and hoped for peace--
death's soft cushion.
"Is this the best you can do?"
The last thing Tycon said echoed in his mind.
Barza had been beaten. His body lied, bleeding and broken.
But besides all that, Barza desperately wanted to live.

Chapter 25 Skill
"Is this the best you can do?"
[Inspirational Surge conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]
« Make it so. »
[Activating.]
Tycon unstoppered a full waterskin and without hesitation, began

pouring water on Barza's open wound. The water would wash out
any large debris from the dirt and rocks in the air. Within
moments, Tycon's Inspirational Surge had begun healing Barza's
grievous injury, the blood scabbing over, then forming a barely
visible scar. It was because of this that Tycon was so willing to
attack without holding back.
"He did pretty shite, Boss."
Dragan crossed his arms, looking over Barza's unconscious form.

To show his frustration, Dragan went as far as to give the downed
man a light kick. Tycon took a deep breath before kneeling down
to clean the blood of his sword on the remnants of Barza's
slashed and tattered shirt.
"Not necessarily, Mister Dragan. I thought I saw something."
"You mean smelled something? Because I'm pretty sure he--"
"No, besides that… When I mentioned Miss Capulet to him, I saw

a shine in his eyes."
"So? So he's crushing on a smart chick? What's that have to do

with--"
"I think Mister Barza almost activated a Skill."
Dragan's eyes widened and he pulled his head back in shock.

Shaking his head, he groaned.
"Nooooo! Whaaat? There's no way, Boss. Not at this guy's Rank.

Bah! And he has a low-tier class."
Tycon ignored him and proceeded to physically check Barza's

condition. Since it was the first time he had remembered using it,
he was uncertain to the efficacy of his healing Skill. After finding
nothing else amiss, he directed a thought to the System.
« System, inquiry: The unconscious fool's class? »
[System response: Barza Keith, Bronze-Rank Warrior.]
It appeared that the training was able to change the young man's
class. He's now the Warrior class, low-tier, but better than his
previous one... Any of the classes that stem from Warrior would
suit him. But the skill he thought he saw...
Tycon turned to Dragan, "But what if it's possible?"
His seriousness caught Dragan off guard. He scratched his head

in thought, "Yeah. Then he might be worth something, after all."
"Y'know, that was really somethin', Boss."
The pair walk-jogged back to the campsite. Dragan was holding

his greataxe in his right hand and steadying the snoring Barza on
his back with his left.
"What was something? The fact that I'm not left-handed?"
"That skill you used? The uh... Dragon-something? I've never

seen you use it before."
"...What kind of skills do I usually use?"

"Ah, I dunno, Boss? Usually, you just yell at us to do things?"
"Well, don't expect it much anymore. It took an unreasonable

amount of mana for its effect."
Dragan shrugged, "You mean you have a low Completion Rate on

it? If you raised your Skill comprehension, it would reduce its
stamina... err, mana consumption while increasing its effect and
damage."
Tycon hopped over a tree stump and slashed at a group of vines

in the way. Dragan leaped up and over, using the crook beneath
his greataxe blade to swing from a branch. Tycon spoke to finish
Dragan's thought.
"--which is why Tarquin Wroe makes a better Warlock than he

does a Fighter. And why I specialize in Command Skills and not
Weapon Skills."
"Exactly, Boss!"
Tycon huffed, watching his step and zigzagging through the brush.
"Mister Dragan, you're quite astute at times and an absolute

donkey at others. Did you know that?"
Dragan laughed in response as if it had been his plan all along.

The pair slowed to a halt, arriving at the camp.
"Hey, Boss. Watch this."
Dragan rotated his body and tossed Barza up into the air. The
man spun impressively, but still managed to fall gracelessly onto
his face. He sprung awake, his face covered in dirt and
leaves, "Wha-- What?! Where am I?"
"Heyyyy. We're back at camp. Thought you died, man!" Dragan

laughed.
Barza touched himself with his hands, clumsily grabbing at all of

his body parts. It looked quite lewd.
Tycon muttered in annoyance, "The man should be checking for
his sword…"
"We should beat him with it," Dragan suggested gleefully.
Tycon placed the surplus swords with the rest of the supplies and
provided food to his two sentries, Horse and Jeremy. Invictus had
purchased the second horse, Jeremy, at the cheapest available
price.
"Corporal Horse. Private Jeremy. Report."
"(A squirrel tried to approach the camp. And a deer. The camp is
safe,)" Corporal Horse proudly reported.
"(Holy shite, a talking horse!)" As useless as Horse's observations

were, Jeremy's were even moreso.
"Very good, you two. Keep up the good work," Tycon groaned.
Barza and Bucket were eating from their provided rations. Hard
tack. Fruit preserves. Crushed peanut butter in a ceramic jar.
Bucket had made himself a small peanut butter and preserves
sandwich. He sat upon a familiar, leather-covered log, swinging
his legs happily while eating. Barza idly munched on a strip of
dried meat, brooding grimly in thought. Looking over to the
carefree boy, Barza couldn't help but ask, "Bucket? What are
those markings on your arms?"
"Got grabbed by tentacles." The boy responded between bites, "It

really hurt."
Barza wanted to ask if he'd heard correctly, but he was afraid that
he had. He chose to ignore it with great prejudice, else he'd feel
the need to ask more questions, "Hey, Bucket... Did you pass?"
Bucket tilted his waterskin up to drink big glugs of water. Then he

stuck a finger into his mouth to unstick the PB&J.
"I dropped the log. But I kept my spear! So Mister Wroe gave me
an 8 out of 10."
Barza shuddered involuntarily. Tycon had explained the point

system to him prior. There were three scores: Good, Needs Work,
and Absolute Failure. Bucket had probably received a Good. If
they both did poorly, the both of them would be given a
punishment mission-- cutting firewood while swords and weights
were strapped to their backs, provoking a Devil-Bear and leading
it into an ambush. Barza was almost certain that if there was a
dragon in the forest, Tycon would demand the two of them steal
from its treasure hoard.
"Did *you* pass, Mister Barza?" The boy asked innocently.
"I… I don't think so," He admitted.
"Oh, come on! What happened? Did you drop your weapon?"
Shock flooded Barza's senses and his side began to ache again.
Cold sweat flooded down his back as he remembered the
sensation of fear. Tycondrius had tried to kill him in cold blood. He
could have sworn that he took a sword slash to the chest, that he
was bleeding out and his flesh was turning cold. But when he had
awoken, he'd only found a superficial cut on his chest-- signs of
blood, but not enough to prove such a grievous wound. His shirt, a
sure sign of evidence, had been removed while he was
unconscious. Mister Dragan had told him it was ruined in the fight.
"Bucket… I think… I died."
Bucket's eyes grew as wide as a Devil-Bear's. Slowly, as if not to

surprise him, the boy placed a hand on his spear.
"Are you a zombie?"
But before Bucket could forcibly ensure Barza was dead, Tycon,
Dragan, and Wroe approached. Tycon was positioned between
the other two and took a half step forward.
"The three of us have discussed your performances."

Barza and Bucket stood up, at attention. Bucket had been drilled
to hold his spear to the side, pointed straight up, his opposite little
arm as straight down as possible. Barza stood ramrod straight,
sweating in nervousness-- he wished he had the simple
reassurance of steel in hand.
"Mister Barza, prepare your armor and gear." Tycon ordered,

"You, alone, will be assigned a punishment mission."
Chapter 26 The Price Of
Failure
"That's not fair, Sir!" Bucket stood up, yelling indignantly.
"The decision has been made." Tycon responded coolly. "Sit.

Down."
"But, Sir!?"
Tycon sighed and rubbed his glabella.
"Listen well, young man. The three of us are your superiors

concerning Rank, Time-in-Service, Age, and above all, actual
Combat Ability. If you have issue, you write a clear and concise
FORMAL rebuttal."
Wroe shrugged, "If you fail, you get punished."
Dragan chimed in, "Yeah! Shut up, Bucket!"
Tycon glared at the two. They looked away.
Horse neighed, "(Yeah, shut up, newbie!)"
Tycon glared at the horse. Horse focused his attention elsewhere.
Bucket thought for a moment, "Can I ask why?"
Dragan groaned loudly. He was tapping his foot impatiently,

obviously annoyed. Bucket began to subconsciously shrink,
curling up his body in response to Dragan's growing
frustration, "Bucket, I thought I told you to shut up! You don't
question orders, especially from a noble! You just--"
Tycon raised an open palm, interrupting the Titanblood, "No,
Mister Dragan. This is fine."
Dragan crossed his arms, emitting a low, feral growl like a beast.
Bucket's shoulders trembled slightly as he looked up towards the
adults. The young boy was not immune to fear, after all. Barza
looked equally troubled, unsure of whether or not he should speak
up for himself.
He spoke to Bucket keeping his voice calm and

measured, "Young man, there is a time and place for questions.
Usually, sensitive questions are asked in private, as to not
question the integrity of those who pass judgment...
"Mister Dragan was trained in a harsher environment. The general

speaks. The troops listen.
"Understand that he is not wrong. It is possible that I will ask you

to act on my command on trust alone-- Pray to your gods that that
time never comes."
Barza looked on, guilt and worry apparent in his eyes. Bucket
looked as if he was about to cry. He gripped his small fists in
resolution and looked up with moist eyes, "But I trust Sir Tycon!! I
trust all of you guys!"
Tycon closed his eyes, feeling a surge of pride. He was almost

certain that Wroe and Dragan were touched, as well.
However... he did not feel deserving of the boy's sincerity. The boy
was a weapon. He would be sharpened with the whetstones that
were training and suffering. And when Tycon was finished, the boy
would be strong-- of that, he had no choice in the matter. But
afterwards, would he still be the same boy? Tycon was uncertain.
"Invictus is a small group of elites, not a thousand spears moving

as one," Tycon continued. "As such, I need you to think, to
analyze, to react to situations with intelligence and cunning. We
are training you as best we can. At the very minimum, you need
the strength of a Bronze-Ranker."
Tycon noticed that Barza's face turned gloomier at the thought.
The man had a confidence issue. While he was a Bronze-Rank,
himself, the only other he could compare himself to was Guard
Captain Varen, who he soundly lost against in one-on-one
combat.
As Barza was now, he had the increased strength and endurance

to soundly defeat the brain-addled Veteran Captain... not that
Tycon particularly cared to tell him that.
"Your weaknesses will be strengthened. Your strengths will be

fine-tuned. And when you are finally not a burden..." Tycon
smirked. "--you will learn to work as a team... with which we shall
contend with challenges above our rank...
"That stated, you may ask about our criteria." He offered. "We
have nothing to hide."
Barza stood up, having regained his confidence, "Sir Tycon.

Boss?"
Tycon raised a palm, motioning for Barza to speak.
"Why did you--" Barza opened his mouth to speak, but no more

words came out. He stared at his boots, deep in thought. And with
a confused but helpless look, he slowly sat back down, "Never…
mind."
Tycon sighed and crossed his arms, "Mister Barza, your biggest

weakness is experience. You know how to swing a blade by
instinct, but not had a militarized regimen of endurance or combat
training-- that is, you cannot handle drawn out, physically-taxing
combat. Over several training sessions, we've pushed your
physical and mental endurance to your limit. And once you used
every bit of strength, lost every last onze of willpower, we
demanded more. And in that precarious state, we forced you to
fight against nigh impossible odds.
"Mister Dragan is thrice your size-- he's less of a man than a wild,
charging beast, or perhaps a two-tonze boulder falling off a cliff.
You don't fight that kind of man, you avoid him at all costs.
"Mister Wroe is a spellcaster-- a wielder of chaos and entropy. By
his words and will, he can twist and in some cases even defy the
Laws of this world. You don't fight that. You hide in your bedsheets
and pray for the nightmare to end.
"And me…"
"Well, you'll never defeat me." Tycon gave an apologetic shrug,

"Anyroad, I'm certain that you know that every fight thus far,
you've risked severe injury and an unclean death.
"If you didn't have the talent... If your instinct didn't force you to
stand and fight…" Tycon had walked up to seated Barza.
The clean-shaven man had paled from Tycon's words.
Tycon raised an eyebrow, mulling over his words, "Ultimately,

you've survived thus far. You do have the potential, Mister Barza."
He patted the young man's shoulder, "Today, you gave up at the

last moment. This is training, Mister Barza. You're not allowed to
die during training or otherwise. When the world falls apart around
us, the training takes over.
"And when that time comes, even if Death herself comes to claim
you, riding her pale, winged horse--"
Tycon's voice dropped low... ominous, "I need you. to be.

Immortal... Do you understand me?"
A single tear dropped down Barza's face as his heart visibly

surged with pride, "Y-yes, Sir."
Tycon leaned forward to whisper words only Barza could

hear, "Have some self-respect."
"Yes... Sir," the young man sniffed.
Tycon turned and walked away, as Barza wiped his face.
"Bucket, does that answer your question on why Mister Barza

failed?"
"Yes, sir!" Bucket answered brightly, "We're not allowed to die!"
"Not without my permission, correct," Tycon nodded, pleased by

the boy's response. "Did you have any other questions?"
Bucket stood up and saluted a palm to his chest, "Y-yes, Sir!"
"Well? Go ahead."
"Yes, Sir! Why do I have to carry the log?"
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Helps your speed and balance. Makes

your core stronger."
"Oh. Um-- And the spear?"
"Well, if you lose your weapon, it's harder to attack and defend
yourself, right?"
"Right."
"And if Mister Barza or Mister Dragan is in trouble, you can save

them, right?" Tycon smirked.
Bucket nodded excitedly.
"Well, there you have it, young man." Tycon nodded.
The boy's questions were simple. It cost him nothing to answer.

And Tycon was reassured that the boy was cognizant of the
purpose of his training, as well as the expectations placed upon
him.
Tycon again faced Barza, who appeared to have a new face of

determination. All the previous fatigue and disappointment
seemed to have disappeared. Tycon was pleased that his words
of encouragement had the appropriate effect, "Are you ready to
receive your mission, Mister Barza?"
"Yes, Boss. I won't let you down."

Tycon was about to continue, when he noticed that Bucket had
politely raised his hand. Tycon glanced to his left and right, at
Wroe and Dragan, who gave their own nods of approval. The boy
had somehow met all of the trio's high expectations. Moreso, the
boy was growing mindful of not interrupting.
"S-sir?" The boy asked.
"You've another question, Bucket?"
"Can I… go with Mister Barza?"
Tycon slowly raised en eyebrow in surprise. Dragan was jarred

out of his neutral stance and spoke up in his too-loud voice, "Hold
on a minute, Bucket. Are you trying to tell us that… even though
don't have to do the Punishment-- you can just hang out with the
rest of us, you WILLINGLY want to go with this Gear-Queer
loooooooserrrrr?"
Bucket looked down at the dirt and poked at the ground with his
toe, "I mean-- if Mister Barza's in trouble, I can use my spear to
save him, right?"
Dragan raised his hands in disbelief, "Unbelievable!"
Barza opened his eyes wide and looked to Bucket. The boy
smiled radiantly, while Barza looked miserable, his lips quivering
with emotion.
Wroe had stepped forward, wearing his own angelic smile, "This is
what it means to be in a guild, Mister Barza."
Barza puckered his lips with blurred eyes, trying his best not to
cry.
Tycon crossed his arms and smirked, "Bucket! Permission

granted. The two of you, take a break from training and prepare
your gear. Tomorrow, you'll be hunting and tracking, as I have on
good word that there's a Gann den in one or two malms distance,
north. If you're successful, we'll all be able to eat fresh meat for a
sun or two."
Dragan and Bucket cheered, "Meat!" Barza clenched his fist in
front of him resolutely. Even Wroe was smiling and laughing at the
prospect.
Bucket began yelling amongst the cheers, "Mister Barza! We got

this! This should be easier than fighting an 8-armed Devilbeast!"
Tycon glanced to Bucket, uncertain of what he had just heard. He

looked at Wroe with a furrowed brow, "Mister Wroe, an 8-armed
what-now?"
Chapter 27 Hidden Sect
fter Barza and Bucket were dismissed, they left towards Wroe's
A
waterfall to relax. Tycon told them they also had to use the soap,
else he'd cut their rations. Tycon gathered Wroe and Dragan for
a… chat. The group had arranged a circle of smooth boulders to
sit on, around the previous evening's campfire.
"Mister Tarquin Wroe."
"...Yes, Boss?" Wroe was a bit distracted. He was absentmindedly

staring at a thick, black rectangular card-- a gift he received as a
result of his Pact.
"I'd like to respectfully inquire about what the young boy meant by
an 8-armed Devilbeast... and why I shouldn't beat you with a stick
for child endangerment."
Wroe shrugged. "It was fine. He's okay, isn't he?"
Tycon grabbed the black rectangle and tossed it into the forest.
"Wroe, don't be rude." Tycon chided.
"Okay, I might have deserved that," The Daeva frowned.
Dragan looked over to the grass, "I'm surprised you're so calm.

That thing looked kinda expensive."
Wroe shrugged, "It returns back to my bag even if I leave it

behind."
"It does *what*?" Tycon furrowed his brows,
« System, inquiry: What was that black box? »

[System response: Allagan Tomestone. Upon touch, the user can
access recorded knowledge. Warning. 4th-Circle Curse detected.]
Dragan had stood up and was looking to jog towards where Tycon
had thrown the thing.
"Don't touch that thing," Tycon warned.
"Uh.., oOooOkay, Boss. Is it, uh… Cursed?" He asked.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "It's Wroe."
"Ahhh. So… How cursed?"
"It's Wroe."
Dragan obediently returned to his seat.
Tycon again addressed Wroe, "8-legged devilbeast. Bucket fought

one?"
"I named him Squirtle."
Tycon crossed his arms, "Stupid name. Rename it. Summoned or

incidental?"
Wroe refused to meet Tycon's eyes, "Well, Boss…"
Dragan picked his ear with a finger, "I don't think a First-Circle
Summon Monster spell can summon a devilbeast."
Tycon sighed, "Well, first off, congratulations for being able to cast
a ritual at Second-Circle."
"Yeah, good job," Dragan grinned.
"Thanks," The Daeva smiled.
"But from what I understand, you left a 9-year-old boy to contend

with a Second-Circle summon-- a match for a half-dozen Bronze-
Rankers."
"He was fine!" Wroe insisted.
Tycon placed his face in both palms in exasperation, "Didn't the

former leader trust us with the kid's safety?"
Dragan and Wroe exchanged glances, before responding.
"Actually, Boss, he only entrusted you."
"Yeah, Boss. You're the only trustworthy person in the guild."
Tycon gazed into distance. The sky was a beautiful blue, the trees
peaceful. The chill made him long for the indoors, by a fire--
perhaps with some warmed mulberry wine.
Snapping out of his reverie, he snapped at his companions, "Well,

fine. Dragan, how did you train the boy?"
The Titanblood chuckled, "Haha... Get this. I threw him off a cliff
into a waterhole until he got over his fear of swimming."
"Fear of swimming?" Tycon pursed his lips. "Did you mean to say
'fear of heights?'"
"Oh, yeah. He got rid of that, too."
Wroe tilted his head, "Boss, how did you train him?"
Dragan laughed, "Yeah, Boss. It can't have been any worse than
ours."
Tycon felt insulted for a brief moment, widening his eyes, before
shaking his head and smiling in confidence, "Bah, what do you
two know? I had the boy's safety in mind the whole time. I taught
the boy to dodge telegraphed attacks."
Dragan scratched his head, "And how did you do that?"
"I used the halberd." Tycon chuckled, "We have one. It was
appropriate."
Dragan laughed. Tycon laughed to match his large friend.

Wroe laughed a little less, "So you attacked him with just the
wooden part?"
Tycon scoffed, "Tss. Don't be ridiculous, Mister Wroe. That's not

how you use a halberd."
"Hahaha... Yeah, hilarious," Dragan wheezed. "How's our supplies

look, Boss?"
Tycon glanced back at the two horses and the small cart of
supplies, "Rations are good for all of us. We're going through
medical ointment quickly, but there's plenty of that-- though we're
using bandages faster than I was expecting."
Dragan placed his massive head on his fist, "I suggested we wait
and look for Wolfbanger. If he were here, he could have gathered
some medical herbs on the side."
"Time is more important. We're here to raise the strength of

Bucket and Barza, before we reach Merylsward," Tycon shook his
head. "Anyroad, from what you've told me, this Wolfbanger's
character isn't the best."
Dragan granted a sheepish grin, "Meh, yeah. We'd have someone

who can lead us through the woods, though. And maybe tell us
what's not poisonous around here."
Tycon opened his arms, palms up in a shrug, "We have supplies.

It's only an issue if the forest locals decide to set up an ambush.
And we haven't seen traces of other sentients anywhere."
Wroe was sitting down on a rock, intently looking at his recovered

black Tomestone, "It'll probably be fine."
Dragan groaned, pretending to collapse on the floor in a

heap, "Why ya gotta say that, maaaan? Nothing good ever
happens when you say thaaat."
Tycon stretched his arms and yawned, before leaning over,

stretching his legs, "I'll follow the two in secret tomorrow,
regardless of whether you two want to come or not. Now come on.
It's time for the three of *us* to get some training in."
Dragan and Wroe nodded as they prepared.
...
A young, silver-haired girl, barely over ten years of age, ran the
length of the tree branch. With the movement, leaves fell from the
trees, in a dazzling array of yellows and oranges, matching the
girl's robes.
She willed her mana to form a brief step in the air, making a two-
step jump and landing on another tree.
POK POK! POK! Three arrows zoomed past her, striking an

adjacent tree trunk.
"Wh-whoa!"
"I got'cha!" Taree swung down, one hand grabbing the branch she
stood on. She grabbed the back of her brother's armor at his nape
and swung him forward.
The young blonde boy, barely a teenager, narrowly avoided falling

off the tree branch, rolling acrobatically to his feet, "Tha-tha-
thanks, Coach!"
"Keep running, Tamaki! There's an entire team after us!" Taree ran

on a branch above, while her older brother leaped up, swinging
himself over a stable branch.
"There'll be an entire team minus three after I'm done with 'em!"
Tamaki promised.
With swift and practiced hands, the boy drew his bow and three
arrows. In an instant, he identified three attackers-- three adults in
dark clothing who wanted their lives.
DNK DNK DNK! Three rapid-fire plucks of the bow sent the
sharpened arrows propelling towards the assassins.
Just as fast, the three scattered, the arrows striking tree trunks
and the forest floor, below.
Tamaki increased his pace to catch up with his sister.
"Coach!" He yelled, "I didn't get 'em!"
Taree tried to think on the fly. She and her brother would run out of
endurance soon. But they were no match in a fight against so
many...
She grit her teeth in anger. That Hisato was the trash of the Ivory
Judge sect. She had tried to leave the sect in secret, to seek help
from the Outer World in the city of Aviard. But the information was
leaked and the two of them had been chased all this way.
"Where are you going, Little Taree?" A voice rang out in the
shadows, the foliage of the trees providing too much darkness,
too many places to hide.
Tamaki saw something! A target! In less than a blink's time, he

had shot his bow, piercing a single fallen leaf to a tree.
He had missed.
Tamaki's eyes widened as felt his neck grabbed by a hand.

CRACK! The youth was slammed against a tree trunk, causing
him to lose his breath. A myriad of yellow leaves fell all around
them. The younger Tamaki was being choked by a considerably
older dark-haired teenager. Fearlessly, Hisato was starkly different
from the others-- white-robed instead of dark, and fearlessly
disdaining the use of a mask.
"Yoshio, it was YOU!" Taree yelled. "I can't believe you joined
forces with a piece of trash like Hisato!"
"C-c-coach!" Tamaki struggled, still in Yoshio's grip. "Who are all

these names?!"
Yoshio eyed the younger boy in curiosity. It was just the distraction
that Taree needed.
She ran up the tree and delivered a swift kick to dark-clothed
Yoshio's side, forcing him to release her brother.
"You bitch!" He yelled.
Tamaki rubbed his throat while coughing, "Coach!"
The girl grabbed her brother's and pulled him along, "It doesn't
matter who they are, Tommy! We have to run!"
Yoshio pulled himself back onto a branch, rubbing his arm in pain.
"Tch. That hurts. What level have you trained your Stone Fist to?"
He turned to the group of shadowy figures, "What are you all

waiting for?! After them!!"
Tamaki held his bow tightly, running the tree branches alongside
his silver-haired sister, "Coach, they're gonna catch up! What do
we do?!"
The girl laughed, her heart beating out of her chest in

nervousness. She always laughed when she was in trouble, a trait
that always got her into trouble with her seniors and the elders.
She couldn't help but keep giggling, seeing her brother's pained
expression. "I know a Gann lair near here. Follow me!"
"Wait, a Gann?" Tommy yelled back, "I'd need at least a *hundred*

arrows to take down one of those!"
The girl cursed beneath her breath. Her options were limited and
were quickly running out. If they fought, they'd get captured or
killed. They couldn't get to Aviard if they couldn't lose their
attackers.
And if she lost hope... No, she couldn't lose hope!
She could only hope that she could use the Gann as a distraction.
Chapter 28 Such A Good
Strategy
arza and Bucket had been tracking the Gann for half a sun. To
B
that end, Bucket insisted on following a terrified looking piglet.
Barza suggested eating it, but Bucket kept a strong opinion that
the creature was their best guide to the Gann den.
Barza worried that besides him, everyone in Invictus could talk to

animals.
He didn't want such a stupid skill. He figured it would be

inconvenient-- like what if they started asking him for money? But
still... Barza couldn't help but feel a little bit envious.
Bucket was pretty nice about it. He translated most-everything the

animals said, so Barza wouldn't feel left out.
"It's really, really, maaaaad!" Bucket was screaming, his shrill

voice almost hoarse.
"I can tell that much!!" Barza yelled back.
The two of them had lured the very angry Gann out of its den, so
they could fight it in an open area. It was a large, bristly boar with
greenish fur and an orange mane so bright it hurt his eyes. Even
on its four cloven-hoof legs, it stood taller than Barza, and it
looked even bigger with its curved tusks, longer than swords.
However... the strength behind its goring attacks was...

surprisingly weak.
Dragan hit harder. Dragan hit a lot harder.

Barza clanged together the flats of his swords above his
head, "Come here, you stupid pig! I'll give you something to be
mad about!"
The Gann tried to lunge forward, but Barza was ready for it. With
his swords in a cross above his head, he swiped down with both,
striking both of the boar's tusks. The Gann stopped its charge like
it had struck a wall, shaking its head, dazed.
The distraction was enough. Bucket slid underneath the boar's

belly, slashing his sharp spear at its soft underside. The monster
squealed in pain, stomping and trampling beneath it, but Bucket
had already escaped and scrambled up a nearby tree.
...The kid was... really skillful.
It was Barza's first time seeing the boy in combat. They had done
dozens of other things together-- shopping, chopping wood, ten-
thousand squats, running away from a Devil-Bear… and he'd
thought of him like a younger brother.
He was always impressed by the boy's optimism and sincerity. But

only recently had he realized that the boy was... really good at
fighting. They could be rivals!
Anyroad, with the way they were being trained together, it was
natural that Boss Tycon and the others constantly compared their
progress.
It motivated him.
"Your enemy is me!" Barza brandished his blades, attacking with

renewed fervor and fury.
The Gann began to panic, facing the barrage of steel. It staggered

backward, suffering painful cuts on its large snout. Backed in a
corner-- enraged, it whipped its head and tusks forward-- the
strength and speed, easily able to gore a grown man to death.
Barza stepped to the side, easily dodging the obvious attack.

Cocking his rear leg back, he swung it forward, smashing it into
the side of the boar's head. And with both of his swords, he swung
the opposite direction, cutting two deep, satisfying slashes across
the boar's face.
Stepping back to reset his position, Barza admired his handiwork.

The solid kick felt good.
The giant Gann again squealed in panic, its eyes huge. It began
to thrash its massive behind, back and forth. Barza's jaw dropped
when he saw Bucket, panicking behind it, his spear jammed
bloody and deep into the Gann's exposed anus.
Dragan gave a whistle of approval, "Boss, would you look at that.

He got him in the butt. We taught him that, right?"
"I don't remember teaching him that," Tycon frowned.
The two Invictus veterans had stealthily followed the two trainees,
watching the fight from the branches of a tall tree.
Dragan laughed unabashedly, "It's suuuch a good strategy,

though. Eyes. Butthole. Even a man's di--"
"Tactic, Mister Dragan," Tycon corrected him with an annoyed

voice. He was trying to focus on the battle below. "Tactics for an
engagement, strategy for operations."
"Nuts." Dragan chuckled, "Oh, but did you see the kick, though?"
"The kick..." Tycon twisted his lips. "More of a taunt than an

effective strike against a creature of that size. 1 out of 5. It's not an
exhibition or a gladiatorial match-- 'style' is useless in the field."
Dragan grinned widely, the grown man's voice lilting up and down-
- trying to be... cute, perhaps, "Boosssss! You didn't notice?"
Tycon frowned, finally taking his eyes off of the Gann, "What is it?
Is it your Name-day?"
"It is. Can I have a present?"

"I can arrange for you to be on watch-- all of tonight."
"Ha ha ha!" Dragan laughed forcedly, averting his gaze, "F*ck."
Dragan admitted verbal defeat. He was not Tycon's opponent in

that regard.
"Anyroad, have I missed something, Mister Dragan?" Tycon

inquired.
"Oh, yeah, Boss. The kick!" Dragan immediately recovered his

spirits, "It was kinda like the kick combo you used on him."
Tyocn shook his head, "I don't recall."
"You kicked him like ten times before you slashed open his chest."
"...I vaguely recall."
"And then you whipped out your thing and you pissed on him!"
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I don't recall."
"Then maybe he pissed himself!" Dragan grinned wide.
Tycon let out a deep sigh, "What is your point, Mister Dragan?"
"I'm trying to say that maybe the training's working?"
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Of course the training's working, but the
effects will be apparent in weeks, and not mere hours."
"Hey, man. You were the one that said Gear-Queer had potential."
Dragan took on a different tone of voice, but the stupid smirk at
the corner of his lips made it obvious that he was only feigning his
indignance, "I'm just tryin' to say that maybe he's worth
something, after all!"
Tycon took another deep breath and sighed. He forced a polite

smile as he turned to face the massive brute sitting on the tree
branch beside him, "You're right, Mister Dragan. I apologize and
he is developing well. In fact, I was worried that I had pushed the
young man too far-- that he'd be afraid of anything with kicks or
swords, after that."
"Wanna bet 20 silver he'll piss himself?"
Tycon gave an incredulous glare. "What? No. The man can barely
keep hold of his weapons, much less his bladder."
Dragan gave a long, whistle, "That's cold-blooded, even from you,

Boss."
"I never claimed to be warm-blooded," Tycon rolled his eyes,

focusing again on the fight... He raised an eyebrow, "Oho, I had
forgotten about that."
"Aha. That's not like you, Boss." Dragan chuckled, watching on,
"Usually, you know everything about the baddies."
The pair watched from above, as the injured boar's muscles

began to ripple and twist underneath its green fur. Its orange
mane began to glow with mana, growing thick and wild. It reared
back and stood on its two growing hind legs and let out a great,
rumbling squeal of power.
The Gann was transforming into its second and final form.
Tycon had no idea about the creature's abilities. A sun prior, he

clarified with the System that the hoof tracks belonged to a Gann,
but he had forgotten to check the System's description of it. He
made a mental note to be more mindful.
"Weeeelllll!!" Dragan took his greataxe off of his back, "Now that
it's transformed, it's shrugged off some of its damage. Shall we
step in, Boss?"
"Hm." Tycon waved the Titanblood down, "Our trainees are yet
uninjured. Let us continue to observe."
Chapter 29 Team Play
he Gann crashed through the forest's green and yellow-leaf

T
trees, peppering the landscape with sword-sized splinters,
wooden debris, and now-homeless, tree-dwelling animals. The
Gann raised one of its three-fingered hands above its head,
charging mana into a swirling sphere of roiling flames. The
perpetually falling golden leaves around it incinerated instantly
from its oppressive heat.
Dragan and Tycon watched from above, as Bucket hurled rocks,

Barza hurled insults, and the giant boar creature hurled human-
sized fireballs.
"Y'know, Boss." Dragan mused, "If either of those two get injured,
they might... not live."
Dragan was lying back on the tree branch, crushing single walnuts
in one hand.
Tycon stood up lightly, not wanting to add undue stress to the

branch supporting both of their weights, "I'll move if it becomes an
issue."
"It's probably fi--"
Tycon moved out of instinct, immediately grabbing the speaker's

neck and pinning him against the tree trunk.
Before Tycon could draw his sword and end him rightly, he
ascertained that he had, in fact, oppressively grabbed and was
choking Tarquin Wroe... an ally. Tycon took a deep, annoyed
breath and released the Daeva.
"--it's probably fine," Wroe managed to cough out.

Tycon was not amused, "Seven hells, Mister Wroe. Must you
appear from the shadows like that?"
Since when could that blue-haired bastard materialize out of the

darkness?
The angel-blooded fellow grinned, his eyes aglow-- mysterious

and imposing... as if he wasn't being strangled only seconds
prior, "Allow me, Boss. I'll make certain that--"
"Not necessary, Mister Wroe," Tycon firmly and abruptly rejected

Wroe's offer.
The Daeva was stunned into silence for a brief moment, "Oh,
come on, Boss! I just mastered a new spell!"
As if to accentuate his point, Wroe drew his sword and rendered a

clean military salute.
Tycon identified it as a salute used by the warriors of the Sleeping

Country, far to the east of the Kingdom they were in. Interesting.
He grabbed the Daeva's sword and flung it away, out of their tree.
It landed dozens of yalms away in a dense growth of bushes.
"M..my sword," Wroe's lips quivered.
"Why are you even still using that?" Tycon glared. "You're a
spellcaster now."
The Daeva pouted... "It was a gift."
Tycon rolled his eyes once more at Wroe's piteous voice and
expression, "I'll help you find it later. But no, don't step in right
now. I'll go. My abilities are far less eye-catching than yours."
Wroe twisted his lips, "What about Dragan?"
"Dragan's busy playing with his nuts," Tycon explained simply.
Dragan looked up, "Hey Boss, don't knock it. This is kinda hard."
Tycon frowned, "Phrasing, Mister Dragan."

"I think he did it on purpose," Wroe remarked.
"For now, Mister Wroe, Mister Dragan... you two stay out of sight,"
Tycon gave them a last reminder as he began to descend the
tree, branch by branch.
Sweat poured down Bucket's face, matting his sandy brown hair
to his forehead. Flames raged from behind the boulder he and
Barza hid behind. Barza was hyperventilating, his eyes full of
panic. Magical flames were bursting violently against the opposite
side of their boulder.
Bucket had to yell to be heard, "Mister Barza!! I think I've got a

plan!!"
Barza knelt down, facing the boy, his eyes full of hope. The boy
was a genius and Barza wanted to hold onto every word he said.
"I'll be the decoy!" Bucket shouted, "Then when I have its

attention, you cut its head off!"
Barza couldn't believe his ears.
"That's a stupid plan!!" He yelled back.
Bucket pointed at one of Barza's weapons, "Give me a sword!!"
Barza responded by gripping his swords tighter, half-turning his

body to guard them, "No!! You'll get killed, Bucket!!"
"Give me a sword! I'll protect you, Mister Barza!!"
Barza grit his teeth, shutting his eyes. He tried to think, but with
the explosions and the Gann's roars, fear dictated his every
thought.
Barza peeked beyond the boulder's side. The Gann was growing
more and more fatigued. They'd have to act, soon. And he wasn't
about to let a 9-year old boy become the monster's only target.
No... Barza would be the decoy, "Listen up, Bucket!"
Bucket sat down to listen patiently, the boy's pointed ears

twitching slightly.
It was Barza's chance to be a hero and to firmly root the boy's

respect in him as the elder brother. "You may be smaller and
faster than me, but-- but I'm definitely stronger! That--"
Barza opened his mouth, thinking carefully. Bucket's speed and

size made him the superior decoy. He realized it might be better to
entrust the boy with decoy work. Why did he have to open his
dumb mouth?
"Why do you want a sword??" Barza asked.
"The Gann's armor is too thick for my spear! I can cut it if you let
me borrow a sword!"
Barza passed him a sword as he finished a plan in his head, "I'll

go out to distract it, Bucket. You rush out, see if you can cut below
its ankles to make it fall."
"You can count on me, Mister Barza!"
Barza tried to smile, his knees shook with fear from what he was
about to do, but he had to show the boy his confidence, "Just call
me Lone. Lone Shadowdark."
Bucket grinned, "Got it, Lone!"
A 6-yalm long whitescaled snake hid in the shade of a comfortable

shrub behind Barza... where he was able to watch the young,
beardless, Barza Keith bicker with a 9-year-old child The two
were... discussing their next tactic against the Gann, which Tycon
decided was fine.
Barza ran out from behind their boulder like a fool, attracting the
Gann's attention. Bucket waited a few moments, before rushing in
the opposite direction, sword in one hand and spear in the other.
Tycon slithered forward to get a better view. Within moments, the
Gann roared in pain and crashed down onto both of its knees.
Whatever Bucket did seemed to work well.
Barza hesitated, staring at the ugly, tusked greenskined 3-yalm

tall bipedal boar on its knees. He brandished his swords and
began to shout...
"I AM THE LONE SHADOWDARK!! THOU HAST

SLAUGHTERED THE INNOCENTS AND BY MINE BLADES I
SHALL SMITE--"
Tycon mentally deducted a point from Barza's score, no longer

paying attention to the human's drivel.
The Gann wasn't just kneeling, waiting for death. It was

desperately charging a Flame Sphere within its maw.
...Tycon briefly considered allowing the two to fail.
There was a flash of movement in the trees above. It was

Bucket...
What was that boy doing?
With a suicidal drop, the boy had leapt off of a high tree branch
and plunged downward, stabbing the Gann deep in its right eye.
The boy hung on desperately in front of the boar's face-- but if it
were to release the fireball in its mouth, the boy would be
obliterated into ash.
Brave. The boy put on an excellent performance. They'd done well

for most of the hunt. And Barza could use some more self-
confidence, so Tycon decided to help out, focusing his gaze at the
Gann's remaining eye.
« Activate. Death to the enemies of Invictus. »
[Activating. Death to the enemies of Invictus.]

Blood spilled from the Gann's mouth as flames wisped from its
nostrils. The pain that gripped its insides was superior to the sharp
metal rod in its eye. The attack had been interrupted.
"Loooonnnne!!" Bucket yelled something. Lone? What did that

mean? Drawing the bloodied sword from the Gann's eye, the boy
threw it hard to Barza.
Snake-Tycon nodded in understanding. Proper team play rated a

better score.
Barza caught the sword in mid-air.
"DEVOURING BLAAAAAAAAADE!!
EXECUTIONNNNNN!!!!!" Barza slashed his swords in an X,
severing the Gann's head cleanly.
Bucket's eyes sparkled at what he thought was a marvelous

display of skill and power.
Tycon plunged his snakey head in the dirt. The attack Barza used
had no mana fluctuations whatsoever. It wasn't a skill. He was just
yelling whatever he felt like.
Tycon unburied his head, wishing nothing more than to grab

Barza and resubmit him to training. But he stopped and hid again
in the shrubbery.
A young female about Bucket's height had appeared in front of

Barza. Her shoulder-length hair was silver and she wore an
orange-dyed robe-- an archaic form of dress, especially in the
Kingdom, where even the most modest citizens valued style and
fashion.
"Felling a Gann with one hit…" The girl's jaw had dropped, Are
you… the Chosen One…?"
Tycon had a bad feeling about this.

Chapter 30 Barza, The Chosen
One
ho was that little girl? Chosen one? Oh. This was a perfect
W
chance for Barza to look cool.
He patted his chest with pride, "I am indeed the Cho--"
Bucket used his spear to vault over the fallen Gann, landing
beside Barza and the little girl.
"Hi! We're from Invictus," Bucket grinned.
He adjusted his recovered log on his shoulders with his offhand

and offered Barza with a friendly smile, "Hey, Lone! Good job!"
Barza smiled helplessly. He lost his chance to look cool, but it was
a team effort, anyroad, "Y-yeah. You too, Bucket."
Bucket examined the little girl with great interest. "Who're you?
What guild are you from?"
The little girl clenched her tiny fists, "Oh, hi! My name is Taree--
me and my brother are from the Ivory Judge sect, and we--"
A fourth person landed on the ground, creating a swirl of dancing

golden leaves. It was a young blonde boy, kneeling on both
knees, both arms upwards as he held onto a longbow. The youth's
age was somewhere between Barza's and Bucket's... and though
he was as tall as Barza, he looked... kinda weak?
"Hold on there, Mister!" The kneeling boy pointed, "I'll need a

moment to discuss some things with my sis! --Nice to meet'cha by
the way."
"Hi," Barza waved.
"Are you okay?" Bucket bit his upper lip.
Taree helped her brother get off his knees and the two of them
moved off to discuss something in private.
Barza pulled Bucket aside, "Okay, listen up, little brother. This is

my chance. I've always wanted to be the Chosen One, okay?"
Bucket looked up, his eyes wide with confusion, "Chosen for
what? Every time I get 'chosen' by Boss Tycon, I have to clean
something or feed the horses. Jeremy's alright, but Horse keeps
asking if I have any cocaine."
"It's not that kind of Chosen. It's the Chosen in stories, where we
can save a hidden kingdom and we'll get a whole bunch of
treasure and pretty women."
Bucket looked past Barza, to the orange-robed girl and her

brother.
"Aren't you a little old for her? ...And I thought that short-haired girl
was your girlfriend?"
"Sorina? No." Barza gnashed his teeth, "Argh! No! Boss has
ruined my chances with her!"
Bucket pursed his lips, "Then was Miss Seldin your girlfriend?"
Barza's face paled and he felt his knees threatening to collapse.

He had thought his first night visit by a beautiful woman would be
a dream to remember for the rest of his life. It was a nightmare of
pain and suffering. He didn't remember much of it, besides
Seldin's terrible strength and her unforgiving fists.
Barza shivered as he dispelled those thoughts, "ANYROAD, don't

mess this up for me... And let me do the talking, okay?"
"Um, alright, Lone," Bucket shrugged.

The young boy looked back to Taree and her brother in the
distance. Barza sensed Bucket's worry, and he couldn't help but
feel a tinge of guilt for acting so selfishly. Bucket's been nothing
but helpful and he couldn't have defeated the Gann so easily on
his own, "Hey, Bucket. I'll make it up to you."
"Nah," Bucket grinned, "I'll do it because we're bro's for life."
As the two bumped fists, Barza's heart surged with pride, "Yeah.
Bro's for life."
Taree crossed her arms, annoyed. "Okay, Tommy. What's the big
idea?"
Tamaki showed his sister his open palms, trying to keep her calm,
"Okay, Coach. Hear me out!"
Taree smiled, her eyelid twitching, "Make it quick. We're still being
chased by Yoshio and his mooks."
"Okay, just hear me out!"
"You said that already," Taree glared.
"What if… we ask the Chosen One... to help us?"
"I was already gonna do that."
"Okay." Tamaki crossed his arms, "--but what were ya gonna

offer?"
Taree opened her mouth to answer, but found that she hadn't
thought that far, "But… He's the Chosen One? The Chosen One
just… helps, right?"
Tamaki gave a wide grin, "Ah, see? Now you're ready to hear me
out."
Her brother had a point. The younger girl nodded in excitement,

waiting for her brother to continue. "Okay, what's the plan?"
"What if we… offer your hand in marriage?"
The girl stood up straight, her excitement gone. "That's a dumb

idea. I hate it."
"WAIT! Now hold on!"
"Let's just go turn ourselves in, to Yoshio," She groaned.
Taree turned to begin walking. Tamaki grabbed her wrist and

struggled with all his might to keep his sister from leaving.
"Dear brother, you're trying awfully hard to get rid of your lovely
younger sister," Taree said, her voice and expression, flat and
emotionless.
"Coach! No! Wait!" Tamaki begged, "Maybe I was a little hasty!"
Taree dragged her brother a couple of yalms before stopping.

Kimura Taree was the Ivory Judge sect's most outstanding martial
artist in her generation. She had recently attained mastery of the
Stone Fist, reaching First-Circle by Outer World standards. While
she was only eleven, she could defeat everyone twice her age in
contests of strength, with the exception of Muto Hisato.
"We'll ask for the Chosen One's help." Taree frowned, "But even if
we don't get it, the Ivory Judge sect did not raise two cowards!"
Tamaki swallowed his disappointment with a gulp, "A-alright,

Coach. But let me try. You know I'm a little better at this talking
thing than you are."
"Okay, fine. But if you try to sell me to the Chosen One, you're
out," Taree crossed her arms and hmph'ed.
"Don't worry, Coach. I got it."
...
"Sir, we found the girl." One of the warriors in dark clothing

reported to a handsome teenager in dark hair.
Yoshio sneered, sweeping the dark hair out of his eyes.
He clenched his fist in anger as he thought of that girl... Kimura

Taree... "How dare that bitch flee and hide like a RAT! What
cowardice! She won't even face her destiny like a MAN!"
Yoshio punched a nearby tree in anger, leaving a fist-sized crack

in the ancient wood, "I've been by that girl's side for years...
YEARS! And not once has she acknowledged my attempts to woo
her. I'll make her pay before returning her broken body to Young
Master Hisato."
The older warrior shifted his weight uneasily. Even though he was
a few years older than the man he was reporting to, Yoshio was
cruel and physically powerful, second in talent only to Taree. It
didn't matter what he thought of hunting down the greatest talent
in the Ivory Judge sect. Hisato has had given Yoshio full reign to
use the Muto family's forces, so they would hunt the Kimura girl to
their dying breaths.
"Why are you still here?" Yoshio glared at the older man.
"Sir, there's been a complication."
Yoshio narrowed his eyes and growled, "What?"
"The Kimura siblings have made contact with Outsiders."
Yoshio swept a hand, flaring his robe aggressively, "Che! So the

Kimura family had this hidden trump card! No matter. We are of
the Muto family! If the Kimura family's coin can entreat the
assistance of Outsiders, we will purchase their loyalty at double
the cost!"
Chapter 31 Saving A Sect
he blonde, blue-eyed archer and the rough, dark-haired warrior

T
met each other's gaze, their faces mere ilms away from each
other.
"So you're the Chosen One, huh?"
"Thou Art Correct. The Chosen One Is Me."
Barza Keith had sheathed his two blades, hanging them behind
his body in an X. He crossed his arms, striking a handsome pose
as his shortened dark hair waved in the chilly wind.
The blonde archer, Tamaki, was naturally handsome, with

sparkling, innocent eyes and fair skin. Their heights were similar
and though Tamaki was far younger than Barza, his pre-teenage
body claimed much less muscle mass than the veteran
mercenary.
His lanky appearance, however, did not detract from the passion
in his voice as he fawned over Barza, "The Ivory Judge sect has
foretold legends of your arrival... How only you can save us from
total annihilation. How may we address you, O' Chosen One."
"Thou Hast the Right Of It. Mine Name is Lone, Lone

Shadowdark."
"Lone Shadowdark… A great and mighty warrior name… Lend us

your strength, O' Chosen One!!! We can offer you riches beyond
your wildest dreams! Recognition from the 4 great families! Large-
breasted women as your many concubines! Ancient treasures
from--"
Taree watched the Chosen One and Tamaki from the side,
standing next to the sandy-haired boy. He was really interesting...
his name was... Bucket? and his ears were slightly... pointy. Taree
wanted to touch them, but she figured that would be rude.
And he held a spear and a slight smile. Suddenly, he covered his

mouth with his other hand and started to giggle.
Taree looked to him in wonder. Tommy told her that he'd deal with
the Chosen One but he didn't say she couldn't talk to his
companion. The boy was younger than her, for sure... but he
looked pretty strong-- especially with the way he jumped over the
Gann by vaulting with his spear.
Taree kept her hands innocently behind her back and she leaned
her whole body to meet the seated boy's eyes. "What's so funny?"
The boy gave a bright, unapologetic smile, "That's my brother! He

doesn't usually talk like that-- but Lone's a great guy!"
Taree tapped her delicate cheek with a finger, "Oh, okay. I thought
all Outer Worlders talked like that?"
"Maybe? I wouldn't really know," Bucket shrugged.
The boy suddenly raised his eyebrows as if remembering

something. He fumbled through his satchel before revealing a
cloth wrapper, offering up its contents. Taree stared at the
unwrapped piece of dried meat with sparkles in her eyes.
Taree and her brother had been running for hours. She was tired.
Her entire body, but especially her legs, were sore and her feet
ached and hurt. She wanted to cry at Yoshio's betrayal, at how
desperate her mission was, at the declining state of her sect. But
more than feeling sad and helpless, she was angry. She wanted
to beat Yoshio to a pulp, break his bones. She wanted to commit
the unforgivable crime of destroying his dantian, rendering him
incapable of cultivating, and returning him to his family as an
ordinary mortal.
Getting the help of the Chosen One and his companion was the
first step she needed to take. She gleefully accepted the boy's gift.
"Thank you," Taree smiled. Her mom always told her to be
thankful of honest gifts, and the boy seemed more honest than
any cultivator than she'd ever met.
The boy blinked in embarrassment with reddening cheeks. Then

he smiled so wide that his eyes closed, "Wow! Your smile is
beautiful."
"Thanks! My name is Kimura Taree-- oh, but you can just call me
Taree."
"Oh, okay. My name is Pale. Nice to meet you, Taree."
Pale? Not Bucket? Okay.
Pale. Lone. Taree thought their names were mysterious. If she

could recruit them both, she and Tamaki had a chance to
survive, "Warrior Pale, are you… from a prestigious family?"
"Um, I guess so? My dad is the greatest solo gladiator on the

western continent."
Taree nodded in her heart, excited. Son of the greatest warrior on

the continent sounded impressive, indeed.
"Is he your backer? I mean... Did your family teach you the Way of
the Spear?"
Pale shook his head with wistful eyes, "My family? I didn't really
have anyone except my dad."
Taree gripped her robe with her tiny fists. She had spoken too
quickly. Her family gave her everything she needed, from pills and
healing balms to teachers and training. She should have known
that someone outside of a martial sect could only grow strong if...
they lived a hard life, and were forced to become strong or perish.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to-"
"It's okay." Pale gave her a warm smile, "My dad will come back
when he finishes his quest. I have Lone, my brother. And I have
the rest of Guild Invictus. They're the ones who taught me how to
use a spear. Oh! And Boss Tycon said I'll be more useful once I
can learn at least one Offensive Skill and one Movement Skill."
The girl's heart thumped in her chest when she understood Pale's
implications. The Guild Invictus that Pale was talking about was
like a Sect. And it wasn't a lowly sect if it could distribute
techniques to even its youngest students. If she could request for
aid from his guild, she might do more than save herself and her
brother-- she could save her family and all of the Ivory Judge sect.
Taree stood up and bowed as deeply and low as she could.
Pale shot up in embarrassment and surprise, "Taree?"
"Warrior Pale! I'm begging you! Please, help me save my sect!

Guild Invictus is our only hope!"
Barza had been so excited to be the Chosen One. The last time
he remembered being chosen was in a P.E. Class as a child. And
he was chosen last.
The archer, Tamaki, was promising far too many rewards as the
Chosen One. It was so overwhelming that Barza was beginning to
get cold feet. Out of professional curiosity, he asked about the
legends concerning his title. That's when the troubling signs
began to show.
The Chosen One from Tamaki's legends was able to move great
beings with a word or even a wave of his palm. His eyes could
delve deep into the soul of any man, causing great fear and
horror, or even the sense of indescribable awe and deep,
unquestioning devotion. The Chosen One could even talk to great
and mighty beasts, commanding them as he saw fit to either
protect or destroy.
Barza could definitely, absolutely not talk to animals.
He couldn't do any of the other things, either, but the talking-to-

animals ability was something he couldn't even fake. Animals
hated him. Cats hissed at him. Dogs growled at him without
reason. Horses looked at him with arrogance and contempt. Even
the little piglet that guided him and Bucket to the Gann lair shook
its behind with disdain at him.
And all that talk of saving an entire sect sounded like far too much
responsibility for just him.
He strongly considered it. It would get him away from Boss Tycon-
- no, all of Guild Invictus' crazy training, which broke his heart as
much as it did his body. He could get away from Dragan's cruel
mockery and from Wroe's empty compliments that only made him
more disappointed in himself. And trying to perform to Boss
Tycon's expectations was absolutely impossible-- the man never
smiled! And his golden eyes were like that of a predator's! He had
nightmares of the man turning into a literal snake and devouring
him whole!
And all he had to do was save a sect hidden in the mountains

from an entire Muto family bent on the sect's destruction.
Both plans of action had pros and cons.
As Barza's thoughts drifted, Tamaki was still talking.
"--and after y'all get married, I can retire at the ripe old age of 30.
I've got this fishin' hole, half a malm away from the old house.
Now the catfish aren't nothin' to write home about, but--"
The sharp twang of a longbow split through the air, cutting

Tamaki's hopeful dreaming short.
Barza gripped the hilts of his swords, quickly scanning the area for
the arrow's target. But as if to answer his question, blood spilled
from Tamaki's mouth and he collapsed forward, an arrow stuck in
his back.
"Hey! Hey!! What's wrong?!" Barza dropped all pretenses of his

flowery speech, as he held the blonde kid in his arms. Spotting the
arrow on the boy's back, he reflexively reached to pull it out.
"Lone, don't!!" Bucket rushed to his side, spear at the ready. "Boss
said if you take out the arrow, you'll open the wound and he'll start
bleeding!"
Barza nodded and placed the boy down as gently as he could.

Taree stood beside Bucket in a combat stance, weaponless, but
still exuding a sense of danger as sharp as a sword or spear.
"Tamaki, hold on! Warrior Pale! Chosen One! Yoshio's men are
strong, be on guard!"
Barza unsheathed his swords... Wait, pail? She meant Bucket,

right?
A white-robed figure on a tree branch tossed a longbow aside.

With a leap, he descended to the forest floor, his fist pointed
downward. The forest floor cracked and rumbled with the weight
of the strike, sending rocks flying. The handsome dark-haired man
stood and cracked his gloved knuckles, imposingly.
"O' Great Expert. It seems the traitorous Kimura girl and her
brother are trying to deceive you. Might I offer you the truth?"
Chapter 32 Surrounded By
Ninjas
he white-robed challenger wore a long, black ponytail and black

T
leather gloves covered in numerous razor-sharp blades. He
arrogantly placed both hands behind his back, approaching
without fear.
"Who Art That Guy?" Barza looked to Taree for an answer.
The little girl spat on the ground, shattering Barza's perception of

her. From the way Tamaki talked, he'd thought that Taree was
their family's princess and would act prim, proper-- or at the least,
would act less like a thug than he did.
"His name's Yoshio. He's an absolute loser who's raised the Stone
Body technique to its peak level. 'Cuz he's a little b*tch!"
Barza struggled to respond in a nonchalant manner. "Oh. Most

Well. This Yoshio Hast Nothing On The Chosen One's
Greatness."
"What's the Stone Body technique?" Pale asked, his eyes rapidly
scanned the treetops. Yoshio wasn't their only opponent.
"Yoshio's body is like a suit of armor." Taree explained, "And if

your strength isn't high enough, arrows and swords are useless
against him."
Barza had never heard of such a ridiculous defensive skill. And all
he's done in his offtime was go to the pub and listen to stories
about adventurers. He made a decision in his heart; he needed to
find the earliest possible opportunity to reject his mantle of
Chosen One.
…
Tycon had slithered back up the massive, gnarled tree to where

his friends were waiting.
« System, Cancel Snake-Form. »
[Snake-Form Cancelled. Returning to Human-Form.]
With the System's welcome assistance, Tycon had created a

mental shortcut to changing forms, designating his Human form
as his base. With the System override, any effect or spell that
would revert him uncontrollably into a handsome, majestic snake,
would be rendered useless.
...Anyroad, it was much faster to use a mental command than to

try to will various body parts to shrink, disappear, transform, or
whatever.
Tycon lightly tossed Wroe's sword back to him.
Wroe caught the blade by the hilt, "Thanks, Boss."
"I may have been at fault," Tycon shrugged. "Don't mention it."
Dragan was below the branch, casually doing pull-ups as if falling

a couple of hundred fulms wasn't an issue, "Boss, I didn't know
you could turn into a snake."
Wroe nodded, "Your Snake Form is beautiful."
Tycon didn't even spare the spellcaster a glance, "Mister Wroe, I'd
prefer you to keep your philanderous affectations *outside* the
guild."
The blue-haired half-angel, Tarquin Wroe, smiled sheepishly,

"Haha. Sorry, Boss."
"Gentlemen, what have I missed?"
Wroe offered the first thought, "The two beat the Gann. It looked
like it was about to use a Fire Blast, but it hesitated..."
"Good eye, Mister Wroe. I used an interrupting Skill."
"Ah, that makes sense, then! Boss, can I use the next Skill?" Wroe
grinned. With a blink, his blue eyes turned pitch black.
"No, Mister Wroe. Anything else?"
Dragan heaved himself atop the branch with one arm, seating
himself between Wroe and Tycon. Within the span of a few
moments, the Titanblood had crossed a considerable distance
underneath the tree limb. The man's climbing skill, even using just
his arm strength, was commendable.
"Mister Dragan," Tycon acknowledged.
"Boooosssss! We were thinking…"
"A shame."
"Barza should get a nickname. Like how we call you 'Boss'. And
we call Bucket 'Bucket'."
Tycon kept a steady demeanor, though inwardly, he was stunned

by the information, "Is Bucket not his actual name, then?"
"I dunno. It doesn't sound like a real name."
Tycon turned his head to Wroe.
Wroe shrugged, "We've been calling him Bucket for so long, does

it really matter?"
"I think we should call him Queer," Dragan proudly suggested. "I
mean Barza, not Bucket."
Wroe frowned at the suggestion, "Won't that make Guild Invictus

sound homophobic?"
"Woooow! WOOOOOW, TARQUIN!! Thaaaaat was pretty freakin'

homophobic!"
Tycon pursed his lips. It was a low-stakes argument without much
thought put into it. He would just ignore it and hope for the
best, "Suggestion denied. But he can claim a name if he so
wishes… When he rates, anyroad."
Dragan chuckled, "It'll take a while for Gear-Queer to rate."
Tycon shrugged as he kneeled down to examine the battlefield

once more, "Our opinions differ. You call him a coward. I think he
approaches high-risk situations with an appropriate level of
caution."
"Ha ha? Um, Boss, I uh… We never called him a coward. That
was you?"
Tycon cleared his throat, ignoring him. "Take a look. New

challenger. White robe. A Martialist?"
Dragan looked down, "Looks stronger than the rest. Looks like he
shot that archer guy. And there's bad guys in the trees around us,
too. Ninjas, maybe."
Tycon examined the transparent red ???'s floating above several

masked assassin-types wearing dark clothing.
« System, change display setting: change the unknown variables

to approximate classes. »
In Tycon's vision, the transparent red ???'s were quickly rewritten

as 'Hidden Scout's. The white-robed youth below was marked as
'Arrogant Ruffian.'
...There was that stupid Ruffian class again.
« System, inquiry: Power level of the gentleman in white? »
[System response: Yoshio, Bronze-Rank Martialist]
The 'Arrogant Ruffian' title changed handily to 'Yoshio'. How

convenient.
Tycon turned to Dragan, "I see eleven scouts in dark clothing in
the trees... Why hasn't anyone spotted us yet?"
Wroe raised his hand, "I'm maintaining a Shadow Veil on us. I'll
keep us hidden unless we're attacked or have to move."
Tycon nodded, "I hadn't noticed. Well done."
Even Dragan was impressed, "Pretty cool skill, Bub."
"Thanks guys," Wroe accepted the compliment with a tilt of the

head and an angelic smile. Tycon considered the small action
reflective of a high level of trust and camaraderie between the
three.
Tycon pointed down. "Wroe and I will clean up the guys in the
trees, while you, Dra--"
Dragan held out a hand, "Hold on, Boss."
Tycon retracted his pointing finger. "You rarely interrupt me during

planning, Mister Dragan. Have I missed something?"
"Yeah, man. I wanted to help during the Gann fight, but we had to
do it all stealthy-like."
"An impressively imbecile way to paraphrase," Tycon twisted his

lips, "--but yes. Your point?"
Dragan shrugged, "I think the two can handle this on their own."
Tycon took the thought into consideration... "Mister Wroe, your

opinion."
Wroe nodded, "I can maintain the Shadow Veil as long as we don't
move."
Dragan smirked, "But it's your call, Boss. I wouldn't mind cuttin' up
some ninjas."
Tycon crossed his arms. "We'll observe, only to move if

necessary."
Tycon again took a knee to observe the battlefield and the green
names only he saw.
Barza Keith. Bucket. Kimura Taree. Kimura Tamaki.
'Show us your strength and conviction. Show us the pride of

Invictus.'
Chapter 33 No One Has To Die
Today
" Shut up, Yoshio! Before I punch you so hard, you'll have to brush
your teeth through YOUR ASS!" Taree screamed so loud, her face
turned red.
Pale couldn't help but giggle, witnessing the girl's boldness. She
was honest and much less boring than any other girl he'd met
before. And she was pretty and smelled nice, too.
The white-robed Yoshio cleared his throat, covering his mouth

with a black-gloved hand. He shot Taree a single glare, before
turning to face Barza, "Great Expert, I am Yoshio of the Muto
Family. Kimura Taree and her brother are traitors to our Ivory
Judge sect. I humbly request the Great Expert's assistance in
apprehending them."
Barza couldn't help but be suspicious. "Taree, is this true?"
Taree looked hurt, crossing her arms and turning away, "Hmph!
Obviously not, Lone. He's the bad guy!"
Barza and Pale looked over to the sharp-eyed, dark-haired

Martialist.
"He does kinda look like a bad guy," Barza conceded.
"His eyes are the same squinty shape as Boss Tycon's?" Pale
said hesitantly.
"That doesn't make it better, little brother," Barza admitted quietly.
Barza spoke out to respond to Yoshio, his voice raised in

confidence, "Thou! Telleth Us Why Thou Hast Shooteneth… The
blonde... Guy."
Yoshio nodded, "Kimura Tamaki is a dangerous archer, capable of

striking a falling leaf from 100 yalms away."
Taree squatted into a crouch, mumbling.
Pale leaned over her, "Taree? Is that true?"
"It is." She clenched her eyes shut, sniffling, "But it's totally wrong!
But if I tell the truth, you guys will think my little brother is a loser.
Ahhhhh..."
Yoshio smirked and pressed his advantage, "Great Expert, I

beseech you. The Kimura family is a dying clan, void of influence,
and destitute in coin! With the Muto family's wealth and power, we
can easily offer you greater riches-- more powerful treasures.
Would you consider working for us, instead?"
Pale clenched the leather grips on his spear, "Lone, these guys
are definitely bad guys."
Barza steeled his expression and made an executive decision.

Anything that had to do with gaining treasures was worth
consideration, "I think we should hear this guy out."
Taree waved her arms in a huff, "I'll fight them all myself if I have
to!"
Barza scoffed at the little girl's insistence before taking a moment

to realize what she said. "Hold on. 'Them all'? What do you mean
by 'them all'?"
Pale gestured upwards, "Lone, there's at least eleven hidden in

the trees."
A chill ran down Barza's spine as he began to panic. He turned to

Taree and loudly whispered, "You didn't tell me about any of this!"
Taree shrugged as if it wasn't her problem, "Hmph. You were

talking to my brother the entire time."
Yoshio interrupted, "Great Expert? Might I ask how much the
Kimura Family has hired you for? I'm certain that I can at least
double, if not triple its value."
Barza cleared his throat, but Pale stopped him.
"Lone, do you really have to make a deal with the bad guy?"
"Come on, man." Barza urged, "It doesn't hurt to at least ask
about it."
Money could change Barza's life. He was almost certain that

Tycon viewed him as a resource instead of a real person. If he
could offer Boss Tycon coin worth two or three elite mercenaries,
Barza might be able to buy his freedom back.
"Well, alright, then," Pale hesitated, "Can you at least stop with
that weird way of talking?"
"I can't do that either, man. I have to sound mysterious... Like a

Chosen One," Barza insisted.
"But Taree already knows what you really sound like," Pale
argued.
Barza glanced at Taree, who averted her gaze but still nodded.
"Fine," Barza sighed.
"You there, Yoshio. This Great Expert has not yet been promised
monetary award-ments. This is the first time that This Great
Expert is visiting these lands."
Yoshio's eyes seemed to sparkle with cunning, "Ohhhh? Great

Expert, so you mean to say the Kimura Family hasn't sought out
your services prior?"
Barza blinked, "Wait, what?"
Yoshio's voice took on a dark, mocking tone, "How very

interesting! All this time, I was concerned that the Kimura family
had contracted a group of mercenaries to aid them. A thousand
men-- perhaps even a few hundred outsiders might have been
enough to threaten our plans."
The white-robed bad-guy grinned, "But it turns out that for all the
talent belonging to little b*tch Taree, the most she can whore up is
a PAIR OF STRAYS!"
Barza looked to Pale, "This is my fault, isn't it?"
"Um. Maybe?" Pale grinned apologetically.
Taree interrupted, her face red with anger, "It's definitely your
fault."
"Troops, to me!!!" Yoshio shouted. "Even if the Expert can fell a

Gann, we outnumber them four to one!"
Tycon was chewing absentmindedly on meat jerky, intently

observing the developments below.
"Hey. Hey. Boss. Hey, Boss," Dragan prodded.
"I'm not sharing if that's what you wanted to ask, Mister Dragan."
Tycon kept a majority of the meats that he dried. It was quite tasty,
so it was a popular commodity for wagering and to shamelessly
beg for amongst the small group.
"Ah, no, not that, Boss... What would you do if you were Bucket?"
Tycon shook his head as if the answer was obvious, "I only see
one course of action. You two, what would you do?"
Dragan laughed and clapped his hands together. He obviously

wanted to share his opinion, "Well, OBVIOUSLY, Bucket's looking
around-- he sees all the ninjas. I'd charge forward and take out the
first cunt that falls! BAM. Right in the chest! BAM! Whack on the
side of the head towards the biggest group. Charge and hit
another one! That's a double-kill. Three more for the penta-kill!"
Tycon nodded, no change in his expression, "Mister Wroe?"
Wroe placed his offhand on his chin in thought, with his other
hand forward with purplish-colored mana swirling around it, "Using
a spear, I'd volunteer to grab the attention of the man in white,
while also keeping my distance. I could even use sweeping
attacks to create distance and to wear down the ninjas. We'd
strike down each of the ninjas through teamwork, one by one-- ah,
and coordinating with Barza and the girl is important for that."
He smirked, licking his lips, "Or for a more risky strategy, focusing
our attacks on their leader would put their team into disarray."
Tycon frowned, his golden eyes glowing from within the Shadow
Veil, "Unfortunately, it won't be that easy. You two, be ready to
move."
Dragan and Tarquin's expressions grew serious.
"You got it, Boss-man." "Aye aye, Boss."
Lone stepped forward, a cold wind blowing through his hair as

golden leaves continued to dance all around them. He took a
deep breath, taking in hints of the warm Galetus berries and of the
freshly disturbed dirt.
Taree knew he was readying his heart to fight on the side of the
Ivory Judge Sect. He was the Chosen One... he had to be.
She looked at Lone's strong, broad back and struggled to find her
words. Yoshio and his goons were too dangerous to fight alone.
But hope burned fiercely in her heart. She wanted so badly to be
able to place her trust in the Chosen One. She wanted to stop
running. She wanted to fight to protect her family, her sect, and
bringing back the Chosen One would do just that.
Lone thrust one powerful arm forward, making Yoshio visibly

flinch. A second powerful arm was thrust forward, making a cross.
Yoshio held his arm out, stopping the ninjas from moving forward.
Taree grew enamored by Lone's powerful biceps, strength surging
through all of his bulging muscles.
"No one has to die today," He declared.
...
Yoshio gulped in apprehension. Each of the ninjas under his

charge slowly began reaching for their weapons. They didn't dare
underestimate the Great Expert before them. Lone stared down
Yoshio, giving off the impression of a storied hero standing before
a mere man.
Had he made a mistake? Did he offend someone that shouldn't

have been offended?
No... That was ridiculous! With the Muto family's help, Yoshio had
finally surpassed Kimura Taree and trained his Stone Body to
Major Completion! No matter what techniques the Great Expert
wielded, his body would be impervious to it!
"You..." The Outsider's voice was a low growl, his wrists crossed
in front of him.
Yoshio stepped towards the Great Expert, one gloved palm

forward in a defensive stance. "I hear your words, Great Expert."
"I'm the Chosen One you want. I surrender."
"You... What?"
Chapter 34 For The Purpose
Of This Exercise
aree was incredibly confused. More than that, she felt betrayed.
T
The man who she thought was the Chosen One was surrendering
without a fight?
He used such noble and domineering words, 'No one has to die
today,' as if with a wave of his hand, he'd swat aside Yoshio and
his goons into meat-paste against the mountainside.
Taree had really wanted to see the storied Meat-to-Paste

Technique.
He even put his wrists together in a strange, almost ritualistic

display, as if he was confident of his actions-- as if he'd practiced
the movements hundreds and thousands of times in the past.
Taree really wanted to see the storied Turtle Beam or even the
Hadou Fist.
No. Taree shook her head. It must have been some trick. The
Chosen One could handle himself-- he must have some ulterior
motive. Even a coward would run away before surrendering so
thoroughly!
Pale was holding a thick log, half his size, balancing that, his
metal spear, and Tamaki, the unconscious archer.
"Meet you back at base, Lone!" He yelled.
Then Pale started running.
Taree was caught by surprise-- he ran quite fast, and his short
running legs looked funny carrying all the extra and unbalanced
weight. Tamaki looked especially pitiful with how his long legs
dangled over the short boy's shoulders and an arrow still sticking
out of his back.
"Taree! Gotta keep up!" Pale yelled.
"Oh!" Taree yelped, dashing away and creating a cloud of dirt. A

group of four ninjas converged on her location with swords drawn-
- moments too late. She had sprinted away with Pale's warning,
her leg strength leaving a deep divot in the dirt.
"Awww, Boss! Bucket didn't even try!" Dragan shouted indignantly.
Tycon didn't respond to Dragan's moaning. He found Bucket's

actions perfectly acceptable.
It was the situation with Barza that left him clueless. Surrendering
to the enemy without a fight? Was he a genius for the distraction?
What kind of plan was running through the man's head? And if this
was all his plan, how would he guarantee his own safety?
The risk that Barza was taking was so grossly perilous that Tycon
refused to believe it was so simple. And it was only further
hazardous, realizing that the enemy would also refuse to believe
it.
But unpredictability shatters the status quo. With the enemy

unbalanced, Barza could land a fatal strike at a revealed
vulnerability.
Brave or foolish?
Tycon sincerely hoped he'd be pleasantly surprised.
Barza Keith stared blankly with a turned head after how quickly
Pale had deserted him. He slowly turned his head to look back at
Yoshio.
He knew he had f*cked up.
"Chosen One!" Taree yelled from a distance.
A new thought had quickly solidified in Barza's mind and alerted

every sense of his being. He needed to run. He needed to run as
fast as or faster than Pale. Or Taree. Or maybe he'd beg Pale to
drop the blonde kid, in order to slow the enemy.
Though his energy was drained after the Gann fight, hearing the
young girl's voice spurred him to action. He yelled out powerfully,
blood coursing through his leg muscles and courage filling his
heart.
"I'm coming!"
Pain surged through his body.
During Barza's lapse in concentration, Yoshio had closed the gap,

sinking a solid knee strike into his abdomen. Yoshio's hands never
left behind his back, nor did the sadistic sneer leave his face.
The white-robed youth hopped up with a spin, and a second kick

sent Barza skidding along the ground until he smashed through a
rotting log.
Yoshio landed expertly on the toes of his left foot before pointing
at his subordinates with his chin, "You, you, and you, come with
me after the girl. The rest of you, take care of the outsider!"
Dragan continued to complain, "Boss, did you see? He just ran!"
Tycon raised a hand to stop him, "Mister Dragan, your capability

to react quickly and accurately during combat is admirable and I
daresay one of your best traits."
"Oh! Thanks, Boss--"
"--But your plan is reckless. Bucket would be outnumbered,

entrapped, and without support. At Bucket's level of combat, he is
able to effectively resist the attacks of two Bronze-Rank
combatants, at best... and only for a finite amount of exchanges."
Dragan gnashed his teeth and averted his eyes but didn't argue.
Tycon felt that Dragan had been Iron-Rank for so long, he'd likely
forgotten what it was like to be weak. A normal mercenary would
despair at becoming surrounded. Dragan, however, would revel in
that there'd be so many enemies to murder.
"Mister Wroe, I approve of both the coordination method and, if

the opportunity arises, attacking and slaying the team leader.
However, the teamwork is unreliable. On the field, there is an
unfortunate casualty and a young girl whose ability cannot be
easily gauged. That considered, with the number of attackers the
situation is rather dismal."
Wroe nodded slowly in understanding, "So the tactical

withdrawal?"
"Or a quick withdrawal as Bucket has chosen. Full points to the

boy." Tycon stated calmly as if the boy wasn't in a life-threatening
situation below them.
"Well, where are they going?" Wroe asked.
"They need something-- anything, a chokepoint, an ambush,

coordinated hit-and-runs…" Tycon opened his arms, motioning to
the two of them, "Or perhaps reinforcements? Mister Wroe."
Wroe's blue eyes glowed like sparkling gems underneath his white
hood. "You have need of my services, Boss?"
"Must you?" Tycon groaned, "You're not impressing anyone. It's

just Dragan and me up here."
"What? Am I doing something?"
"...Disregard." Tycon rolled his eyes, "Mister Wroe, go assist

Bucket."
Wroe leaned backward, his head resting on his interwoven
fingers, still glaringly suspended in the air. "Huh? He looks like
he's got it, though."
"The boy was being chased by--" Tycon sighed. He didn't know
why he bothered explaining, sometimes, "Just… just go."
Wroe stood up, taking care to keep his balance on the tree
branch. "Aye, Boss. I'll be goi--"
"Wait." Tycon raised a hand, his head down, deep in thought. "Are
you… Seven hells, I still can't believe I'm asking this, but are you
capable of assisting the whelpling without revealing your
presence?"
"Oh, sure," Wroe responded a bit too quickly for Tycon's comfort.
"He'll never know what hit him."
As Wroe was about to turn, Tycon quickly stopped him, "Hold!!"
"'Sup, Boss?"
"For the purpose of this exercise, you may not directly attack
Bucket."
"Got it."
"W-wait..." Tycon held up his hand, stopping Wroe again... "For

the purpose of this exercise, you may not summon creatures
incapable of distinguishing Bucket from an enemy."
The last command seemed to stun Wroe. He lowered his hood

and scratched at his blue hair in thought. "Oh. Um. I'll think of
something?"
"And Mister Wroe, do watch your step."
"Don't worry, Boss, it's probably fiiiiiiiiiii--" Wroe slipped off the tree
branch, falling-- screaming the whole way.
Tycon didn't bother looking down. "Mister Dragan, the Veil will
soon be... Ugh. What is it?"
Dragan was trying to stifle his laughter, "That guy's only been
messing with magic for like a week, right? I wonder if he knows
that a Short-Teleport Spell usually brings the momentum from the
beginning of the cast and carries it past its completion."
Tycon shook his head, "That's his problem, not ours."
Dragan returned his grin, "What's the plan, Boss?"
"Mister Dragan, do make certain Mister Barza isn't killed.

Discreetly, if possible. With violence and great prejudice, if you
must."
"Caaaan I do both?"
"Have it known that I admire your creative mind, my friend." Tycon

nodded, "Do as you will."
"Ahaha!" The big man chortled, hefting his dark-metal greataxe

onto his shoulder. "What'll you be doing, Boss?"
Tycon took a deep sigh, looking off into the distance after Bucket
and his whelpling companions. "I'll be ensuring our spellcaster
doesn't accidentally kill the boy."
"Ehhh. He's f*cked, Boss. Can't we just get a new kid?"
"Sod off, Dragan."

Chapter 35 Responsibility
"Give me my brother! Warrior Pale! Warrior Paaaale!"
The silver-haired girl yelled after Pale, trying to get his attention.
Every minute, every step, they felt the pressure of the black-cloth,
sword-wielding assassins chasing after them. And behind them,
an even stronger existence followed.
Pale glanced to check on Taree's condition. Her short silver hair

was a mess and sweat covered her face and exposed neck. Her
breathing was erratic and she ran awkwardly, wincing in pain
every few steps.
"How long have you and your brother been running?" He yelled.
The pair dropped down a small dune, crashing into a soft pile of
golden leaves. The two separated briefly, weaving through
gigantic, gnarled tree roots. When they emerged from the root
maze, Pale brazenly ran forward with his head entirely turned to
her.
Taree was stunned by his radiant grin, stuttering her words, "I-if I
tell you, will you give me my brother back?"
"Maybe?" Pale didn't say yes. He didn't want to lie to her.
She kept up easily, which really surprised him. He'd always

thought girls were weaker than guys, and that people like Sorina
and Miss Seldin were special to be so strong. It had taken him
months and months of hard training to be able to run while
carrying both a person and a log and a weapon for long periods of
time. Even though Taree's brother was surprisingly light, he didn't
want to trust her with additional weight. Anyroad, Pale really
wanted to show off in front of her.
"Tamaki and I been running from Yoshio for like-- six bells?"
Pale laughed, "Haha, yeah!? No way!"
Taree fumed, her silvery hair flaring up with her indignation, "No
way, what?!"
"You can barely run. I don't wanna leave you behind," Pale
explained. It was mean, but there was no way she'd be able to
keep up if she was carrying her brother.
"YOU-- How dare you! Argh! Okay, fine! Give me something to

carry, then! Anything!"
Pale mentally groaned. So the girl had an annoying side to her,

too. "No! Just focus on running!"
"Why... Why are you carrying that log?"
Pale tried to recall why he was carrying the log. It was a

replacement for his armor when he was doing strength and agility
training without it... But he was wearing armor. Pale had taken the
log along during the Gann hunt without thinking about it. And he
couldn't leave it behind, here, because he would have to use it
tomorrow.
"I guess... it's my responsibility?" Pale said, his voice betraying a

hint of uncertainty.
"You don't sound super sure of that."
Pale decided to focus on dodging obstacles in the golden-leafed

forest.
"Whoops!" Pale slid sideways with his forward momentum, before

laying Tamaki face-down (arrow-up) on a crispy pile of leaves.
"Why are you stopping?" Taree slowed down to match Pale. She
put her hands on her head while trying to catch her breath.
Without answering, Pale stepped past her towards where they

were running from.
KLING-KLING. KLING!
Pale waved his spear around in front of him, praying that his spear
could move as fast as his eyesight.
...
Taree didn't realize what had happened until she looked at a

nearby tree and saw a metal dart embedded into it-- a hidden
weapon. Her heart sank as she realized the ninjas had caught up
to them. Then she screamed.
"Taree? What's wrong?" Pale hurried to her side.
"H-how did you learn to do that?" She asked. Even she wasn't
able to follow the speed of thrown hidden weapons.
Pale grinned sheepishly, "Everyone from Guild Invictus calls it...

Fruit Ninja training."
Taree was shocked, hearing about Pale's ninja training. It was a

serious taboo if Outsiders were practicing one of the Hidden
Sects' secretive ninja techniques. But that wasn't the biggest
problem. The biggest problem was that they had stopped running!
As if reading her mind, Pale gave Taree an apologetic smile.
Taree's anger cooled slightly. She would have preferred to have a

last stand against Yoshio's ninjas with the Chosen One. Pale was
a powerful expert, but she could tell with absolute certainty that
Lone was twice-- No! Three times as--
Pale threw his log!! How could he just toss away his responsibility
like that?? Taree stared at it as it flew past her head-- It looked like
it weighed as much as she did!
CRRRNK!!
Taree's jaw dropped. With the deep clunk sound the log made, it
was definitely heavier than she was!
She looked to where Pale had thrown it-- PALE THREW IT AT
TAMAKI!?
A million emotions flooded her brain. Warrior Pale had killed her
poor brother! Was it because his useless half-corpse was slowing
them down? She needed to get her explosive, bloody revenge!
'Oh, Tamaki!' she cried in her heart. 'You were my favorite brother-
- you were my only brother. But if there's one way your poor,
stupid, pathetic soul can be laid to rest, it's by your beautiful sister
claiming bloody vengeance in thy name! Amen.'
A dozen 'thnks' resounded throughout the clearing.
Taree slowly opened her eyes to find that she and Pale were safe,
behind a boulder. Faster than she could think, Pale had grabbed
her and kept one hand on her head to make sure she wasn't at
risk of being hit. She looked over to where her brother was-- a
series of hidden-weapons had become embedded in Pale's log,
effectively saving her brother from becoming a porcupine.
Taree looked to Pale with a serious face, "You don't know how
close to death you just got."
Pale tilted his head, confused, "Huh? But I just--"
Taree slapped his hand away from her head-- the same hand that
he used to make sure she wouldn't get shot in the face by flying
scraps of metal.
His hand was warm.
A man's loud yell reverberated throughout the forest. Yoshio's

troops immediately withdrew, running back towards the voice.
Pale and Taree stood up and gazed at the ninjas' fleeing backs.
"That was... Yoshio's voice just now, wasn't it?" Pale tilted his
head, "Was he attacked?"
Taree shrugged, "Meh, that guy's a loser, anyway. Come on! Let's
get my brother to safety."
...
"Yeah, okay. Let's go." Pale nodded.
He was glad that the ninjas had withdrawn. He could defend

himself decently well from the ninjas' thrown weapons but that
was his limit. He couldn't easily defend Taree or Tamaki at the
same time. He began walking back but didn't hear Taree's
footsteps following him. With a face full of worry, he turned back.
"Taree?"
The silver-haired girl's face was pale and her body shook all over
as she pointed. "W-w-w-warrior Pale! DON'T MOVE!"
"Eh? What's wrong?" Pale was very careful not to move.

Whatever it was that was making Taree panic spooked him too.
Taree's eyes were growing hot and she started hiccuping.
"Th-there's a knife in y-your back."
Pale's back felt numb and hot, and a bit prickly. Boss Tycon had
explained to him prior that adrenaline would make him numb from
the pain for a while, especially on broad areas of his body, like on
the back or on the thighs. When Taree told him, feeling began to
return, and he felt some of the blood drip down.
Pale turned his head to look at her out of the corner of his eyes,
"Psh. Are you crying? Wow. Have some self-respect."
Taree's eyes began to water as she stared at his back, "There's...

there's so many... in your back..."
Her voice began to crack as she fell to her knees, "There's...

there's so much blood..."
Pale smirked. What was she talking about. Then he made the
mistake of looking down. Uh oh... The blood pooling below him--
was that his?
"W-why... Why did you save me?" Taree mumbled.

Pale was starting to feel a bit dizzy, but he smiled in an attempt to
calm the girl down. There was nothing to worry about. He was in
control. He had to stay calm in front of anyone he met, so they
wouldn't panic.
"I guess... because it's my responsibility."

Chapter 36 Please Tell Me
ale was desperately trying to stay awake. Taree was in a panic.

P
Taree was in a daze. He was afraid she'd run off and fight Yoshio
by herself if he didn't keep talking to her to keep her calm. She
had finally managed to drag both him and her brother to the
entrance of a cave, but her orange sleeves had wiped her blurry
eyes raw in the process.
He wanted to sleep so badly.
"You'd better not close your eyes, stupid! I'll hate you forever if you
do!" The girl screamed.
But his stupid new friend wouldn't let him.
It was fine, though.
"Taree..."
"No! No, no, no no no no. You can't talk. Just stay quiet. Help is
coming soon."
"...In my bag... There's... a glass."
Through sniffles and snot, the miserable little girl began digging
into Pale's supply bag. She stopped for a moment upon finding
the empty jerky cloth that Pale had offered her earlier. She began
to wail loudly, dumping out the bag's contents. She picked up a
thin, stoppered glass vial full of a suspicious red liquid.
"Pale. Pale." Taree grabbed both of Pale's hands, placing the vial
in it. "I got the glass. I got it. What do I do?"
"It's... healing...." He struggled to find the words in his daze, "I

need... to drink..."
...
Taree struggled to understand what the boy was trying to say, with
the blood loss, he had lost all of his strength. She quickly
unstoppered the bottle and put it up to Pale's mouth... but even as
weak as Pale was, he reached out a hand to hold hers, stopping
her.
Taree had grown up on stories of fantastical alchemy pills able to

heal any wound. She was sure that whatever was in the red vial
was a priceless treasure to the Outsiders. The boy was from a
prestigious family, the Invictus Sect! Of course, they'd have
miraculous treasures capable of this and more.
"Pale, what is it? I just-- I just have to pour this into your mouth,
right? It's like a healing pill, right? You'll be okay, right?"
Pale weakly shook his head, "Half... your brother."
Taree felt her pupils shrink and her stomach churn with shame.
"HOW CAN YOU THINK OF OTHERS WHEN YOU'RE LIKE

THIS?!" Taree shouted.
"I'm... fine." Pale smiled weakly.
"Idiot!!" Taree yelled, streams of grossness running down her cute

face. "Y-y-y-you don't know if the pill will work all the way if you
don't take the whole thing. Besides, my brother's wound isn't
critical! Yours is!"
"H...him first," Pale insisted.
Taree clenched her fist. But she couldn't hit him to make him
understand. Putting on a resolute face, she narrowed her eyes,
willing the tears to stop.
She poured the open vial's contents into her own mouth. Grabbing
the younger boy's face with both hands, she pressed her lips to
his, closing her eyes reflexively. She held him, even going as far
as swirling her tongue to ensure he had swallowed everything.
Withdrawing her lips, a thin strand of saliva remained briefly
visible, linking their tongues.
"Um... Taree," Pale grinned.
Taree's face was as bright and as deeply colored as her robe, and
it felt like she had rubbed pepper oil all around her face and neck
and even near her shoulders, "Wh-whahaha-haaaaat?"
"I need you to take out the things in my back... Or else it won't
heal right..."
Taree blinked, trying to process what he said. She was thinking of

way too many unnecessary things with her heart beating so fast.
"O... oh." Taree muttered. She couldn't manage any higher forms
of speech. Kneeling down again by Pale's side, she began pulling
the bloody metal darts out of Pale's armor.
...
The red healing potion staunched the bleeding. After washing out
his wounds with a waterskin, Pale put his armor back on and
immediately suggested they continue to flee, only to be met by
more of Taree's crying, the flailing of her fists, and the gnashing of
teeth.
Taree wanted to rest for a short while, waiting for Tamaki to wake
up. Pale thought it too dangerous-- his gut feeling told him that the
cave was dangerous, and even though less than a half-bell had
passed, he was worried about Lone.
Taree wanted to explore the cave. Pale wanted to run. So they

compromised...
The silver-haired girl led the way, while he followed close behind.
The cave was pitch black and began to spiral downwards, but
Taree had a magical stone that illuminated their way with a pure
white light.
"It's called an Ivory Stone. It's a badge that proves you're one of
the Inner Sect members of my Ivory Judge sect..."
Pale held it in his hands. It was a sturdy triangle that fit

comfortably into his palm and radiated off a comforting warmth.
"Um. Are you sure it's okay to give this to me?"
"I'm just... I'm just letting you hold it. I'm not giving this to you! It's-
not-like-we're-gonna-get-married-or-anything!!" Taree explained
herself quickly, mashing up her words.
She turned away and continued to walk. Even though Pale held
the light-stone, the dim light was enough for Taree to watch her
step. Pale followed obediently.
"It's like a scale from a snake? A really big snake," He asked.
"Hmph!" Taree crossed her arms. "That shows what you know!
The Guardian Beast of my Ivory Judge sect is a DRAGON!"
"Huh? A dragon? I thought dragons didn't exist."
"Well, now you do! I've even seen one!" Taree turned away,
pouting.
"What? Really?" Pale smiled back the best he could. She was so
proud of her dragon that he didn't have the heart to tell her she
was wrong.
Dragons don't exist. Not anymore. Boss Tycon was very adamant
about that.
He didn't think that Boss Tycon and Taree would get along if they
met. The Boss was always (mostly) polite when talking and when
people were respectful. Pale was slightly worried because though
Taree wasn't rude, she didn't seem very respectful at all.
"EEEE!!"
Pale winced at the strangest girl-scream he'd ever heard. Taree

had stopped, but she was clenching her fists and shivering--
dangerous.
"Taree? What in the seven... hecks are you yelling about?" He

asked the girl in front of him.
"PALE!! Quit playing around! Let go of my leg!"
A chill ran down Pale's spine. In his left hand, he held the Ivory
Stone above them, to light Taree's way. In his right was his spear,
which he was taught to never let go of as long as he was in the
field.
"Pale! Pale, answer me!" Taree's angry demands had changed

into pleading. She must have realized that there was no way that
Pale was grabbing her.
He slowly lowered the thin radiant scale, illuminating the rocky

floor.
"...Taree, listen to me. I need you to calm down."
"Pale! Pale..." Taree didn't dare turn around. "Please... please tell
me you're the one grabbing my leg."
Chapter 37 Four Hearts Beat
'Six pale fingers around her ankle, // Twisted white strands for
each finger.
They whispered as they watched. // A single eye, hidden within,

seeing all.
They hungered for flesh. // They thirsted for innocence.
Ah, to drink of her blood. Lovingly. Explicitly.
See how she squirms. // See how she rejects.
"Cry out, Child of Heaven. No Angel can hear you in this place."
Pale ignored the sound of his own voice, whispering words he did
not will.
"Pale... Please tell me what's going on. You're scaring me."

Taree's voice quivered as she spoke. She stared ahead into the
darkness, petrified in fear.
"Just don't move. It'll be okay. I'll get it off you."
"G-get what-- O-okay?" Taree grew quiet, strangely obedient.

"Please hurry."
Pale knelt down, placing the Ivory Stone in his mouth to see. A
humanoid arm made of dozens of twisted off-white tendrils had
ensnared Taree's ankle, so tightly she was starting to bruise. The
tendrils grew straight out of a flattened rock-- it didn't look like it
was possible. He pried at the cold fingers but they were as
immovable as tree roots.
A loud crack shook their cave tunnel, like a hammer that had
fallen upon a heavy stone. A web of cracks bleeding a harsh,
white light spread from below the girl's foot. Acting quickly, Pale
shoved his spear-blade into the alien hand and it bled a warm,
transparent-gold sap.
"Pale! Do something! It hurts!" Taree whined in pain.
Pale hesitated... if he stabbed again, the grasping tendrils would

tighten their grip.
Before he could decide, the ground gave way. Not content with
sinking the pair into the earth, the ground instead, shattered like
glass, sending them tumbling through an endless white.
The feeling of weightlessness overcame Pale's senses. Six white,

smooth-stoned walls surrounded them, illuminated by an unseen
source as they fell into the abyss. Red cracks disrupted the
smooth, eerily white walls, carved like violent strikes of lightning
and pulsating with a black-to-scarlet glow.
The falling had stopped at the cost of Pale nearly dislocating his
entire shoulder. He looked up to see that Taree had grabbed onto
one of the protruding red roots and also onto his wrist.
"Taree? Taree! Are you okay!?" Pale yelled, his voice echoing and
distorting in the tunnel.
The girl stared at nothing, her pupils dilated and unfocused, as

she began to babble.
"Four hearts beat DESPERATELY for the body!" She screamed.

"Flesh remaining! With rotting soul! The Child? The Ancient. The
Missing? The Dead... Praise--"
"Taree! Let go of the branch!" Pale yelled. He grit his teeth in

frustration-- the girl was mumbling incoherently... just like when he
was whispering to himself, before.
He slung his spear over his shoulder and he began to climb up

Taree.
"'Ow! Pale!! Pale??" Pale's touch snapped her out of her daze,
"What the heck?! That hurts! Wh-WHERE are you touching?!"
"Let go!" Pale yelled again.
"Wait, what? No!"
"Taree, you need to trust me." Pale steeled his voice, "Let go of
the branch!"
Taree shook her head wildly, grabbing onto the crimson lifeline
with both of her hands, "I can't! I need to go back! My brother's still
at the entrance! I have to make sure he's okay!"
Pale climbed up the lithe girl, hooking his arm over her shoulder to
keep steady. Reaching up, he began prying her fingers off of the
branch, one by one.
"Why are you doing this Pale?! Pale, stop! We need to climb! We
need to go back!"
Pale shook his head as he pried her right hand off, holding hers
tightly in his. The girl stared at their intertwined fingers with wide
eyes and warmed cheeks.
"We have to keep moving until the voices stop," Pale insisted.
"Pale... No! I don't want to fall! I need to--" Taree shut her eyes... "I
need to KNOW! WHY does the Child grow old?! WHY does the
Ancient yearn to be free? Why does the--"
Pale reached up to unhook the last vestige's of Taree's grip, and

with that, they fell.
Not a second had passed when the opposite white wall opened
up, brilliant white blinding their eyes. Waxy, half-melted flesh upon
bony fingers-- a gigantic hand, larger than the two of them
together, reached out of the opening. As they fell, the pale hand
and arm shot forward, bloodying itself on the red roots the two had
barely escaped.
...
Pale never let go of her hand.
Taree was so scared, she had run out of tears. As they fell, she
embraced Pale, burying her face in his warm chest. She didn't
want to see anything anymore. She didn't want to hear anything
anymore. She wanted to hear Pale's one heartbeat, not four.
The voices in her head softened to whispers. The sensation of

falling grew distant. She curled her body up within Pale's armes as
he carried her. He was running, bobbing her up and down as he
traversed uneven terrain-- it was so hard for her to sleep like that.
She just wanted to lie on his chest and sleep until it was all over.
She wanted to punch him until he stopped running. He needed to
rest. But he wouldn't listen to her pleading. She wriggled angrily in
his arms to show her dissatisfaction... but not enough to disrupt
his gait.
...
Pale walked amidst a forest of crystalline trees, their branches

clear like refined glass, and their trunks ancient like thick mountain
ice. He walked upon anywhere there wasn't water, ten hundred
trees and ten thousand pools before him, his spear slung on his
back, and a sleeping brat held in his arms.
He couldn't see through the reflective water, gently lapping against

the dirt and sand. Each a perfect mirror, the pools reflected a
green and salmon-pink sky.
Time blurred in this place. Countless bells passed as he walked,

watching the waters rise and fall. Binary suns cut across the
strange sky, watching their world in silence.
He found a spot to place the sleeping Taree, at the base of a

crystal tree upon a gently sloping crook. He ran his hand along its
bark, smooth and comfortable, then laid her down gently against
it.
"Come out," Pale called out. He unslung his spear and spun it with
a flourish.
Within two spears' distance, a dark shadow dropped down from a
tree, landing as softly as the ring of a bell. Pale's opponent drew
their sword, its metallic ring sending soft ripples across all the
mirrors in their small world.
Chapter 38 Why Must We
Fight?
ale recognized the dark-haired boy as one of the ninjas under

P
Yoshio's command. The ninja pulled down the cloth covering his
face, revealing himself as a boy around the same age.
"How did you know where I was?" The boy pointed his sword. It
sounded like his pride was hurt.
"Sorry about that," Pale laughed with embarrassment. "I didn't

actually know where you were, I just kinda guessed someone was
there?"
The ninja narrowed his eyes in a glare. Silence reigned in the

forest. Even though this was the first human contact Pale had in
quite possibly weeks, they both remained wary of each other.
"Truce?" Pale broke the silence.
The boy lightly shook his head, "No."
"Let's share information," Pale insisted.
The boy hesitated, carefully observing Pale. Steadily, the boy

stood straight and reluctantly sheathed his sword, "Yeah. Let's..."
Pale stood up as well, relaxing his spear, "Do you... know what
this place is?"
"All I know is this place reeks of magic-- Our sect would call it a
Forbidden Land..." The boy twisted his lips, "Have you come
across anyone else?"
Pale shook his head, frowning, "I haven't."

Eyeing the boy up and down, Pale continued, "What... happened
to you?"
Pale's armor wasn't in the best condition. But still, the black-haired
boy's dark leathers had been marked by dozens of cuts and
slashes-- like he'd been attacked by beasts.
"We... we went back for Warrior Yoshio when he called for aid...
There were... spiders made of white stone... blue crystals on their
bellies. And they were the size of wolves... They could leap
through the air disappear like ghosts... and there were smaller
spiders too, the size of a fist. Webs, too..."
The boy stared into the sky's reflection in the water, clearly
traumatized by his experiences. He shook his head, "How did you
get here?"
"Entered a cave, got pulled down into a hole with white walls, and
ran on a road of stars until I broke through one of the pools on the
ground." Pale shrugged. "You?"
The boy shrugged, "Kinda different, but kinda the same-- fell
through one of the puddles."
The boy grew quiet for a moment, then suddenly, his entire body
shivered.
"Are you okay?" Pale asked.
"Che. The cold got to me just for a second, Outsider. Was that
your question?"
For every few suns that rose and fell, Pale noticed the
temperature growing colder and colder. The temperature didn't
bother Pale as much as it worried him about the potential future.
"I guess. Was that yours?" Pale shot back.
The boy puckered his lips, before betraying a short snicker. Pale
couldn't help but giggle. Seconds passed before the two tacitly
agreed to stop. The laugh echoed too eerily. It didn't feel safe in
this place, not at all.
"What's your name?" Pale asked. The hostility between them had
lightened, if only slightly.
"Eh?" The boy frowned, crossing his arms." It's rude to ask for
someone's name before giving your own."
Oh. Oops. That made sense, "I apologize. My name is Pale."
"You really didn't know?" The boy tilted his head, "Well, alright. My
name is Muto Baketsu."
"Wait, so Muto is your family name, right?" Pale asked. He

remembered the Muto was the name of the family that Yoshio kept
saying he was part of, "Why is your family name first? Doesn't it
go second?"
"What? No, the family name goes first," Baketsu insisted.
"Oh, that's weird-- That's not how I learned it."
Baketsu hesitated... "Maybe it's different for Outsiders?"
"Yeah. Probably..." Pale frowned, his expression growing serious.

"What does your family have against Taree?
Baketsu sucked in air through his teeth, "It's kinda complicated..."
Pale pursed his lips and opened his arms, pointing at the land of
crystal trees, pink skies, and puddles everywhere, "I'm not in a
hurry, are you?"
"Well, alright." Baketsu sighed, "The Ivory Judge sect is suffering

a calamity, the--"
"What's a calamity?"
"Uh, it's a big problem. I don't know what it is exactly, but the
Kimura family is trying to save the sect."
"But that doesn't sound that bad," Pale furrowed his eyebrows.
"--Hey, stop interrupting!"
"Oops, sorry." Pale sat himself down obediently, spear in his lap,
lamenting the loss of his log. He glanced back to check on Taree,
still peacefully asleep on her tree.
Baketsu sat opposite of him, his sword placed on the ground at

his side, "The problem is that the Kimura family is trying to save
the sect by breaking tradition to do so. They want to bring in
Outsiders to solve an internal problem."
Pale nodded solemnly, trying his best not to interrupt.
Baketsu continued, "Now, the Muto family wants to stop them from

going against tradition, saying that it will lead to the sect's
downfall."
He frowned, analyzing Pale, "See, involving Outsiders has a lot of

potential problems. They might be able to help us, but we risk
spies spreading information about us. Other sects or maybe even
enemies we haven't made yet might want to steal our treasures,
forcibly learn our knowledge, or might even try to enslave our
people."
Pale paused a moment to ensure Baketsu was finished, "So...

Why do *you* need to kill Taree?"
"I have to because that's what the Muto family ordered me to do,"
He frowned, unwilling to argue. "How about you, Warrior Pale?
Can't you back down? You don't really have anything to do with
this."
"I... I can't give her up," Pale admitted. "I believe in her... So we'll
have to fight."
Baketsu groaned, clutching his head in annoyance, "Augh, this is

so stupid! Why do we have to fight?!"
Pale calmly leaned back, his gaze meeting Baketsu's, "I think we
have to fight because I need to show you that I believe in Taree.
And... I want to see how much you believe in your family."
Baketsu leaned forward, "But will that change your opinion?"
Pale shook his head, "No, I don't think so."
"Then what's the point of winning?!"
Pale slowly got to his feet, "I don't think winning matters... but it's
important that you see how hard I can fight. And I think it's
important that I see how hard you can fight."
Baketsu stood up, snatching up his sword and meeting Pale's

gaze... Then he looked downwards in thought, "Yeah... we're both
fighting for what we believe in."
Pale took a step forward and offered his hand, "I can't lose."
Baketsu walked forward and grasped Pale's wrist, "Neither can I."
Simultaneously, the two turned and walked a few steps before

turning back.
Pale readied his spear, pointing it forward. "Ready!"
Baketsu drew his sword, tossing aside the sheath. Performing a

light bow, he yelled, "Warrior Pale! Allow me to reintroduce myself:
I am Muto Baketsu of the Ivory Judge Sect and by my blade, I will
defeat the enemies of House Muto."
Pale nodded, "I am Invictus Pale of Guild Invictus and by my

spear, I will allow no harm to come to Kimura Taree."
Chapter 39 Fist Of Shadow
aketsu was confident. Pale used a spear, a beginner weapon.

B
No matter how fast it was, it was predictable, unlike the versatile
sword.
"Before we begin, Warrior Pale, I gotta warn you. I've

comprehended the Stone Body art to Middle Completion. It means
you have no chance at winning."
Pale smirked. Arrogant. Baketsu grinned back. He looked forward

to teaching him a lesson.
Baketsu blinked. He immediately regretted that decision. In that

moment, the spearman had crossed the distance between them.
Baketsu felt Pale's spear smashing into the side of his head,
dazing him, then the spear haft cracked onto his ankle.
Unbalanced, he began to fall sideways, but Pale's rising spear
haft struck his solar plexus, sending him stumbling backward
instead.
Clutching his chest in pain, Baketsu gasped for air.
His... Stone Body art... It didn't nullify Pale's attacks?!
He forced a grin to hide the pain, "Why didn't you tell me you had
some skill, Outsider?"
Pale pursed his lips, resting his spear behind his head on his
shoulders, "Because I don't underestimate my opponents. Maybe
it's different in a sect?"
This guy...
Baketsu yelled as he rushed forward. He needed to control the
fight, to get the spearman to fight at his pace. Pale lifted up his
metal spear, blocking a sparking sword slash. But Baketsu
followed with a clean kick to the abdomen and a slash across his
chest armor.
Baketsu decided to raise the stakes, "Fist of Shadow."
Pale's eyes widened in shock at seeing thick, vibrant purple

smoke churning around Baketsu's fist. Baketsu smirked. The
smoke was a feint! He halted the ki in his fist and swiped his blade
low from the opposite side. But even still, Pale managed to deflect
it with his spear.
This guy... what kind of ridiculous reflexes does he have?
Baketsu focused ki in his legs, leaping up and hooking onto a tree

branch with his arm. Below, Pale swept his spear but found no
target. Pale looked left, he looked right--
Baketsu dropped, lifting his sword up high and slashing it

downward-- But Pale set his spear above him, horizontally.
Blocked AGAIN!? What kind of training has this guy done?! He

had even hid his presence with that attack!
"Baketsu!? Why was that attack so much stronger?" Pale

complained.
"Because you're getting weaker!" Baketsu retorted with

annoyance.
"No, come on. Really?" He insisted.
"Tch. Used my legs to jump off a tree."
"Nice!" Pale nodded, thrusting his spear out.
Baketsu dodged and grabbed Pale by the arm, kneeing him in the
side and elbowing him in the face. Only then, did he feel better,
"Thanks."
Pale yelled, trying to punch with his offhand, but Baketsu saw it as
a chance. With Pale's arm grabbed and his center of weight
shifted, Baketsu repositioned his body for a shoulder throw.
Bam!
Pale hit the hard ground. Baketsu reached for his concealed
weapons, hoping to finish off his stunned opponent.
Pale rolled as if his life depended on it-- making Baketsu miss

every single dart he threw.
Ugh, this is a nightmare! Baketsu cursed his impatience... If he

had aimed properly, he would have won.
While Pale got to his feet, Baketsu drew his last concealed
weapon.
He waved it mockingly. The last three he had were smeared with a

waxy poison, the one he held, included. He just needed a single
cut to gain a tremendous advantage.
He threw it at Pale's stupid face.
With another clang, Pale's spear deflected it, launching it up to fall

harmlessly into the distance.
"Okay, that's just not fair," Baketsu grimaced.
He looked over to where the dart fell, then back to his opponent,
"Neat trick. Can you do it again?"
Pale pointed his spear, ready. "I'm ready for as many as you've
got."
Baketsu averted his gaze, "Well, I was just asking because I'm
totally out."
"Oh." Pale grinned, "Then to answer your question: Yeah, I can."
The spearman used his spear to vault up, jumping and slamming
his spear down.
Predictable! Aha! Baketsu stepped to the side to dodge, but then
he saw the opposite end of the spear smash into his face. And he
didn't see it, but he felt the metal rod smash into the side of his
ribs.
...Not so predictable.
In a panic, Baketsu flipped sideways, managing to dodge Pale

sweeping his spear low.
Upon landing, Baketsu rushed forward-- he was out of tricks and

flourishing attacks. He started attacking using the Ivory Judge
sect's basic blade techniques. Faster! Stronger! The fight was
taking too much of his stamina and he needed to end it soon!
Pale blocked the sword attacks far too easily, "How'd you do that
flip?"
Baketsu rolled his eyes, "Practice, I guess?"
Clang. Clang. Clang. Three sword slashes had set a rhythm,

which Baketsu fully intended to break, "Fist of Shadow!"
It was perfect. Baketsu's purply smoking fist found its way past
Pale's spear, smashing into the guy's chest and sending him
stumbling back and into a kneel.
It was a chance Baketsu couldn't pass up. He leaped forward to

finish it, "Fist of SHADOW!"
Trying to smash his fist into Pale, he missed, striking the ground,
causing an explosion of rocks and debris. It was fine, though.
Baketsu rushed through the dust cloud where he assumed Pale
would be...
He guessed correctly.
A connected high kick to Pale's chin had the spearman staring at

the sky and opened him up to a slash from Baketsu's blade. As
fast as the spearman was, Baketsu managed a superficial cut
against Pale's armored abdomen and scored two deep, bloody
gashes on his forearms.
He was quite proud of himself.
Then, somehow, Pale's spear haft pushed him against a tree,

knocking the wind out of him. Pale stood grounded, his stance
wide, rotating his entire body and smashing the spear into
Baketsu's stomach. He coughed painfully, a crimson glop of blood
marring Pale's cheeks.
Baketsu slapped the spear away. He had taken too much damage
from that attack... Tch. He could feel he was only a half-step away
from unconsciousness.
"I won't go down so easily!" He shouted, hoping he sounded more

confident than he actually was.
Baketsu rushed forward, swiping his sword high, slashing to the

side, leaping up and slamming his blade down. The bastard
blocked every attack! But against Baketsu's continuous attacks,
he could only get pushed back.
The kid was a monster. His spear was too strong. His reflexes
rivaled those of a Sect Elder. If he and Taree were to work
together, they might even be able to beat Yoshio!
Baketsu swung his sword, but Pale had already stepped back. He
was wide open. Baketsu shut his eyes and time moved slowly as
he waited for death. The butt of the spear smashed into his throat,
collapsing Baketsu to the ground painfully. He couldn't breathe,
but he could cough, tears forming at the corners of his eyes and
his face turning red. He kicked out and rolled from side to side,
praying for the pain to go away.
Pale prodded Baketsu on the side with his boot, "Huh. I thought
that would be enough to kill you."
Baketsu glared up at him, wishing that looks could kill.
...
"Why didn't you kill me, stupid Outsider?"
Muto Baketsu had applied a bitter-smelling unguent to the cuts to

staunch the bleeding and was tightly bandaging his arms.
"I dunno. Did you want me to?"
"Che. I guess not." He patted Pale's shoulder, "Alright, finished."
"Your medicine stinks," Pale complained.
"And I've never had a girlfriend," Baketsu responded indignantly.

He was annoyed at failing such an important mission. And all
because of the Kimura young mistress! "You can wash off the
medicine after a day or two."
Pale looked down, frowning.
"Eh? What's wrong, Outsider?" Baketsu asked.
Pale looked up with concern in his eyes. "So I'll be fine after a
day... But what're you gonna do about getting a girlfriend?"
Baketsu groaned, "Shut up before I fight you seriously. You think

you're so--"
The sound of glass shattering and falling reverberated throughout

the crystal forest, interrupting their conversation.
Baketsu stood up hurriedly, his eyes full of panic, "No, no! Not
again!"
Pale stood, as well, his spear ready. The ground began to shake
and the pools of water began to warp and twist as if writhing in
pain.
Baketsu grasped both of Pale's shoulders, "Listen to me. Take the

girl and hide. Don't try to fight the creature that's coming out."
Pale nodded, confused, "Okay, but what do you mean?"

"It's not a fight, anymore. It's up to the fates to decide if we live or
die. I'll go that way-- you go the opposite!"
A roar comprised of dozens of voices shook their world. The dying

bleating of a goat being slaughtered. A frantic man hiding in fear
while praying for death. An angel casting its judgment upon an
entire race. A mother crying for her stillborn child.
Pale placed Taree over his shoulders, "Baketsu, come with us. We
have a better chance together."
Baketsu shook his head violently, "No, Warrior Pale. You'll

understand soon. Now GO!"
He turned to leave, but Pale called out again,
"Warrior Baketsu!!" The spearman stood with his chest forward, "I
spared your life. You owe me."
Baketsu hesitated and turned his head back, "Then I'll owe you in
the next life."
The dark-haired boy pulled up the cloth to cover his face and
dashed away. From behind him, he heard Pale turn with the
Kimura-girl secure on his shoulders, running with all his might.
Chapter 40 Annis
ale's entire back was drenched in sweat and his legs were
P
throbbing in pain from sprinting. He had run faster than he had
thought possible, for farther than he could have imagined. He
pressed his back against one crystal tree in a forest of a thousand
and he prayed desperately that it was good enough.
He needed to breathe, to get air to his lungs. Tears fell silently

from his eyes as he struggled to calm his body, to make zero
noise. He couldn't unclench his fists, and his nails had begun to
draw blood from his palms.
Taree stirred awake, "Wh-what's happening, Pale?"
Operating purely by instinct, Pale pressed his bloodied palm

against the girl's mouth. Taree saw Pale's panicked look, the
desperation in his gaze, and she nodded obediently.
A mournful wail of many-voices filled the sky, shaking the earth,

rippling the ten thousand mirrors among the ten hundred trees.
The laugh of a murderer killing his wife. A farmer's lament at his
fields aflame. The wolf's low growl as the pack surrounds its prey.
The pleasured moan of a rapist sampling his first.
It was evil.
Taree covered her ears with her hands and buried her face in
Pale's chest. If she was feeling anything like he was feeling, she
wanted to take a needle and pierce her eardrums. She wanted to
jump into a mirror and fill her lungs so she would stop breathing.
She wanted to cry and sleep and cry and never wake up. She
wanted to curse the gods. She wanted to beg forgiveness from
anyone who could hear.
Pale held the back of her silver hair and softly rocked the girl back
and forth. Tears fell silently, hot down his own cheeks.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." She cried, muffled into his chest.
"Everything will be alright," Pale lied, his voice a hushed whisper.
His eyes were swollen, bloodshot, and dry from the cold. But he
remained vigilant. Taree's voice had broken him from his panic.
Fear still gripped his heart, making him question his every action.
But he could keep watch with his eyes. He could embrace Taree
with his arms. He could lie to her and to himself with his voice.
Pale stared off in the distance through the distorted crystalline

trees. He stared upon the visage of that which hunted them.
...
She stood among the towering trees, over thrice the size of a
man. Her flesh, sick and grey, popped and bubbled with disease.
Black thorns and flowers grew lovingly on her skin. Withered
briars curled around her waist, skulls of man and beast proudly
interweaved and on display. She wore only a filthy mask, oily
patches of black-green hair oozing from her scalp and from
between her thighs. Her mask of smooth, cracked bone scanned
the horizon as she limped with uneven, too-long legs.
She reached down a webbed hand, wrinkled and gnarled and

smashed through a mirror. A man screamed as she grasped him
by the waist. She tore apart his clothes, stripping him naked with
the long, black talons on her hands. She cut into his flesh. She
placed his legs in her mouth and with her points teeth, tore the
meat apart. Slowly. While he struggled. While he screamed. While
his dying voice alone filled the silence.
Gone was the faithful dog, whining to be fed. Gone was the old
man, struggling to breathe. Gone was the child, begging for its
murdered mother to awaken.
And soon... gone was the sound of screaming from the man of the
Muto family.
She reached down once more, shattering another mirror, and the
process began anew.
She smashed a man to paste upon the ground.
She tore a woman apart, piece by piece, and shook out her
insides into her mouth of iron nails.
How many had died? How many had returned only to again suffer
their fates?
And then... she was gone.
The earth didn't shake. No man or woman cried out.
She had left as she had arrived.
Without warning.
Without mercy.
Pale didn't know how much time had passed, bells or suns or
moons. His tears had dried... as well as the blood on his palms.
Taree had fallen asleep in his embrace, so he laid her gently down
and tenderly wiped away her tears. Still deeply asleep, she
grasped his hand.
"I have to go somewhere... But I'll be back. I promise." Pale

whispered, not wanting to wake her.
Taree loosened her grip, letting Pale free, and a sleeping smile
appearing on her face.
Pale stood up and walked out from behind the tree. Seeing no
signs of the creature, he headed to where he needed to go.
...
The dark-haired boy laid in a pit-- it was ugly, covered in

blackened mold, and bereft of the mirror water that once filled it.
Nothing remained below the middle of his torso, save stretched
and torn flaps of flesh. Dozens of translucent white butterflies with
wings larger than either of Pale's hands swarmed on the guts and
viscera that still remained.
"I can feel... Them eating me... Warrior... Pale," Baketsu groaned,
his voice a pathetic whisper.
Pale raised his spear in one hand. He pierced one of the winged
creatures with its blade. Blood splattered where it died, a brilliant
shade of blue-green. He raised it again. And again, it fell.
By the time Pale was finished killing the butterflies, his trousers
had been stained by dozens of shades of colorful blood, mixed
together as a disgusting, dingy brown.
"I spared your life," Pale whispered reverently, meeting Baketsu's

gaze.
Baketsu weakly grabbed the end of Pale's spear, cutting his hand
upon its dull blade.
"Take it now," he begged, putting the last of his strength into his
voice. "Please!"
...
"DON'T CLOSE YOUR EYES!" Pale screamed, jolting awake,

throwing off his bed covers.
Tycon didn't bother turning in his seat to face the boy. "And why in
the seven hells not?" He asked, before returning his attention to
the letter on his desk. Pale stared at Tycon's back, seated at a
desk, writing with a tall quill pen.
Pale looked around and breathed a sigh of relief. Had this all been
a nightmare? He was in one of the servant's rooms at the Tavor
manor. He must have fallen asleep on one of the beds. He felt he
had been sleeping for so long, but it was still dark outside the
windows, and he was still so very tired.
Pale cleared his voice shyly. "S-sir Tycon? Are you--"

"Awake?" Tycon slammed his elbows upon the desktop and
dropped his head into his palms, "Yes. This is an absolute
nightmare... but it will be over soon. Everything ends, after all."
"Everything ends..." Pale muttered. As tired as he was, he

concentrated on moving. He willed himself to stay awake.
He put every ounce of his willpower towards listening to his own

advice.
All of his instincts screamed.
'Don't close your eyes.'

Chapter 41 Whirling Rend
arza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, thought that he was getting

B
used to the feeling of weightlessness. But gravity's cruelty again
took hold of him and he collided with the hard forest floor, his
entire body radiating with the shock.
Sound returned to his world-- a deluge of laughter. Jeers.

Mockery.
"OH!! Ohohoho!! You broke the Outsider!"
Roars and excited screams crescendoed from the crowd, warriors

of the Muto family clad in dark leathers and black cloth masking
their faces. They laughed at him. They cheered on the big man
who had just executed a powerful throw. They took turns, kicking
his side and stomping on his body.
"Hurr hurr hurr. Come on, Outsider! We aren't done with you."
"Hahaha! Look at him squirm!"
"Squeal, Outsider! Squeeeeaaaalllll like a pig!!
Barza dragged himself onto his elbows and knees, coughing and
dry heaving after the last strike. Eight men of the Muto family had
surrounded him and were taking turns beating him. He had lost
his swords, but he still had his fists.
They were prideful fists. He'd never lost in a bare-knuckle fight

before, not in roughhousing on the streets as a child, not as a
teenage sellsword. His fame as a boxer was acknowledged
anywhere on the east side of the Kingdom. But those same fists
fell powerless against the hardened bodies of the Ivory Judge
sect.
And in return, they struck his body. They even grappled him and
threw him onto the cold hard ground. Their grappling techniques
of Yoshio's men were even stronger than their boxing-- Barza's
fighting spirit was cracked and broken... but it only filled him with
rage at his inability.
Errrgh... Barza pounded the leaf-covered ground in frustration.

What could he do when he was this outnumbered... this
outmatched!?
It all fell on him! He needed to take care of these mooks and get
back to Pale, his sworn brother! He needed to defeat Yoshio, the
evil villain of the Muto family! He needed to go back to the Iva-- to
the... to the sect and deliver them from their Calamity!
How could he be held up by this group of unnamed trash? He was

the Chosen One! He was the hero in their legends and prophecies
and tales of valor! How dare they beat the crap out of him in the
middle of nowhere?!
Ooooh.... Sheesh. A cold sweat assaulted his back, reminding him

of the worst nightmare. Boss Tycon was a terrifying existence. If
Tycon found out he lost... He'd probably be subjected to more
training. Worse training.
He had to do this... He had it in him. He couldn't lose here. He

couldn't embarrass the Guild.
"A sword..." Barza coughed. He just needed a sword.
Laughter surrounded him once more, ringing in his ears.
"What's that?" "Psh, the Outsider wants a sword." "We're your

enemies, IDIOT! Why the hell would we give you a sword?!"
They all laughed again. Barza grit his teeth. If he wasn't hurt, he'd-
-
Barza stared at the ground-- at the pool of saliva he'd coughed

out.
It wasn't blood.
It was odd. For the past several weeks, every waking sun... he'd
been coughing and even pissing blood from his combat training
injuries. His body would be in a constant state of broken or sore.
Every single moment of training was filled with literal blood,
dripping pools of sweat, and a reservoir of tears that he wasn't
allowed to cry.
But now that he was in a life or death battle... it didn't hurt.
It ached. It frustrated him. It made him angry.
"Hahah! You broke him! Let me just KICKSTART him!" One of the
ninjas laughed, approaching.
Barza took the impact of the kick, grabbing the man's leg.
"Eh? It looks like an insect is on my shoe. Looks like I'll have to--"
Barza pulled the ninja's sword from its sheath and stood, drawing
it in a line across the man's throat. A mist of blood sprayed into
the air as Barza spun the blade in a flourish. Barza turned towards
the crowd, bathed in a rain of blood.
"I can do this," He muttered. "I... can do this!"
A ninja approached from Barza's left, landing a solid blow to the

side of his face.
It hurt.
It really hurt.
But it wasn't enough to stop him. Barza stabbed the woman in the
stomach, pulling the blade out to the side, spilling her intestines
onto his boots.
Barza took the corpse's sword, glaring at the biggest ninja, "Hey,
you big bastard... didn't you know? I'm the Chosen One."
The big man laughed, but after Barza's grisly display, no one
laughed along with him. The big man pulled down his black mask
and scowled in anger, thick veins bulging on his neck and
forehead.
"Ridiculous! You--" The man began to yell, but looked down at the
two dead men and hesitated. "You're just an Outsider... What can
you possibly know about being the Chosen One?"
The other ninjas were less convinced, "The Chosen One? Like in
the stories?" "They say he's capable of all of the sect's hidden
techniques!" "No way, I didn't sign up for this!" "I heard he can talk
to animals!" "H-he's just one guy!"
Barza lowered his center of gravity and closed his eyes. Smooth,
yet fast. With power, but with grace. His blades were a windmill of
death and slaughter. He opened his eyes, wide, taking in the
breadth of his foes. He swung his swords with viciousness and
speed, spinning his body with great power and great
responsibility. "WHIIIIRLWIIINNNND ATTTAAAAACK!!!"
...
The nearby bush erupted in raucous laughter. Dragan choked on

his own saliva, coughing like an invalid, laughing and gasping for
breath. Tears had collected at the corners of his eyes.
"Ohhhh, wooooow. WhiirRLLwIiNnD aTTtaaAAack,"' he groaned,

snorting through his nose.
"He just-- haha! He just spun in a circle like he was working at a

whorehouse!"
Dragan peeked again through the bush he was hiding behind.
"Bwahaha!" He cackled, holding his palm to his face. "It

WORKED! HOW?! How is it working?!?"
He looked up again, but fell onto his back in laughter, "BY THE
GODS, HE KILLED ONE!! WHAAAAAT?!? GAHAHAHA!"
...
Barza swallowed. He had spun so hard he vomited a little in his

mouth. But the Chosen One doesn't vomit onto his clothes. The
Chosen One has self-respect.
His ultimate move had taken care of the biggest ninja-- probably
the leader. And he saw no less than three cuts on the remaining
ninjas. Leaderless, the ninjas would probably run away in fear. He
was doing pretty well.
"Use the black eggs!" The ninjas began shouting. "Right!" "I
brought 20 of them!" "Yeah, we should have used them from the
beginning."
The remaining ninjas began reaching into their pouches, each

removing several black-painted eggs.
Barza opened his guard, his swords pointed outward, "What's a

black egg?"
"Light him up!" One of the ninjas commanded.
"No, wait!" Barza shouted, "Don't light him up! Don't--"
Barza suffered a barrage of thrown weapons-- the painted

eggshells struck him accurately, splashing him with the concoction
of muck inside each of them. The corrosive liquid burnt through
his clothing and his skin hurt and itched, feeling unbearably cold
yet swelteringly hot. Some of it got onto his face and eyes-- sharp,
irritating bits and granules, far worse than sand.
"Oh, crap! Oh! What are these?! Oh! OHH WHYYY!

WHYYYYYYY?!! WRRRRYYYYYYYYYY!!!!"
"Don't stop throwing, we've almost got 'em!" "Pick up the eggs
from the casualties, too!" "I'm sorry, Chosen One!!"
"QUIT THROWING THOSE THINGS!!" Barza cried.
...
Dragan continued to snicker, watching Barza sob while dancing
under the onslaught of ninja weapons.
"Ah, hah...?" He took a deep breath, "Now when should I help...?"
Dragan sat cross-legged, watching patiently. He leaned forward,

hopeful to see something interesting.
Barza finally had enough. The Gear-Queer yelled with all of his
might and... threw his sword.
It wasn't aimed at any one particular ninja-- he was trying to rub

whatever liquid gunk was in his eyes, but it only made him scream
in pain louder.
It was just as well. Dragan held his hand out toward the spinning
sword, his eyes aglow with mana.
"Whirling Rend," He activated a Skill.
The blade curved sharply to the side, slashing the throat of a

nearby ninja. Dragan swiped his hand sideways, having the sword
stab into another. With a turn of his hand, he decapitated one and
gutted another.
Hm.
Dragan hopped out of the bush and dashed to one of the ninja's
bodies. He drew the woman's sword and tossed it at the last
remaining ninja.
SHHWWSSH!
The sword didn't stick but managed to deliver a fatal neck wound,
their blood spraying fantastically upward as they fell to their knees
and died.
Dragan shrugged. It was good enough.
Dragan looked over to Barza. He was angrily spinning a single

sword while crying tears of black fluid and quite possibly blood.
"Come at me! I'm the CHOSEN ONE! Your attacks mean
NOTHING TO ME."
He was blindly yelling at nearly the opposite direction of Dragan...
Dragan shook his head and picked up a pack of the black eggs
from another fallen ninja. He sloshed around the liquid inside of
one before grinning in amusement.
'Well, if you really want, I guess I don't mind' Dragan thought as

he threw the first egg.
Chapter 42 To Be Human
ale wiggled backward to sit up in his bed. His sheets were

P
soaked with sweat and he wiped off his forehead with his pajama
blouse sleeve, "I... I think I had a nightmare, Sir Tycon."
"Go on," Tycon replied, his back still turned. He continued

incessantly scratching quill to paper at his writing desk.
"Something was... wrong... with Taree, Sir... And... and I told her to
keep her eyes open... because I thought if she closed them, she'd
die."
...Did Boss Tycon know Taree? Pale couldn't remember. His mind
was clouded. He wanted to go back to sleep... He couldn't make
sense of why, but something in the back of his mind told him that
he shouldn't.
Pale shivered from a sudden chill and reached again for his
blankets. A small furnace in a lonely corner dimly illuminated the
room but provided not nearly enough heat.
"Tsss!" Tycon scoffed. "Young man, that is absolutely false. Sleep

slows a number of human functions while simultaneously
increasing its potential for self-recovery. Sickness, a concussion,
an injured limb... allowing an ill or injured patient to sleep is largely
beneficial to convalescence."
"Oh... alright."
Pale looked around the room, especially at the three other beds
beside his. The white sheets covered the occupants, including
their heads and faces. They lied eerily still, not making a sound.
"Sir... may I ask a question?"

"One moment, young man..."
Pale waited patiently, the rhythmic scratching of the quill and

occasional dip into the inkwell proving a welcome comfort. Pale
waited for what felt like well over a full bell before the furious
writing slowed and Boss Tycon allowed himself a contented sigh.
"Thank you for waiting, young man. I'm rather pleased that you've
learned to practice your patience."
"Thank you, Sir." Pale couldn't help but smile weakly as he stared
at the bumps his wiggling feet made in the blanket.
"Your question, Bucket?"
"Sir..."
Tycon sighed in annoyance, scratching his pen in a long loop.

"Out with it, young man. Hesitation does not suit a leader."
Pale bit his upper lip and summoned his courage, "Sir... are you
Human?"
The movement of Tycon's quill stopped abruptly.
"Young man..." Tycon's voice dropped in octave, "Why would you

ask that?"
"Well, Sir..." Pale gripped the top of his blanket with both of his
hands and stared at Tycon's back. "I'm not quite sure you have a
face."
Tycon stood up, his wooden chair loudly scraping the floor.
Turning around, a bone-white mask covered his face, allowing his
golden eyes to glow through its slits.
"Very good, young man. Always question, if not aloud, then in your
mind... Can you do better? Can you reduce the risk? Is there an
obvious flaw? ...These are the questions you... as a leader... must
ask."
Pale nodded. He shifted his legs, kneeling in the bed. He didn't
know when or how, but his spear had returned to his right hand,
returning him a spark of bravery.
"Now, young man, is there anything else before we continue?"

Tycon asked, ever professional. "I'm certain you understand... for
you to go on your way, I must show you what is underneath this
mask."
"No, Sir... no questions... But..."
The mask-wearing Tycon tilted its head, "Yes?"
Pale stood up on the bed, spear at the ready, "Sir, thank you for
teaching me."
Tycon nodded in approval, "Young man, remain vigilant. The

lesson has yet to finish."
And so, Tycon removed his mask.
...
She stood, draped in a white dress. // Black hair spilled from the
mask.
It dripped and smelled of stale water. // Black bile spilled from her
lungs.
She stood, taller than the ceiling. // The ceiling was gone, as if it
had never been.
And where it would, the stars shone.
The stars were dying.
Glossy white tendrils dropped down from the darkness, pale

hands attached to long arms made of cold wax. They lifted the
blankets off of the corpses.
A woman screamed soundlessly... but she was already dead. She

dropped off of the bed with a sopping thump and tore her nails
upon the floorboards, trying to crawl away. The hands grabbed at
her body, tearing off flesh in clumps like a loaf of bread.
A man screamed soundlessly... but he was already dead. He

raised his boneless arms, desperately screaming prayers to gods
that refused to hear. The hands grabbed at his skin, which
stretched and tore. Like hooks, their fingers pierced his flesh.
The child stared soundlessly. He wanted one last moment... but

he was already dead. His body writhed and shook, thrashing
sharply from side to side while the hands split his torso from his
legs, bathing the room in a steady stream of blood.
The goddess stood. // In ※HER※ left hand, ※SHE※ holds a

sword.
Moonlight makes its blade. // In ※HER※ right hand, ※SHE※ holds

a girl.
※HER※ eyes are shut tight.
※SHE※ sings a song so she cannot hear.
She cries.
Pale screamed for her to awaken.
※SHE※ sings a song so she cannot hear.
...
Tycon glanced over his shoulder, seeing Tarquin Wroe approach.
"Mister Wroe," he nodded.
"Boss," Wroe gave a salute, placing a palm against his chest.
Tycon pointed at a clearing 20 fulms away, free of trees, leaves, or

plants, where three children had collected.
Bucket was standing in a combat stance, his dilated pupils
unfocused. A young silver-haired girl was sitting in a crouch,
holding her knees, singing a song and... crying. The blonde kid
was face-down in a pile of leaves with an arrow stuck in his back.
Tycon would have been more concerned if not for the fact that he
was snoring loudly and peacefully. Most curious in the group was
Bucket's hide-covered log that had somehow... grown a collection
of knives.
"This... I suppose this was your doing, Mister Wroe?" Tycon

asked, unamused.
Wroe offered a guilty smile, "Can I say no?"
"Go back!" Tycon yelled, startling the blue-haired Daeva.
"Okay, okay!" Wroe retreated to a healthy distance. "Boss, where

am I going back to?"
"Just-- scout the area or something!" Tycon scowled, "Or go up

into the branches and wait!"
Wroe escaped handily as Tycon turned to deal with the situation.

He picked up a hard fruit, fallen from a nearby tree. It would cause
a handy lump if it struck Bucket's head... and hopefully free him
from whatever mind-effects he was under. Tycon tossed it with a
moderate amount of strength.
KSST!
Bucket's spear slashed through the thrown fruit. But the boy's
eyes didn't change-- he was still dominated by the mind-effect.
"Seven hells... What kind of reflexes does this boy have...?" Tycon
asked aloud.
Tycon picked up a second hard fruit, "Okay, different target. Eh...

The girl."
He cleared his throat, "As I throw this fruit at this young woman,
with speed capable of dealing moderate-to-high physical harm, I
cite the Equal Opportunity clause of Guild Invictus: I, the
contractor, shall not discriminate against employees or clients
based on gender, species, religion, culture, national origin, or
age."
Tycon threw the fruit, "Hah!"
KSST!
Bucket's spear reflexively slashed through it.
"Seven hells... Really?," Tycon groaned. "Bucket, if *anything* is

thrown at me from here on out and you fail to protect me, I'm
going to shoot you. In the back. With a crossbow."
Tycon thought he saw Bucket visibly shiver but ignored it as an

anomaly.
He picked up another fruit, "The dumb-looking blonde kid, then!

He's probably babbling about something lewd."
Tycon grew quiet to listen to the tall boy's mumbling... "Now...

lemme tell ya... 'bout noodlin' fer catfish."
The boy was talking about fishing for catfish. Tycon placed the
hard fruit back onto the ground.
"Fish are delicious," Tycon nodded in approval.
Tycon crossed his arms in thought. He needed to break the spell

that was clouding the children's minds. He could have used more
violent methods, but deemed it... inefficient.
« System, change setting: Set default skill search to minimum

90% Completion Rate. »
« System, search with conditions: List:Skills. Target:Ally OR Allies.

Type:Support. »
[System response: 6 results. Commander's Strike; Desire Trigger;
Jumping Knee Counter; Inspirational Surge; Lulu Defense
Formation; Lulu Offense Formation.]
Tycon scanned the list. His instincts were telling him that Desire
Trigger was what he needed. But he was curious as to how
Jumping Knee Counter was a support skill... He was also curious
as to who the missing Invictus Member, Lulu, was and why she
rated not one, but two different combat formations.
« System, display effects of Desire Trigger. »
[Desire Trigger: Support ability. Targeted ally is compelled to

envision an existing incentive, moderately boosting target's ability
to resist detrimental effects.]
Perfect.
Chapter 43 Taree's Trust
"Dad! Don't go!" Pale yelled.
Pale found himself standing in a cold forest of gold leaves and

wild green moss. His hand was outstretched to no one. He wiped
a tear that had slid down his cheek and sighed. He was no longer
in that awful place. He silently thanked both Boss Tycon and his
father, in his heart.
They had saved him.
He took a deep breath, taking in the cool forest air, the

herbaceous scents, and appreciating the crispy, golden leaves.
The nightmare was over.
Swiftly and without warning, Pale was struck in the side, tumbling
to the ground. He held tightly onto his spear, but he was unable to
escape or roll away. A bundle of orange robes and short silver hair
had tackled him. Taree buried her face into his stomach and
immediately began bawling her eyes out.
"It's you! Why did it have to be you who saved me!? I wanted the
Chosen One! Why is it you?!" The girl was sobbing nonsensically.
Pale gently stroked her head, reassuring her. "It's okay. I'm here."
As she looked up with her watery-eyed, snot-nosed face, he

wiped a tear with his thumb and whispered, "Don't cry."
"I'm... I'm older than you." The girl sniffed, "You have to respect
me!"
Pale smiled silently in return. He continued stroking Taree's head,

observing his surroundings. On himself-- his armor was
undamaged-- well the front of it, anyroad... and his forearms didn't
need bandaging. His back didn't itch or sting. He turned to a
snoring individual lying nearby. Tamaki was face-down (arrow-up),
snoring peacefully. Beside Tamaki was his battle-buddy, his log. It
was still covered in darts, giving it a wild and epic look.
Darts... Pale looked around-- there was no sign of the cave they
entered. But for some reason, deep in his heart, he knew Baketsu
had died. He, Taree, and her brother had survived the nightmare.
Baketsu and the other Muto warriors did not. Pale felt a deep
sense of regret about their painful ends. He stared at his hand--
feeling like only moments prior, he had clenched his fists so hard
his palms bled.
"Taree," Pale said. "Let's bandage your brother's injuries."
She wiped her eyes with her bright orange sleeves and nodded,
"Mm!"
...
Wroe and Tycon sat on a branch high above the forest floor. Wroe
was again, maintaining a Shadow Veil with his concentration.
"Boss?"
"What is it?"
"Haven't we been hiding long enough?"
Tycon rubbed the back of his neck, "I suppose... the lesson has
yet to finish, Mister Wroe."
Wroe tilted his head, rotating a bit too much, "Pretty nice thing you
did, Boss, using a Healing Skill like you did."
Tycon rolled his eyes, "If the boy survived whatever spell you cast,
he deserves a heal."
"And the potion?"
"Any Invictus member should always have at least one potion on

him."
Tycon averted his gaze. By sneaking a second potion into
Bucket's pack, he was effectively giving it to the Archer. The boy
was the helpful-type and wouldn't hesitate to offer his own rations
to or spend his own hard-earned coin on someone else.
Admittedly, it was a good personality to have in an adventuring
company. He'd never be short of friends, as long as he associated
with people who would return his favors.
It appeared to be a calculatedly selfless reason, removing a

casualty, and increasing the combat power of Bucket's team. It
wasn't. Tycon liked the blonde kid.
Fortunately, Wroe shrugged it off.
Tycon breathed a sigh of relief, "Anyroad, Mister Wroe... I thought

I'd told you not to cast any spells on Bucket."
"Oh, I didn't, Boss." Wroe smiled innocently.
Tycon glared in response, waiting for more information.
"I didn't! I had no idea they'd get caught between worlds!"
Tycon glared harder, his face a mix of shock and rage.
Wroe raised one of his palms, trying to calm Tycon down, "Boss! It
was just Thelanis?!"
Tycon's pupils shook and he clenched a fist in rage. Anger surged

from within him at the mention of the spell.
« System! Inquiry! What is Thelanis and why am I so angry?! »
[System response: Thelanis is the Plane of Fae, existing as an

"Echo" of the Prime Material Plane.]
"You brought them to THE FAE WYLD?! You imbecile,

featherbrained BUFFOON!!" Tycon was seething.
Tycon didn't remember much of names and relationships, but he

kept memories of creatures and places. He knew of the Fae
Wyld... Nothing there could be trusted, not the plants, not the
elves, or pixies, or hags. Strange Laws governed the reality and
the people therein. It was a world of madness and danger,
rampant murder and cannibalism, lawless savagery and ethereal
beauty.
A single name crossed his mind, connected to the Fae Wyld. Who
they were, he did not know. It made him physically shudder in
fear. It made him tremble in anger that Wroe's foolishness could
have provoked ※HER※.
"Boss! Boss?" Wroe was smiling, but sweat dripped from his brow,
"They were fine, though? Boss?? I'm... I'm maintaining the
Shadow Veil? Please don't hit me."
Tycon raised both hands as if to strangle Wroe. But as his anger

peaked, his emotions suddenly deflated. He dropped his head,
took a slow, deep breath, and gave a long, exaggerated sigh.
He clenched his teeth, "Maintain the veil... Mister Wroe."
Tycon kicked a leg over to straddle the branch and laid back
against the tree trunk to rest, "And from hereon, no opening
convenient portals to dangerous realms on a whim."
"A-aww," Wroe looked disappointed.
"You brought this upon yourself," Tycon replied angrily, his eyes
shut.
...
Taree was incensed. She had thoroughly searched Pale's bag

before they had entered the nightmare, or so she thought... but
when Pale checked again for more bandages, he found a second
red vial.
Pale told her not to worry about it, but she was feeling more and
more useless as the day was going on. She was the genius of the
Ivory Judge sect! She was determined to show Pale a face of
power and might! Or reliability as someone who was older than
him! ...Anything was better than the crying face she kept showing
him.
They woke up Tamaki, bandaged him, and had him drink the
Outsider healing tonic. Introductions were short and simple, but
her big brother kept asking Pale weird questions like 'So, what do
you think of my sister?' and 'So, are ya single?' Besides that,
Tamaki had managed to keep his bow slung over his shoulder and
in one piece. Even though he complained of a sore shoulder, he
was as battle-ready as he could be.
"But Mister Pale, why are we goin' back?" Tamaki asked,

scratching his blonde hair. "Aren't we still bein' chased?"
Taree had completely forgotten. Her brother was completely right.

She looked over to the sandy-haired boy.
Pale smiled and Taree and gave Tamaki a hopeful look, "Three of
the four people chasing us are... gone. Let's meet up with Lone, in
case he needs our help... He'll be doing the same for us."
Taree felt strange about her situation. She was originally worried
about having the Chosen One come to their sect, but after Pale
had been the one to pull her out of the Nightmare, she couldn't
look at him straight without fluttering butterflies swirling around in
her stomach.
"Aaaaah!" Taree yelled. BAM! Taree threw out a frustrated punch!

She didn't know what to think, anymore!
Tamaki keeled over, holding his stomach, "Coach! It hurts!"
Pale was stunned, kneeling down to help Tamaki up, "H-hey!

Hang in there, Tamaki!"
Taree's face paled, "Oh no! Big brother!"
"Coach, everything... Everythin's goin' dark." Tamaki muttered.
With a rattling sigh, the blonde archer fell unconscious once

more... Pale laid him down with tender care, a tree root beneath
his head as a pillow.
He turned to Taree with a serious face, "It happened so fast... I

didn't see our attacker... and I never felt their presence. Taree...
Stay behind me, so I can protect you from Yoshio."
Taree hid her fists behind her back, feeling guilty, but secretly
thrilled in her heart.
"O-okay," she blushed as a flame burned within her soul. "I'm not
afraid! When I see that Yoshio, I'm gonna punch him so hard, he
explodes!"
"Is that so?" Yoshio asked as he stumbled out of the undergrowth.

Chapter 44 Bestie Crystal
oshio, the arrogant, dark-haired, young Warrior of the Muto

Y
family, had changed drastically since last Pale saw him.
He had somehow lost his white robes, and his naked chest was
covered in dark bruises, strange scratch marks, and even a
strange blue discoloration on his shoulder. His eyes were sunken,
his face pale, as if he hadn't eaten for bells and hadn't slept for
even longer. Most striking was his hair: it had been long, dark, and
tied in a ponytail, but now was stark white and had fallen off in
patches.
Pale stepped forward, blocking Yoshio's view of Taree, "You'll pay

for what you did to Tamaki."
Yoshio shot back an angry glare, slightly confused at the

accusation.
Taree couldn't help but look back at her fallen brother with a guilty
conscience. She stepped forward, standing side by side with Pale.
"No. I want to fight, too. This loser's been annoying me since
forever ago!"
Yoshio angrily put a black gauntlet to his chest, "What?! Annoying

you?! I've been trying to be your boyfriend for like two years!"
Taree frowned, "Um. Eww?"
"We've ALWAYS trained together! For bells and bells! For suns
and moons!?" Yoshio shouted.
"Um. Yeah." Taree grimaced, "Because we're in the same class. I

trained with everyone. I even trained with my brother!"
"SLUT!!" Yoshio was livid, "And what about the high-rank Spirit
Stone I gave you?! And when I asked if we could be together
forever?!"
"Oh! The Bestie Crystal!" Taree beamed, "I loved the Bestie
Crystal!!"
Pale pursed his lips as he saw a man's heart break in real-time.

The look of pain and depression on Yoshio's face made him feel
sorry for him...
"Should... should I leave?" He asked.
Taree grabbed onto Pale's arm, "Don't listen to this loser, Warrior
Pale!"
Yoshio growled, finding a target he could take his anger out on,
"You! WARRIOR Pale?! If it weren't for YOU, I wouldn't have...
They wouldn't..."
Yoshio began shivering, tears of blood streaming down his eyes,

his pupils shook as if he was remembering something...
something horrible.
Pale shook Taree's arm off and started to approach, "Hey... are
you okay?"
"Shut up! Get away from me!" Yoshio snapped.
Yoshio began to yell, pulling a green-inked paper talisman from

his pouch, "I'll get rid of you, soon enough! But I'll be bringing the
girl back to the sect WITH ME!"
He threw the talisman and it sparked violently with mana,

speeding towards Pale as its target.
Pale tightened the grip on his spear. He wasn't sure if he could

deflect it, but he'd have to try.
BAM!
Caught off guard, Pale was knocked aside. Taree had swiftly
kicked him away before he could react.
Pale controlled his tumbling, rolling to his feet. He couldn't follow

Taree's movement... She was so fast!
He rushed back to her... but the vibrant, orange-robed Taree was

entirely encased in a prison of solid green crystal.
"How do you like that!?" Yoshio taunted. "The Talisman's ink is

made from Starmetal powder. The prison it makes it impossible to
break by strength alone! Only the Muto family can dispel it!
DESPAIR, OUTSIDER! Prepare to DIE! Hopeless and ALONE!!"
Pale stared into the crystal. She was sealed with her last
expression, frozen onto her face and her eyes gazed into his, full
of confidence.
He turned to Yoshio, "No, Taree did this because she knows I can
win against you."
...
Yoshio gawked with an open mouth, enraged. "What? That girl is

the princess of the Kimura family! The most gifted Martialist in her
generation! That girl trusts NO ONE but HERSELF!"
Yoshio suddenly keeled forward as was struck in the stomach.

Looking down, he found that Pale had smashed his spearpoint
into his stomach-- shattering its blade against Yoshio's Stone
Body skin.
Yoshio grabbed the spear, "You fool! I have mastered the Stone--"
Not caring to listen, Pale spun in a circle and kicked the end of his
spear, driving the bladeless metal rod again into Yoshio's
stomach. Receiving the powerful impact, Yoshio couldn't help but
spit and cough blood onto the forest floor. He received an internal
injury so easily?
Yoshio's heart sunk. His... beloved Stone Body art... was useless
against him?
"She trusts me," Pale declared, snatching back his spear from
Yoshio's grasp.
...
Yoshio was continually battered and bruised by the Outsider, Pale.

He was like an unending waterfall, attacking accurately, never
losing speed, never losing control. Yoshio would punch and kick or
block the neverending torrent of attacks, but the Outsider would
find a way. Each strike at his arms and legs chipped away at his
stamina. Every time he was struck in the head, his dizziness
would last longer.
Blocking the metal rod's strikes quickly began to ake. Soon,

moving his muscles started to hurt. And then, pain wracked his
body as Yoshio gasped for breath. As he reached the end of his
endurance, he couldn't remember what it was like to live in a world
free of suffering.
He could no longer look into Pale's eyes. The Outsider's intent

was singular. To defeat him. To crush him. To turn his bones to
powder, caught between the hard rocks and his metal staff.
Yoshio cursed inwardly... What kind of power had he offended?
...
"WHIRLWIIINND ATTTAAAAACK!!"
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, leaped out of a bush.

Spinning in a 720-degree circle, he smashed a sword into the
back of Yoshio's neck.
Yoshio crumpled to the ground like a sack of rocks.
"Eh?" Lone looked down at Yoshio, then at his unbloodied sword.

"How come I didn't cut him?"
Pale nearly collapsed, holding himself up with his spear, "Lone...
you came."
Lone rushed over, grabbing Pale and gently lowering him to the
ground. Pale had overexerted himself, his heart was pounding like
the hooves at a horse race. "Pale! Pale, what happened?!"
"I won." Pale gasped deeply for breath, but he was smiling. "You?"
Lone grinned, his eyes still a mess of black ink (and probably
blood), "Yeah! Of course, I did. I'm the Chosen One."
"I just need... to rest... a bit," Pale said, beginning to close his
eyes.
"No! Pale! Don't close your eyes!"
Pale frowned, his eyes shut hard, "No, sleep is good for healing.
Boss said so."
...Lone couldn't argue with the words of Boss. He shrugged, then

placed Pale and... the unconscious Tamaki next to the green
crystal prison containing Taree.
Wait, green crystal prison?
"Huh? That's weird."
Lone decided to ignore it.
He walked over to Yoshio, the bastard responsible for all of the

ninjas. He was bruised and had cuts all over and his hair had
turned white. Also weird. Lone raised his single sword, pointed
downward at Yoshio's neck. Even if Yoshio had trained that weird
Stone Body art, a fully powered stab with all of his weight on an
unconscious person should do the trick.
"HALT, OUTSIDER!"
An unexpected shout surprised Lone, nearly causing him to drop

his sword. Swiveling around, he found the voice's owner. It was a
man with slicked-back black hair gliding down from a tree branch,
his green robes fluttering in the wind.
The man put his chin up arrogantly, "Stay away from him, trash."
Chapter 45 Sword Saint
ho in the seven hells was this arrogant prick? How dare he glide
W
down gracefully like some sort of green dress-wearing pigeon.
"Trash?!" Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark laughed, "Aha haha!

Don't you know who I am?!"
He flourished his sword, stomping on the fallen Yoshio's stomach,

"I'm the Chosen One! The one from your stories and legends!"
Lone pointed his blade, "Capable of great feats of strength! Able

to use all of the forgotten skills of your Anxiety Jump Snek!"
He again pointed his blade down, poised to pierce it through

Yoshio's neck, "Now, unless you know who I am and are willing to
PISS me off, I suggest you--"
Out of the corner of his eye, Lone saw the man holding a small
piece of paper in his fingers.
Weird. Lone didn't like weird things. Every time he trained with
Wroe, something weird would happen. Sometimes, he'd lose
entire periods of memory-- or gain new ones, like when he'd
suddenly remembered that he had a cat when he was eight that
walked on the ceiling. And there was that one time when his
shadow went missing, though it returned right before sundown.
A strange piece of paper that had writing on it and glowed

ominously? That was weird.
The talisman burnt up in the man's hands.
Lone felt an incredible force strike him, sending his body crashing
against a wizened tree... which cracked from the sudden force
and collapsed... onto him. A rain of golden leaves mocked him as
he coughed up blood.
Lone grimaced in pain. He knew it had been too easy. Something

HAD to go wrong. And this guy had tricked him with how WEAK
he looked!
"I am Muto Hisato," the man coldly stated.
He walked forward arrogantly, hands hidden in his sleeves,

"Yoshio is my dear friend... We lost our virginities together in
Aviard. For daring to harm him, I will--"
"Wait, wait, hold on." Lone escaped the remains of the collapsed
tree. He thrust his palms forward with an accusatory look on his
face, "You two lost your virginities... together?"
Hisato's stony expression remained unchanged, "Yes."
"Like... to each other?"
Finally, Hisato's eye twitched in anger, "No. We visited a brothel..."
Hisato glared... "For daring to harm my--"
"What? Were you like in the same room?"
"Yes?"
Lone frowned, "There was... a girl involved, right?"
Another paper talisman appeared in Hisato's hands, "Die,

Outsider."
...
Lone dashed behind a sturdy tree, resulting in a loud explosion

and splintering of wood from a talisman's effects. He had hoped
that Hisato would run out of his paper-things. He did not. He had
many paper-things. He clenched his sword in his hand. He
needed to get into close range. Then Hisato wouldn't be able to
use the paper-things so easily! Lone could do this! He was the
Chosen One!
He leaped to the side and sprinted towards Hisato! Calmly, the

green-robed man held up a hand, freezing Lone in place with
magic. Gahhh! Lone's sword mere ilms away from striking his
target!
With a blast of energy, Lone flew backward, smashing him into a

sapling and tumbling through the thorny undergrowth.
...
Lone had grabbed Pale's spear-- or what he thought was his

spear. The spearhead was gone, but the metal rod and its
leathery handgrips had remained. This would be the weapon he'd
used to close the distance! He needed to get into close range!
Then he could make that Hisato's expression change to one of
shock and pain at his inevitable defeat!
He leaped to the side and sprinted! Calmly, the green-robed man

held up a hand, but Lone rolled to the side. He spun and swung
the metal rod at Hisato's back! --but just as his swing was ilms
away from reaching its target, he was blasted upward by an
unseen force, smashing him into several branches of a tree. He
fell, but his fall was somewhat cushioned by green forest
undergrowth... thorny... green forest undergrowth.
...
Lone leaped to the side and sprinted towards the strange green
crystal imprisoning Taree! That must be the source of his powers!
Lone smashed his sword against it, which broke the blade nearly
in half!
Lone looked at Hisato. Hisato looked at Lone.
Lone looked down in shame.
Hisato raised a hand, launching Lone back into the woods.

...
Lone began throwing hard fruit at Hisato. None of them hit.
...
Lone hid behind a sturdy tree, terrified by the loud, repeated

magical explosions and shrapnel of wood from Hisato's talismans.
Tears ran hot down his face, "OH, COME ON! Let's just fight!!"
Surprisingly, the explosions stopped. Lone carefully peeked his

head out from his hiding spot.
Hisato had stopped throwing talismans and was standing in the

clearing, crossing his arms and glaring impatiently. Lone stepped
out confidently, pointing his half-broken sword at Hisato.
"So you've finally decided to face me, coward." Lone grinned.
Even though he was at the last vestiges of his stamina, surely

Hisato was too. It would be dangerous against a caster... and
Lone's weapon was more of a dagger than a sword, but he was
certain he would have an advantage in close-combat.
"You are a worthy adversary and resilient," Hisato declared. "I

challenge you to a duel of blades, warrior. May I have your
name?"
A duel of blades! Lone's heart soared! "My name?! My name is

Lone Shadowdark! The Chosen One!" He proclaimed, with pride.
He pointed his broken sword menacingly at Hisato. "Remember it
in your heart as the Warrior who defeated you!"
"Hmph. Indeed." The expressionless man said. From his sleeves

he pulled out a long, masterfully crafted two-handed saber.
Weighted rings hung from the back of its single blade.
Lone suddenly felt like a joke. Hisato took a stance that looked
like he knew what he was doing. A saber, modified for weight was
not something used by a newbie swordsman. Lone's confidence
had taken a fatal hit and he found it difficult to swallow the lump of
anxiety in his throat. "I'd like a different challenge, please, Sir
Hisato."
"Muto Hisato, Sword Saint of the Ivory Judge sect," The man
coolly stated.
Hisato disappeared from Lone's sight.
Lone raised his broken sword up, somehow managing to redirect

the force of the ringed saber. His body shook from its weight, his
insides rumbling with physical strain and a healthy dose of fear.
The saber struck the ground and the earth to split apart in an
impressive display of power.
Lone punched Hisato in the face with a big swing, staggering the
man. Lone was simultaneously thrilled and terrified. His fists were
effective! He had a chance! He just had to not get hit! A direct
blow-- even a glancing blow from that ringed saber could cleave
him in two!
Rushing forward with impatience, Lone leaped up into the air and
delivered a fast, downward punch at Hisato's face. Lowering his
body, he smashed a fist into the man's stomach, and finally he
drove the remainder of his sword into his side, above his ribs and
below the shoulder!
"GRAAAAH HAHAAAA!!" Lone yelled in violence and victory!

Relief filling his heart!
And as Hisato melted into shadowy mist, Lone felt his heart
shatter into a thousand pieces.
W-whhy? He.... he thought he'd wonnnn...
The real Hisato stood behind him. Lone desperately turned to face
him, but Hisato swung his sword. The blade bit harshly into Lone's
side, striking a tree trunk. If it hadn't, the heavy blade would have
cut into Lone's spine. Barza grabbed onto the sword, not letting
Hisato push it any further. Lone had a single thought remaining:
Life was pain.
"Give up, Warrior Lone." Hisato commanded, "You've lost."
Lone was staring into Hisato's ugly face, but his vision was
beginning to darken and blur. A thin line of blood ran down
Hisato's mouth-- the death of the shadow doppelganger must
have injured him somehow.
A new thought had surfaced in Lone's mind. And it was hilarious.
Lone began snickering, crescendoing into laugher-- a madman's

violent laughter, intermixed with blood-ridden dying coughs,
splattering dark blood onto Hisato's green robe, "IDIOT! You've
fallen into my trap..."
The green-robed Hisato narrowed his eyes... "You have sustained

a fatal wound."
"Fatal wound?? Hah!" Lone chuckled. He wished he didn't. It

kinda hurt.
"...I can't die, idiot." He smirked arrogantly, "I'm immortal."
"Warrior Lone," Hisato said coolly. "There is no legend that states

that the Chosen One is immortal."
Lone grinned, blood covering his teeth, insanity in his eyes, "I
haven't been given permission."
Hisato granted Lone a displeased grimace.
Lone screamed, blood splattering onto Hisato's face, "You're. Just.

TRAINING!"
Chapter 46 Permission
arza Keith's blood-filled scream startled Hisato, forcing him to

B
step away, wiping his eyes. With all of his willpower, Barza pulled
the sword out of his body, violently shaking it to unstick it from the
wood. Blood poured down his side like an overflowing pot, but he
didn't care.
"I! AM! IMMORTAL!!!" With a frenzied roar, Barza slashed the

heavy blade at Hisato. A wide crimson line opened on his chest,
bloodily staining the man's green robes.
Hisato regained his balance and glared angrily.
CHNK! The sound of a crossbow resounded throughout the forest

as Hisato retreated backward. "Who dares?!"
Tycon emerged from the shadows as he approached the ruined

man lying in a pool of his own blood.
Barza looked up with tearful eyes at the green-haired youth. "Sir

Tycon..."
It was over. He did well. He would finally be praised. "May I have...

your permission... to..."
Barza's consciousness was fading fast. He struggled to voice his

final wish. He had only made it this far thanks to Tycon's training.
He desperately yearned for the cold-hearted man's approval, to be
granted permission to die. Only then would he be able to find
peace in the afterlife.
Tycon glared down, his face contorted in disgust, "Permission

denied."
Tears flowed unceasingly down Barza's eyes as he sobbed in
pain. He had failed.
Tycon shook his head, groaning, "Is this the best you can do?"
« Activate. I'm feeling generous. »
[Activating.]
Tycon unstopped his waterskin and began pouring its contents

onto Barza's open wounds, washing out blood and wooden debris.
Barza sobbed in pain. "Whyyyy?"
"Hygiene. Lowers risk of infection. I don't know why you're asking.

This should not be new to you."
Tycon observed Barza's grievous wounds as they began to heal.

With the wet blood washing away, the flesh visibly regenerated
and the deep cut began to knit... He'd remain stable, but he
wouldn't be combat-ready for a few suns.
"Who are you?! Answer me??" the green-robed man demanded.

Tycon looked above the man's head to see the transparent name,
Hisato.
Tycon sighed, searching for an answer, "I suppose... I'm a

guardian of sorts. And these idiots are under my charge-- Oh, not
the one in the crystal, though."
Hisato nodded in understanding, "I have no quarrel with you,

Expert."
Tycon nodded, "Indeed. And neither I, with you." He picked up the

ringed saber. Hm. Heavy. He tossed it back to the other fellow,
who caught it with ease.
Hisato gave a polite bow, his eyes remaining forward. "Regarding

harming your man, I ask for the chance to explain."
"That won't be necessary. I do not intend to interfere. I am merely
here to collect my men... And I'll be taking the blonde kid, too."
Why shouldn't he?
The young green-robed gentleman shifted his weight, obviously

uncomfortable. He stared at Tycon like he was an anomaly... and
referred to him as 'Expert.'
What was he surprised by? That Tycon was far better at stealth
than his goons? Or that he could heal a fatal wound without so
much as an incantation, a focus, or magical gestures? Or the fact
that his man, Lone, had requested permission to die?
Tycon allowed amusement to reign in his heart, though didn't

allow it to show on his face. The fool must have been quite
intimidated.
"That is... very well." Hisato frowned, "House Muto only requires
the girl."
Tycon recovered Bucket's broken spear and walked over to him,

lying unconscious against the crystal, "And who gave you
permission to rest?"
[Inspirational Surge con--]
« Activaaate... »
[Activating.]
Bucket stirred awake, catching the rod that Tycon tossed to him.
"S-sir Tycon?"
"Wake up, Bucket. We're leaving."
The boy shot up, ready. Tycon had already begun walking away.
Bucket looked mournfully at the crystal, before calling back, "Sir!"
Tycon stopped walking and waited. After a moment, he half-turned

in annoyance, "Out with it, young man. Hesitation does not suit a
leader."
Bucket grinned like a fool. "Sir Tycon! Can you break open Taree's
prison?"
Tycon turned to face the boy, "The girl?"
Hisato spoke loudly from a distance, "Great Expert, it's not

possible, the crystal prison can only be dispelled by a formation
guarded by the--"
Tycon didn't care to listen to the fellow's explanations. It would be

faster to ask his System.
« System, inquiry: About how hard is that green crystal? »
[System response: The crystalline substance is similar in

hardness to mithril.]
Tycon drew the sword on his back.
[Shatterspike. Second-Circle Magical Longsword. Deals increased

damage to weapons and objects.]
Tycon stabbed into the crystal with ease, shattering the crystal
prison, its shards dissipating into mana dust and blowing away.
The normally expressionless Hisato dropped his jaw and stared in
shock.
The foolish-looking girl stared blankly at Bucket. "Warrior Pale?

Why are you-- what's going on?"
Bucket turned to Tycon, his eyes full of confidence. "Sir Tycon! I

want the guild to accept a contract!"
Tycon felt an oncoming headache, "What is your intention, boy?"
Bucket took hold of Taree's hand, sending her into a furious blush.
"Kimura Taree... My name is Pale, son of Quay, the greatest
gladiator in the western continent, WARRIOR of Guild Invictus!!"
Despite her redness, Taree managed to respond, "Invictus Pale! I,

Kimura Taree, wish to contract Guild Invictus to House Kimura, to
be compensated fairly and adequately."
Bucket nodded, "Your enemies are mine."
"A-and yours, mine."
Tycon inwardly groaned
What's with this pink atmosphere? Was this a mercenary contract

or a marriage?'
"Sir Tycon," Bucket had approached Tycon, looking up.
Tycon frowned, "Out with it, boy."
Bucket gave a salute, his palm to his chest, "Will you support me
as you supported my father?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes, returning the salute.
"You've denied me the opportunity to choose." He pointed, "That's

Hisato, right there. And you've just declared war on him."
Bucket bowed, tears starting to form, "My father said you were the
most honorable man in Invictus."
Tycon lowered his voice, so only the boy could hear, "I won't
embarrass you in front of present company. But I *will* get you
back for this, boy. Do you understand me?"
Bucket grinned, wiping his tears, "Yes, Sir!"
"No! Great Expert! What is the meaning of this?!" Hisato

screamed in panicked rage.
Tycon sat on Bucket's log-- huh. It was more comfortable than he

assumed, "This young warrior and young lady seem to be at odds
with you. I intend to sit here and watch them... Do you have a
problem with that?"
"Great Expert!" Hisato still couldn't believe what was going on,
"You would take orders from a CHILD?!"
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Child or not, the boy is part of our Guild
Invictus. The contract is sound."
Hisato pointed angrily, wincing in pain and gripping at his chest

wound, "I will pay you! My whole family will buy you! The Muto
family has ten times the amount of coin and resources as the
Kimura family!"
Tycon took a deep, disappointed breath, "I, too, would have

preferred working with you, Mister Hisato. You seem to be a
rational gentleman. But per the Adventurer's Guild rules, Guilds
cannot break an established contract outside of extraordinary
circumstances."
« System, inquiry: Is what I said the truth? It sounded like it made

sense. Not that it matters since this gentleman doesn't seem
familiar with how we operate. »
[Affirmative.]
"This is MADNESS!" Hisato exclaimed, raising his ringed saber in

a combat stance.
"No, this is business," Tycon replied without hesitation.
Bucket smiled brilliantly at Taree, "You ready? We'll attack him

together!"
Taree nodded excitedly, her short silver hair bobbing, "Yeah! Let's
kick his ass!"
Tycon frowned.
What a rude little girl.

Chapter 47 Consecutive
Attacks
imura Taree smashed her tiny palm into Hisato's chest, blood
K
spraying everywhere from his already-open chest wound.
"Dragon's Tail!" She swept her leg viciously, taking Hisato's footing
from beneath him.
Tycon appraised the girl's every action. She was fast, but her
strikes were mediocre-- they lacked bite, killing potential.
"Consecutive Stone Punches!" She rained down blows upon the

fallen man.
Tycon raised his eyebrows in silence. He'd give her a slight

increase in score for viciousness.
Hisato faded into shadow, reappearing nearby holding a green

talisman. Bucket dropped down from a tree, forcing Hisato to turn
and block the metal rod with his ringed saber. Bucket was able to
use the block's force to flip backward, landing solidly and
sweeping his metal staff sideways and striking Hisato's already
weakened knee.
The man yelped in pain and swung his blade, but Bucket blocked
it with his staff close to his body. As the boy was quite light he
stumbled backward, eventually sliding in the dirt, his momentum
only stopping near Tycon.
Tycon glared at the boy. Bucket grinned back as if nothing was

wrong. This child was ridiculous-- he was performing far better
than during training. Tycon glanced at the girl again, Taree of
House Kimura. It seemed the girl motivated the boy. A rivalry,
perhaps?
"Sir Tycon?" Bucket smiled innocently.
"What is it, young man?" Tycon pursed his lips, "I'm still very cross
with you."
"But Sir? I've already accepted my punishment?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes into yellow, glowing squints. The boy
had been assigned punishment as atonement. Mistakes are to be
remembered but forgiven. It was one of Tycon's lessons to him.
Well played.
"Very well. Speak your mind, young friend."
"Could you lend me your sword?" The boy grinned shamelessly.
Tycon's annoyance turned to amusement as he traded Bucket the

magical sword for the metal staff, "It's called the Shatterspike."
Bucket nodded a quick, "Thanks, Boss!" and dashed back to the

fight, dragging the much-too-large longsword, Shatterspike,
across the ground.
Tycon's eyebrow twitched at the boy's lack of care. It seemed he

had perhaps been too quick to trade.
Hisato screamed, his face a mess of bruises, "You whore! Hold

still and DIE!"
Taree was flipping left and right, masterfully displaying her speed
and agility in dodging Hisato's magic, exploding talismans.
"Black Talisman of the Abyss!" Hisato screamed, blood gurgling in

his throat.
He drew a talisman and dipped it in the blood on his chest.

Throwing it, the mana in the talisman went berserk, sparking dark
energies as a crackling roar reverberating throughout the forest.
The girl was leaping forward in mid-air, unable to dodge.

She performed a series of rapid hand seals, "Discipline!!"
With her incantation, the dark, crackling talisman fell to the

ground, inert. Tycon inwardly applauded the girl's quick thinking.
Taree managed to reach Hisato, but she was immediately

rebuffed by a swing of his ringed saber.
"Taree!" Bucket yelled, rushing up to her.
He held the Shatterspike low with both hands, the tip touching the
mossy ground. Tacitly, the girl hopped onto the blade flat and
Bucket tossed her up, into the air, and over Hisato.
Hisato raised his sword high, ready to crash down upon the young
boy, "Outsider! I won't let you die with an intact corpse! I'll cut you
into thirty-three pieces and feed you to the beasts!"
Tycon narrowed his eyes. That was... awfully specific.
Hisato slammed his oppressive ringed blade down with all of his
might, but Bucket was simultaneously swinging the Shatterspike
upward. Hisato completed his swing... but the man's hope was
extinguished seeing the majority of his blade land a couple of
yalms away, stabbing harmlessly into the dirt. The blade capable
of shattering Taree's crystal prison could just as easily break
Hisato's sword.
Taree grabbed the back of Hisato's head from behind and drove
her knee mercilessly into its base, "Risiiiiiing STORM!!"
The resulting crack from the man's head sounded like a peal of
thunder had shattered it.
Tycon narrowed his eyes. Would the girl take Bucket's victory?
"Bucket, don't just stand there."

Bucket had positioned his sword at the furthest he could rotate.
Powerful mana thrumming from his small form, the boy swung the
flat of the blade precisely towards Hisato's temple, "Craaaashing
THUNDERR!!"
[Commander's Strike has evolved into Crashing Thunder.]
Another crack resounded throughout the clearing as the flat side

of the Shatterspike smashed against the side of Hisato's head.
The crack was even louder than with Taree's strike and had sent
the golden leaves near them to fly away outwardly in a burst.
Tycon stood up in awe, sensing the mana fluctuations from Bucket

as much stronger than the mana he'd provided, "What was that?
What in the seven hells was that?!"
[Crashing Thunder added to Skill list.]
Tycon sucked in air through his teeth, knowing that Hisato had
definitely suffered brain damage from the two consecutive head
injuries.
Hisato's eyes rolled back, his knees struck the ground, hard, and
then he collapsed to his side, unconscious.
"Yes!" Bucket rejoiced, "We did it!"
The orange-robed girl, Taree, crossed her arms, "What do you

mean 'we'? I was the one who took him out!"
Bucket was thoroughly shocked, "What? Didn't you see that hit? I
hurt him more!"
The girl was incensed, "Whatever! I hit him first!"
Tycon sat down and allowed his mind to drift as he ignored the
bickering of children.
« System, display effects of Crashing Thunder, if you would... »
[Crashing Thunder. Support ability. Bucket is compelled to make

an instantaneous bludgeoning strike against an enemy with
increased accuracy. Deals heavy damage and additional sonic
damage. A modification of Commander's Strike, only usable by
Bucket.]
...What a ridiculous child. Tycon wondered if the boy was a

prodigy, or if the boy's Elven bloodline has prompted the change...
The only way he'd be more surprised is if the boy had learned a
Skill on his own.
He observed the battlefield: Barza Keith, unconscious but stable;

Blonde kid, Kimura Tamaki, unconscious; Muto Hisato, double
traumatic brain injury; Yoshio...
Tycon observed the white-haired youth. His System had displayed

his aggression level with a transparent red tag: unapologetically
hostile. How troublesome. The man had dragged himself to sit up
against a tree, where he was laughing quietly to himself like a
madman.
The two children had approached him, and Taree had placed her
hands on her hips, "What's so funny, Yoshio?"
The man with pale features and sunken eyes only laughed harder,
"You'll pay! You'll all pay! House Muto didn't just send Master
Hisato, after all! Haha! Hahahaha!"
Tycon didn't care for the fellow's villainous spiel. Going behind the
children's backs, he began to loot the green-robed Young Master
Hisato's unconscious form.
He found a magic ring. That was nice... But there seemed to be

nothing else of value, save a few paper talismans.
« System, identify: I hope this is a spatial ring. »
Tycon recalled that Martialists liked those.
[Ring of Holding: Opens into a nondimensional space of 10 cubic

yalms and up to 250 ponze.]
Convenient.
« System, inquiry: Does the Ring have any security measures? »
[System response: The Ring of Holding supports the following

security features: Mana recognition, voice recognition, and verbal
response. The ring is currently attuned to Muto Hisato. The ring's
security features must be reset in order to soul bind. Reset
security? Y/N?]
« Most excellent. System, inquiry: Will I lose my items if I reset the

ring's security features? »
[System response: Affirmative. Contained items will be forcibly

ejected upon resetting the ring's security.]
The inconvenience that brought him... was so infinitesimal that it

baffled him. He'd wait until he was away from prying eyes before
he dealt with that...
« Thank you, System. »
Bucket had returned, his face carrying a look of worry. Tycon

covertly slipped his precious new ring right into his pocket. Wasn't
it odd, now? And yet, why not? Why shouldn't he keep it?
"Sir, we should leave," Bucket said, returning the Shatterspike, hilt

first.
Tycon took the sword and returned Bucket's metal staff, "Of
course. I'd very much like to travel to the Gann den so we can
roast a decent meal."
Bucket fidgeted anxiously, "Sir, there's a problem. Mister Yoshio's

told us that some of House Muto's sect elders have been sent to
guard Master Hisato."
Chapter 48 Two Old Ghosts
ycon looked down at the mediocre young, silver-haired Martialist,

T
Kimura Taree. Her orange robes would have been impressive,
had they not been savaged by thorns and whatever sword-
damage her pursuers dealt. He prayed his interrogation would be
fruitful, as they often did not.
"Young lady, I'd like a word with you, if convenient," Tycon

requested.
Taree tilted her head. The gesture could be considered cute.
"Bumfuzzle!" She exclaimed.
Tycon furrowed his brows, "I'm sorry, what?"
Taree smiled, "You wanted a word! I gave you one!"
Tycon gasped, suddenly troubled. He had been too harsh... "Oh,

no. Oh, dear. I'm so very sorry..."
He gently patted the young girl's head, softening his voice, "You're
an idiot. I'd like to talk to someone else, please."
Taree puffed up her cheeks and slapped Tycon's hand away,

"Whad'ya want?!"
Tycon frowned and rubbed his hand-- it stung, "Tell me more

about House Muto's elders."
The girl stared up with wide, clueless eyes... then immediately ran
off to wake the blonde boy.
Tycon glared at Bucket, but the boy began reassuring him, "Don't
worry, Sir! She's not... always? Rude?"
"Was that a statement or a question?" Tycon crossed his arms,
discontent. The recently awakened blonde boy, Kimura Tamaki,
was pushed in front of him... assumedly in order to better answer
his inquiries.
With a light sigh, Tycon smiled, "You've brought me someone

else. You have my thanks, young lady."
Taree stuck out her tongue, making a childish, rude face at Tycon.
He glared once more at Bucket.
Bucket stepped up to explain, "Miss Taree, Mister Tamaki, this is

Sir Tycon. He's something like... my Boss."
"Oh," Tamaki gave a polite bow. "It's a pleasure to meet'cha, Sir

Tycon!"
Tycon nodded his head in return, "Please, Guild Invictus is now

contracted by House Kimura. We do not know your customs, but
we invite you to treat us as you would any other loyal allies."
...
Taree was shocked. She nudged Pale, "Warrior Pale, what do you
mean this guy's your Boss?!"
The sandy-haired boy bared his teeth, unsure how to explain,

"Um. Me and Lone are technically trainees. And Boss Tycon is the
one in charge."
Taree collapsed onto her hands and knees in despair. In order to

get closer to Warrior Pale, she had to get in the good graces of Sir
Tycon. He thought she was an idiot! And she had slapped his
hand and made faces at him! His first impression of her could
barely have been worse!
"Oh, boy," Tamaki was excited. "That means I'm talkin' to the Head
Honcho."
...
The blonde boy didn't lower his voice, but Tycon didn't mind. He
liked the sound of Head Honcho.
"Warrior Tamaki," Tycon asked, "Would you tell me of the Elders

that Warrior Yoshio mentioned?"
Tamaki shook his head, grimly, "Oh, boy, let me tell ya. There's a
bunch of elders, and they're all pretty strong for a bunch of old
guys. But two of 'em, more 'an anything are the best o' the best...
They call 'em Old Ghosts, 'cuz they're so old, nobody knows how
old they are!"
Tycon rested upon Bucket's leather-bound knife-log to listen.

Bucket looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't.
Tamaki continued, "Now, Old Ghost Bakura, he's a master of

formations and dark curses! Enemies of House Muto would jus'
get sick and die! Or they'd turn impotent overnight! And they'd say
it was all due to Old Ghost Bakura's meddlin'!
"Old Ghost Tetsudo, though, now he's a mean old geezer. He

disappeared after the Ivory Judge sect exiled him a huuuundred
years ago, but he came back after his sentence was up-- He was
known for being extra-ordinarily cruel in combat, able to crush a
man's bones into powder just by swingin' his club!"
Tycon nodded, "Thank you, Warrior Tamaki... My next question

is... why do the two of you seem unconcerned?"
Tamaki smiled, "Well, that's the thing. The Old Ghosts don't move
for just about anybody. As long as that's that, we've got nothin' to--
"
Laughter erupted from behind them, and the group turned to see
the battered, laughing form of Yoshio. "You fools!? Both Old
Ghosts Bakura AND Tetsudo are coming for your lives! They were
notified as soon as Young Master Hisato left the sect! Don't you
see?!? You will all DIE! Painfully! Without whole corpses! The two
Old Ghosts of House Muto will make CERTAIN OF IT!"
Tycon glanced over to the blonde young man, "Warrior Tamaki,
can we kill that one?"
Tamaki turned to Taree, "Whad'ya think, Coach?"
Taree stood up in a flash and tried to smooth out the wrinkles in

her tattered robes. Suddenly nervous, her voice dropped to a
lower pitch, but she stumbled around her words, awkwardly,
"Warrior Tycon, I feel that-- that Young Master Hisato is... too
important to kill-- Oh! He's the son of Elder Chudo-- but--"
Tycon knelt down to pat the poor, stupid girl's head, "It's alright,
little one. I understand."
The silver-haired girl puffed up her cheeks indignantly.
Tamaki raised an open palm, "Warrior Tycon, we should get goin'.

We wouldn't wanna be caught by those Old Ghosts."
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Oh, it's unfortunate, Warrior Tamaki.

With the way you described those Old Ghosts-- we can't leave."
Without wasting words to explain, Tycon yelled out, "Mister Wroe!

Mister Dragan!!"
The two Kimura kids looked confused until Bucket explained that
Sir Tycon was calling for their companions.
Tarquin Wroe was the first to arrive, stepping out of the shadows
like a young, ethereal spirit. He saluted with a palm to his chest,
"Boss."
Tycon returned the salute, "Mister Wroe. I sent you to look for any
potential threats. Have you found any?"
The tall, blue-haired man tilted his head, a bit too much, "Oho? I
did find one. He wished to see Her glory. I showed him the barest
of Her shadow."
"Old guy?" Tycon asked.
"Old guy," Wroe confirmed.

"Anything left of the body?"
Wroe nodded, smilingly, "Bits and pieces. Here and there."
Hm. That effectively meant 'no.'
"Mister Dragan!" Tycon shouted.
As if to answer, a severed forearm fell from a tree, landing beside

Yoshio. The white-haired boy screamed, scrambling away from it.
Then a severed hand beaned Yoshio in the head.
Bucket swung his metal staff, deflecting... what appeared to be a

man's... severed genitalia.
Dragan, the red-headed half-giant leaped down from the treetops,

landing powerfully onto one of Yoshio's legs, making the boy emit
a shrill, bloodcurdling scream. The impact was easily enough to
turn the white-haired boy's bones into powder.
Dragan looked down and feigned surprise, "Oh no, your leg! My
bad!"
He looked around in shock. Smiling in embarrassment, he placed

a severed leg (that he somehow conveniently had) into Yoshio's
arms, tapping him lightly on the cheek, "Here, man, have another
one. The other guy doesn't need it anymore."
Dragan began walking back to Tycon and company, ignoring

Yoshio's anguished moans of agony, all while laughing loudly at
his own comedy. He rendered an informal salute to Tycon.
Tycon returned the salute, "Report, if you would, Mister Dragan."
"Ehh, some old guy attacked me," The Titanblood shrugged.
"And the results, Mister Dragan?"
"He kept talking about crushing my bones to dust, so I cut off all
his limbs," Dragan hefted his black-metal greataxe for emphasis.
"Ironic."
"I know, right?"
"Very good. Well done, Mister Wroe. Mister Dragan. Young Bucket
has gained us a contract for a wealthy family and all of our
enemies have been soundly defeated. For today's victory, I
propose we consume some of our alcohol rations."
Wroe, Dragan, and even Bucket cheered in excitement.
...
Tamaki grinned and elbowed his sister, "Pretty good deal we got,
eh, Coach?"
Taree was still in shock that the two trump cards of the Muto
family had been taken care of so easily. Could... All of the Ivory
Judge sect's problems be solved by Guild Invictus?
Chapter 49 That Smile
roe was sent to retrieve the supply cart and horses and to meet
W
up at the Gann den.
Mister Dragan volunteered to wake up Barza, who had done so by

throwing a strange, black, egg-shaped device at him. Tycon used
a green talisman on Hisato, entrapping him within a heavy green
solid-crystal prison, which Dragan carried on his back.
Yoshio was tied in rope and Bucket was ordered to drag the man
to the Gann den. Tycon was quite pleased with his impromptu, if
unnecessarily cruel, training idea. The boy needed to do more
agility training. Under Tycon's sharpened gaze, Bucket had no
choice and could only agree.
Tycon suggested that Barza alternate turns with Bucket. The

young swordsman, however, moaned in pain and cried the entire
way to the Gann den.
Tycon allowed it. The young man had been critically injured during
the fight with Hisato and could do with some rest... Though the
crying and rubbing of the eyes was... an abnormal coping
mechanism, Tycon accepted that some people dealt with stress
differently than others.
...
Anxiety filled Taree's heart. She had been through so much in just
a single sun. She wanted to cry, to complain, to tell Pale and
everyone else the worries that had been plaguing her Kimura
family, but Warrior Tycon had refused to talk about serious issues
until after dinner.
In order to keep her sanity, she excused herself and practiced her
Martialist punching routine in a clearing near the camp, cutting
through the air with her ki-infused kicks and punches.
Tamaki had walked away from the camp, himself, and approached
her with a wary look on his face, "Hey, Coach. Can I talk to ya for
a sec?"
Taree breathed deeply, catching her breath, "What's up, big

brother?"
"There's... somethin' off about that Tycon," Tamaki said hesitantly.

"He seems like an alright fella. But I'm not sure if I trust him."
Taree frowned. She didn't know what to think. Sir Tycon was
Warrior Pale's and the Chosen One's superior. He could
command the giant man-beast that was Dragan, and the strangely
handsome blue-haired boy, Wroe. But most of all, everyone in
Guild Invictus seemed to trust him implicitly.
Tycon had agreed with Pale's idea of being contracted to help

House Kimura, without issue. Even if the Outsiders had ulterior
motives, Guild Invictus was the best chance that the Ivory Judge
sect had in surviving their calamity.
And regardless of whether or not she could trust Tycon or Guild

Invictus, she clearly witnessed the absolute respect that Warrior
Pale gave when he spoke to Tycon. She refused to believe that
such a pure-hearted person could trust someone of lesser
character.
She shook her head, "I'm not sure about Sir Tycon... But I think
we have to put our faith in Pale and Guild Invictus if we want to
save our sect."
Tamaki crossed his arms obstinately, "There's somethin' about his

eyes, Coach! They're yella, like a snake's! He's real polite, and all-
- but I can't trust him, no, sir!"
...
Tamaki stuffed his face with the roasted Gann meat, covered in
flavorful herbs, charred beautifully, and bursting with flavor.
"Warrior Tycon," Tamaki said, tears at the corner of his eyes, "I
trust you with my life!"
While he was slicing and serving the meat, Tycon had explained
the butchering and cooking process. The deliciousness of the
meal made it seem like magic was involved, but hearing all of the
steps and delicate care that Tycon involved in the cooking process
made Taree's head spin.
Tycon smirked, "Warrior Tamaki, the highest praise for a cook is

not given with words, but by finishing their plate."
Everyone around the fire cheered, toasting wooden cups together

and cheering on Tamaki as the blonde boy rapidly consumed
roasted meat, stewed root vegetables, and fruit preservatives.
Taree stared with a straight face at her brother's unforeseen but

inevitable betrayal. He looked at Tycon like all of Guild Invictus
did. Even the Chosen One was drunk and getting his wooden cup
refilled by the giant man, Dragan. They all laughed together,
talking about nonsense.
She curled her body up, wrapping her arms around her legs as
she stared at the fire. She felt anxious about the future. And she
felt alone.
She turned to the sound of Pale placing his knife-log beside her.
Taking a seat, the boy offered her a cup.
"Oh, n-no. I'm not allowed to drink that," Taree blushed and turned
away, looking directly opposite of Pale.
"I asked Sir Tycon to pour it. It's mixed, so it's probably fine. Come
on," Pale urged gently.
Tycon again. Taree was growing tired of hearing his name.
Taree glanced over to the main group, trying to find her brother for
an excuse. She watched as Tycon leaped into the air and drop-
kicked the blue-haired Wroe while her brother cheered them on.
Tamaki wouldn't be able to help her now.
Hesitantly, Taree accepted the drink, but was surprised at the heat
radiating from the cup, "It's warm?"
"Try it!" Pale smiled.
Taree blushed furiously.
'It's that smile,' she thought. 'That darned smile...'
She sipped the drink lightly... tasting mellow sweetness, fruit

flavors, and even a bit of spice. A gentle warmth spread
throughout her body, not unpleasant, coursing through her chest,
arms, and even tingling her fingers. It was the most wondrous
drink she'd ever tried.
"Huh? What's wrong, Taree? You're turning red?" Pale asked

worriedly.
Taree sipped the drink that Sir Tycon made and that Warrior Pale
gave her... and she shifted her body away, so the fire wouldn't
show how much she was blushing, "Y-yeah, it must be the wine."
...
The morning sun shined on Taree's face, rudely awakening her.

She glared at the shining light, breaking through a canopy of trees
and branches. She snuggled into her warm blanket, wanting only
a few moments more of calm, or contentedness. She smelled the
soft, gentle scent of it. Pale.
She shot awake, throwing off the blanket. Pale must have placed
it on her after she'd fallen asleep the previous night. Her face was
burning so hot, she was afraid her eyes would melt.
Did she smell like him? She wanted to smell like this forever!
...But that would be gross. But she would do anything for a hot
bath... What was she supposed to do?
...After a short while, she stepped outside of the Gann cave and
jogged towards the sound of yelling and the cracking of rocks.
...
"Dodge," Tycon commanded.
The green-haired guild leader swept the halberd at the boy's legs.
The boy with pointed ears hopped back, lifting his front leg to
dodge a swing that should have been capable of breaking or
severing his leg.
"Yah!!" Pale stabbed his metal rod forward with speed and
precision. Taree's eyes widened as she saw Tycon deftly slip his
head between Pale's pokes. One of Pale's strikes managed to
strike Tycon in the abdomen.
Tycon winced and slightly curled his body but spun the heavy
halberd at Pale's head, "Dodge!"
Pale tilted his head and lowered his stance to dodge the swing,
but in doing so, his eyes caught sight of Taree and he turned his
head.
"DODGE!" Tycon yelled as he smashed the halberd downward in

a vertical smash. Distracted, Pale raised his metal rod, catching
the halberd.
Taree breathed a sigh of relief-- she would feel terrible if she

distracted her friend and got him hurt.
Tycon smashed the bottom of his halberd against the underside

Pale's staff. The staff flew up into the air as Tycon drove the base
of his weapon's haft into Pale's gut. Pale collapsed onto the
ground, just as Tycon began bringing down his halberd blade onto
the boy's head.
Why were they fighting?! She had to stop them! Pale was going to
be killed! Taree began running, fear gripping her heart! --But she
wouldn't make it in time!
Chapter 50 Pale! I Choose
You!
ycon swung the halberd down with both hands, powerfully

T
plummeting towards the grounded Pale. He buried the blade a
half-fulm away from Pale's head, cracking the earth and erupting a
cloud of dust and shower of pebbles.
Tycon leaned over, yelling in Pale's face, "Why. Didn't. You.

DODGE?!"
The sandy-haired boy held his stomach and gave a sheepish

smile in response, "I finally, finally hit you, Sir!"
Tycon pursed his lips to the side, hesitating... "Is that what you're
so proud of?"
He unstuck his halberd from the ground, "Tss... A slight

improvement-- Very. Slight."
Though Tycon's tone was admonishing, Pale grinned as if it was

the best thing he'd ever heard. Taree's heart thumped in
annoyance.
Pale waved to Taree excitedly. Taree's heart had healed. She

waved back.
Tycon followed his gaze, glancing at her, "Bucket, think about the
lesson today."
Pale nodded, "It's better to dodge heavy attacks than to block

them, so I won't get tired as fast."
Tycon scowled, "Think about it *quietly.*"

Pale grinned and gave him a salute and a 'yes sir' before grabbing
his staff and running towards Taree. She glanced at Pale's metal
staff and felt a pang of guilt. She'd heard he broke his spear in the
fight against Yoshio.
"Warrior Pale... your spear?" Taree asked softly.
She lamented not being able to help-- but she was trapped by a
magical talisman at the time.
Pale smiled so wide, his eyes squinted, "Sir Tycon didn't seem to
notice, so don't worry about it!"
Taree huffed, crossing her arms and looking at the ground. Why
did he always talk about Tycon? She was standing right in front of
him!
Pale lowered his body, looking up cutely at Taree to meet her

gaze, "Don't worry, Taree. It's just a broken weapon. I'm just happy
you're safe."
Tycon had approached the two, his halberd resting on his

shoulder, "You must think I'm quite the fool to not notice a
*broken* spear, young man."
He pushed Pale's head with his hand, causing Pale to sway his
body awkwardly. Pale grinned and stuck out his tongue.
Taree was stuck between being annoyed at Tycon for his arrogant
actions and protective of Pale because he was being bullied.
Tycon patted her on the head, "Good morning, young lady."
"G-good morning," She resisted the urge to slap the man's hand
away like she did the other night... not that she found the feeling
unpleasant.
"Miss Taree, I'd like to ask you to fetch your brother to the
campsite. Bucket, get everyone else."
Before Taree could respond with high-level sarcasm, Pale yelled

a, "Right away, Sir!" before grabbing her hand and dashing off.
Taree stewed in silence, staring at Pale's hand as they ran. That
hand was the reason she knew everything would work out,
somehow.
...
Breakfast was comprised of strips of crisp, fatty Gann belly;

freshly caught river fish, fried in the Gann fat with a little bit of flour
and toasted salt; and a handful of fresh berries. Tamaki had been
instrumental in the meal's success, catching a majority of the fish,
and supervising the berry collection.
However, Taree's jealousy rose to a new high.
In her conversations with Guild Invictus' members, she was

referred to as Taree, Miss Taree, and Young Lady (only Tycon
called her that last one.)
In contrast, her brother was either called Warrior Tamaki (by Pale)
or Young Master (by... literally everyone else.)
It was the first and only time she could ever remember when her
older brother was more... popular than she was. She was always
faster, better, stronger than anyone else in her generation.
Everyone her age wanted to be her friend. Parents would tell their
children to be like her. Older folks would praise her with honesty
and say that the gods have smiled upon the sect.
When she surpassed her brother in strength, he was so proud of

her-- always bragging about how great his sister was, even when
others tried to shame him. Tamaki never cared what they said,
that his younger sister was stronger than him, that he was less of
a man for it. Tamaki even started calling her Coach, since he
learned more easily about cultivation from her than any of the
elders.
And what 'Young Master'? She was his sister! She was a Young
Master, too!
She knew she shouldn't be jealous of her brother; he was nothing

but kind to her. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt.
...The fried catfish was the best she'd ever had in her life, though.
...
After the meal, the group collected, sitting around a circle. Taree
was very impressed by the size and massive muscles of the giant
red-headed man, Dragan. She hoped that if she kept training,
she'd be that big, someday. She remembered that the first time
she saw the tall, blue-haired boy, Wroe, she had trouble
discerning that he was a boy. He was so pretty!
The Chosen One was... He came to breakfast, being carried in by

Dragan, his face covered in swelling and bruises. But underneath
all that, he was pretty hot, too.
...If Tycon had a better personality and didn't have such weird
yellow eyes, he'd be passable as a servant.
She was glad to see that Pale-- or Bucket, they called him, had
good relationships with all of them. Perhaps he was the glue that
kept them all together!
The entirety of Guild Invictus was made up of hot guys! Even

Horse and Jeremy were very handsome animals!
When she brought them back to the Ivory Judge sect, she would
need to protect Pale from all the female cultivators! With his
stunning eyes, his soft, beautiful hair, and high slightly-pointed
ears, he was the exotic husband that all of the females in her
generation would immediately get their fathers to arrange a
marriage for! He was almost at that age, after all!
Tycon cleared his throat, gathering everyone's attention, "Miss

Taree, now that your pursuers have been defeated, we should
send you home."
Taree looked around in confusion. Why was Warrior Tycon talking

directly to her? Normally, he'd discuss plans with her brother
before her?
Though Taree was the most celebrated warrior in her generation,
she was a bit uneasy, being stared at so intently by the members
of Guild Invictus, "Oh, yes, Warrior Tycon. My brother is an
excellent tracker and scout. He would be able to return to the
Ivory Judge sect without getting caught and send word to our
parents."
Tycon shared a few concerned gazes with the other boys, before
turning again to her, "Your parents must be very worried about
you."
"W-well, yeah. They should be worried about both of us!" Taree

yelped. She didn't like where this conversation was going.
Tycon rubbed his head in embarrassment, "Young lady, we've

decided that based on your status, it would be best to send you
back, first. You would be better than your brother in convincing
your family of the worth of Guild Invictus."
"But-- but..." She was being sent away? It was so unfair!
"From what I understand, your brother is not well-respected in

your sect?"
"That's not true!" Taree shouted. She looked around in a panic,

trying to find someone who could back her words... Someone who
could tell the green-haired man he was wrong.
Pale grabbed onto her hand, frowning. She began to calm down,
quietly.
Tycon glanced at the gesture and nodded in understanding, "I ask

that you return first. I will assign a guard to accompany you. You
may choose from--"
"I CHOOSE PALE!" She shouted, her hands balled up into tiny
fists.
The red-headed giant began snickering, but Taree ignored him.

Pale somehow looked shocked, looking to Taree and pointing at
himself in confusion.
'This is your fault that I'm like this!' she yelled in her mind.
Tycon stood up, prompting everyone in the circle to stand with

him.
"Very well. Pale, you are to guard the young lady to the best of
your ability."
Pale rendered a salute, placing a palm to his chest, "I will guard
Taree with my life!"
His words made Taree's heart thump painfully in her chest.

Chapter 51 A Weapon
**Content Warning: Explicit Torture**
Yoshio was in a miserable state. He was beaten and battered by

Bucket and Barza. His leg was shattered by Dragan. And then
Bucket had dragged him for a half-a-bell through the thorny
undergrowth of the Mosswood Wilds.
His hair was stark white and patches of it were missing. His body
was covered in bruises from blunt weapon trauma. His face was
swollen and he was missing several teeth. His skin was raw or
torn away from being dragged. Also, a strange blue discoloration
had covered his entire shoulder and parts of his arm and chest.
Had he not practiced his body-hardening art, he would have died
a hundred times over.
Tycon was impressed, but not surprised at the young man's

resilience.
Dragan whistled, "A tough guy! Too bad about his leg, though."
Tycon, Dragan, and the Young Master, Kimura Tamaki stood

around Yoshio.
"Young Master?" Tycon asked respectfully, "We'll keep Young

Master Hisato healthy and hale, as you'd advised... but for this
one?"
Tamaki nodded jovially, "Yessiree! It don't matter none, what

happens to him."
"Want me to happen to him, Boss?" Dragan stepped forward.
"Let's see what he has to say," Tycon picked up his halberd and
placed it at rest. "Wake him."
Dragan laughed. He unstopped his waterskin and poured its
contents onto Yoshio's face, coughing and choking the white-
haired boy awake. Immediately, the young man began to scream
in spurts, gasping for air in between.
"--You! ...Who do you think-- you are, Outsiders?!! ...Servants-- to

the Kimura family's WHORE?!! ...How dare you do this to me!"
A string of rapid cursing, flowed from Yoshio's mouth while Tycon

watched on with an impassive face.
"Release me this instant, you cowardly PEASANT!! I!! Demand!!

To be rel--"
Tycon swung the halberd blade down onto Yoshio's shoulder, the
crack of bone resounding throughout the forest, followed shortly
after by Yoshio's piteous screaming.
Tycon frowned, unsticking and lifting up the halberd from the

man's fresh wound. He had succeeded in cutting into his flesh and
fracturing the man's shoulder.
Tycon turned back, "Mister Dragan, this isn't as easy as it looks. Is

there some sort of trick to it?"
Cracking his knuckles, Dragan walked over with a smile, "Lemme

show ya."
...
Taree and Bucket had gone ahead to the Ivory Judge sect to
report their arrival. Wroe and Barza were in charge of upkeep:
washing the plates, feeding the horses, checking the supplies.
Tycon, Dragan, and Young Master Tamaki were responsible for

releasing Young Master Hisato.
But first, Tycon was being taught how to sever a limb.
Dragan nodded, "Yeah, man! You're swinging it all wrong!"

Dragan and Tycon began to bicker while Yoshio moaned and cried
in pain, "Please! Mercy, Young Master!! Merrrrcyyyyy!!"
Tamaki sat on a tree stump, looking pleased, "Y'hear that, Warrior

Tycon, Warrior Dragan? Music to my ears."
Dragan drove the halberd through Yoshio's shin, severing the

man's leg completely. Yoshio had screamed himself hoarse, his
voice shrill and embarrassing.
"And that's how ya do it, Boss!" Dragan exclaimed.
Tycon scowled, snatching the halberd back. He corrected his body

posture as Dragan instructed. It would be his fourth swing.
He brought the halberd down, cutting deeply into Yoshio's bone,

further up Yoshio's leg. The screaming abruptly stopped, the man
going into shock. He shivered and shook, frothing at the mouth.
Dragan elbowed the green-haired youth, "See, Boss? You cut

much deeper that time!"
Tycon tried to keep a straight-face to hide his embarrassment,

"Tss... I yield to your counsel, Mister Dragan."
He rubbed a heavy boot against Yoshio's cheek, "Is that the best
you can do?"
« Oh, yes. Please do. »
[Activating.]
Yoshio's eyes regained their clarity. His wounds began to visibly

knit together, stopping the bleeding. His severed leg and arm
didn't re-attach-- Tycon would have done so, if he could.
"You're... you're a demon," Yoshio cried in sobs of pain. "If you

have any honor, let me--"
"Which is it? A demon or a... peasant?" To emphasize, Tycon
twisted the halberd, its blade stuck halfway through his thighbone.
Blood spurted out as he further wrenched the hafted blade,

tearing the young boy's flesh open. Yoshio's entire existence was
awash in pain. As his vocal cords were also freshly healed, he
yelled with even more force and fervor.
Dragan laughed, holding his stomach. His eyes were red and he
was wiping away tears, "Boss! Boss, haha... you're such a petty
bastard!"
Tycon shook his head, pulling the halberd out of Yoshio's

unbroken leg with a sharp, bloody tug, "Bloody business, severing
limbs, Mister Dragan."
Dragan shrugged nonchalantly, grinning, "Yyyyyeahhhh, it's not

for everyone."
"Can I give it a go, Warrior Tycon?" Tamaki hopped up, grinning

hopefully.
Tycon nodded, "Of course, Young Master. Allow me just one more
try, since I haven't successfully severed a limb yet."
Tamaki nodded, "Oh! By all means, by all means!"
Tycon began walking back to Yoshio, drawing his longsword,

Shatterspike, out of its sheath...
...
"I quite liked that Hisato gentleman."
Tycon and Guild Invictus had slowed their pace in the afternoon.
With Young Master Tamaki's guidance as a tracker and forward
scout, the group was in good spirits, hiking towards the Ivory
Judge sect-- with the exception of one man.
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, grumbled audibly, "Before we

released him, we broke his right leg and right arm."
Lone was hiking miserably, pale and still nauseous from the
morning. His injuries still ached him, a dull neverending pain.
Hunger pangs assaulted his stomach and he munched
incessantly on nuts and berries that Young Master Tamaki had
offered him out of pity. Breakfast was filling, but he had vomited
after being forced to participate in the torture of Young Master
Hisato.
Tycon pursed his lips, "Oh, come now, Mister Barza. Broken
appendages heal! Humans are resilient creatures, after all."
A deep shudder overtook Lone's body as he remembered the

sensation in his hands. Tycon had ordered him to break Hisato's
fingers... No tools, no weapons, just brute force.
What Tycon did... was torture. It was unfair. It was cruel. It was
cold and calculated.
Maximizing Hisato's mental trauma, destroying his spirit-- Boss

Tycon performed it as a systematic process.
Too clearly, Lone could recall Hisato's broken look of

helplessness.
He couldn't understand why Tycon chose him as his direct

assistant instead of a veteran like Wroe or the violence-loving
freak Dragan. He didn't want to grow accustomed to... that. He
prayed to the gods that he could forget the deprativity he'd
witnessed.
He hated his weaknesses. He hated Tycon for exposing them. He

hated Tycon for trying to fix him.
He was a weapon. He needed to be, in order to function. He

needed to survive and to excel.
He didn't need to think. He just needed to listen to orders. He just

needed to do as he was told.
He was a weapon. He didn't need to lie awake at night. He didn't

need to be miserable, afraid of the terror that sleep brought.
...Lone gazed over the gold and green horizon with sunken eyes.
Invictus still had malms and malms to hike before reaching the
sect.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, shocking him back to reality.
"One foot in front of the other, Mister Barza," Tycon pointed at his
eyes. "And stay sharp."
Tycon patted him on the back and walked ahead.
Lone stared at Tycon's back for a moment before following.
He placed one foot in front of the other. And again. And again.
Chapter 52 Rumored Calamity
ycon had finally collected enough information about his System's

T
hostility detection.
Young Master Hisato began with a red tag, the color of outright,
open hostility. With a red tag, an enemy would actively seek to
harm him physically or socially. Outward and targeted aggression
was incredibly rare... He'd only seen red on the Shadowdark
Wolves (minus Barza), on the guardsman he had Barza show his
'kindness' to, and the warriors of the Muto family.
Once he had shown his abilities, Hisato's tag changed to yellow,

signifying that he would only attack if the situation proved
advantageous to him. The Shadowdark Wolves (again, minus
Barza) had turned from green to yellow when they'd decided to try
ambushing him.
Tycon wanted to see how much effort it took to turn Hisato's tag
green.
Spellcasters were terrifying existences to the general populace. A

single witch's curse could ruin a man's life or tear apart his family.
A single corps of mages could equal an entire army with magical
shields or magical barrages of flame and frost. A single wizard,
armed with an armory of scrolls could prove more agile, more
accurate, and more physically powerful than a Sword Saint.
Spellcasters had different ways of casting... They used tools, like

talismans. They used verbal chants. And most often, they formed
series of arcane gestures with their hands.
And they were nothing without them.
Tycon began by ordering Barza to break Hisato's fingers: When

he hesitated. When he struggled. When he grew complacent.
The man was beaten. The man was made to count the body parts
of his comrade, again and again, (there were 33.) The man was
told the sweetest lies and the most painful truths.
When all of his fingers were broken, Tycon opted to using a

skinning knife to sever his fingers.
It only took two fingers and Mister Barza thoroughly vomiting his
morning meal for Hisato's tag to turn the loveliest bright-green of
severe post-traumatic stress disorder.
...Tycon was prepared to spend weeks and far more.
He didn't remember why he knew torture so intimately. That he did

know, slightly worried him.
And for all his expertise, he keenly understood how useless

torture was.
Most laymen turned to torture for obtaining information. It didn't

work.
The torturee merely wants the physical pain or the social pressure
to be alleviated. The torturee will say whatever they believe will
appease their torturer.
Torture's true usage was in brainwashing. Pain breaks the

defenses of the mind. The mind's normalcy, its rationale, its
functions... everything becomes secondary to pain. From there,
the mind's logical pattern recognition seeks to find ways to
alleviate it.
With pain, instinct takes over.
Tycon cracked his whip, the miniature sonic boom startling his
'propulsion system' to increase its speed.
"Have mercy, Sir Tycon!" Barza cried as he pulled on the ropes,

dragging the log forward. He was still covered in bandages, but
they were all soaked through with sweat.
"Mister Barza, do look alive. While your junior is out, the log is
your responsibility."
"But Sir! Do you have to sit on it?!"
"Do you really wish for me to answer that question?" Tycon asked.
"AaaaaAAAARGHHHH!!" Barza yelled, charging forward.
Tycon crossed his arms, pleased by the increase in speed.
...
Muto Shun wasn't part of the main family, but the news had
spread quickly and thoroughly. The Kimura brother and sister pair
had departed from the sect nearly three suns prior. If the rumors
were to be believed, Kimura Taree, the genius girl of the Kimura
family had returned one sun prior... and that she had brought a
young outsider with her.
Muto Hisato, the genius of the Muto family and the shining
exemplar of the entire sect had been ordered by the Muto family
to capture her. If he didn't return soon... with all the resources
placed in him and bodyguards sent to support him, the family
would lose the greatest investment in its history.
One of her scouts entered the barracks, "Lady Shun! I have a

report!"
Shun was seated in the barracks adjacent to the sect gates. She
didn't have the connections, martial ability, or technical skill to be
noticed by the main branch.
Because of her family name, she held the special status of being
expected to succeed as an honorable sect guardian and be
expected to be more forgiving towards her namesake.
...She had always been more loyal to the sect than to the Muto
family, a decision that destroyed her social standing with her
parents and close relatives.
Shun bid the scout to approach, and they come around her desk
to face her.
"Lady, news on the small party of Outsiders..."
She furrowed her brows, "You hesitate?"
"Y-yes," the young scout replied. "It seems they're being led by
Kimura Tamaki."
"Kimura Tamaki..." The unfortunate boy, overshadowed by his

younger sister... Shun placed her fingers below her neck in
concern, "You're certain?"
The scout nodded, "Yes, Lady... What... what should we do?"
Shun rapped her fingers upon the wooden desk in thought. She
glanced at the opposite wall, covered in blades and longbows. In
a moment, she could call two dozen or more guards to arm
themselves. That would be more than enough to deal with any
normal group of five.
But if Kimura Taree was alive... and her brother, Kimura Tamaki
was alive... something must have happened to Muto Hisato.
"Standard procedures. Take names, identify any Spirit Weapons...

Do NOT seek trouble with the Outsiders," Shun ordered.
"But... Lady?"
She closed her eyes and sighed. There would be repercussions

from this... especially from the Muta family. She might even lose
her position. At worst, she'd be transferred away.
"The Outsiders aren't simple," Shun conceded. "Tell the others. I'll
take full responsibility."
She had no wish to risk her life or the lives of her subordinates. A
rumor was sweeping through the Ivory Judge sect that a Calamity
was about to occur. They needed every Cultivator they had to
combat whatever threat approached. It wasn't the time for petty
squabbles...
She closed her eyes and tried not to worry about the future.
The scout left the barracks as ordered, leaving Shun alone... or so

she thought.
She thought she felt herself slipping... falling.. Up? Her legs had
lifted off of her seat and her feet had lost touch of the floor. Out of
her peripheral vision, she saw a hand reaching out for her, which
she grabbed reflexively.
"Don't worry, I got'cha."
A beautiful fair-featured man, with eyes like a deep river stream,

his hair like the eternal sky, was sitting in her chair. He wore white
underneath his silvery breastplate and... was the only reason she
hadn't fallen up towards the ceiling.
"Wh-what's going on?" Shun asked in a panic, trying to make

sense of the situation. If she were to fall so many fulms towards
the roof, she might hurt herself.
The man smiled at her, a gentle smile that almost put her heart at
ease, "I just wanted to drop by, to see if I could lend a helping
hand."
Shun laughed nervously. Was she blushing? She was a few years
older than the young man, but she'd never taken a husband.
The man pulled her up gently, allowing her to grab onto her desk
and place her feet upon the ground... Thankfully she stayed
grounded. Even still, she continued to hold his hand in case she
"fell" again.
"Th-thank you."
"Not a problem. My name is Tarquin. And you are...?"

Chapter 53 Guardian Beast
arquin Wroe jolted awake and tried to sit up. Pots and weapons
T
clanged and shifted amongst Invictus' traveling packs and
supplies.
"Welcome back to the world of the living, bud!" The ruby-red

haired giant, Dragan, was the first to greet him.
Wroe hopped out of the supply cart, gliding down gently, "Hey!
What'd I miss?"
Dragan opened his arms in an exaggerated shrug, "Nothin'!

Absolutely NOTHIN'! No brigands! No trouble with the guards! Not
even angry glares, man! These guys are all spooked or somethin!
...I was kinda lookin' forward to trouble..."
Upon hearing this, Barza subconsciously shuddered. He had seen

the damage that Dragan could do with his greataxe.
Tycon wryly observed him, "I, for one, am rather glad that we
could pass the checkpoint without issue."
Wroe laughed, his eyes shut, "We can't keep a girl waiting, Mister
Dragan."
Dragan, a man well over 8 fulms tall, raised his arms into a stretch
and let loose a yawn, "I just like hurting people! Don't you guys
take that away from me!"
Tycon turned to Wroe, "Have you learned anything?"
Wroe shook his head, "I sent my shadow to check the building
near the gate. It's common knowledge that that Hisato guy went
into the woods, but there's no information on the prophesied
'Calamity'. Everyone knows about it, but no one knows anything
about it?"
Tycon twisted his lips, "Peculiar... Anything else?"
Wroe smirked, "Other than that, I think I have an older girlfriend

now?"
Tycon rubbed his cheek, "Dump her immediately. News on the

girl?"
"Roger that, Boss. She does have a cute sister."
"No, you fool. The other, smaller one."
"So Boss likes them young? No worries, Shun's sister is--"
"Stars and stones, you daft man-whore." Tycon scowled, "I'm

talking about Taree!"
Understanding dawned upon Tarquin Wroe, "Oh, sorry Boss. But I

think she likes Bucket, so--"
"Mister Dragan, you have my permission to kill this man."
Dragan groaned, "Last time we had a practice bout, I was

cleaning purple blood and insect parts off of my gear for three
bells. Noooo, thank you!"
Wroe grinned sheepishly, "According to what I heard, Taree and

Bucket seem to have arrived safely."
"I wonder if House Kimura spread that information... or if there are

agents working against us... In the latter case, perhaps you'll get
to your wish sooner rather than later, Mister Dragan."
"Awwww! Boss!" Dragan embraced himself and puckered his lips,

"So you do care about me!"
...
Tycon knocked on the door to the central room, summoning a
familiar patterning of quick footsteps. Tycon looked to Young
Master Tamaki and tilted his head in confusion.
Kimura Taree opened the ornate, circular double-doors. Tycon

raised an eyebrow, seeing that the room was bare--
"Big brother! Warrior Tycon! Come in, come in!" Taree exclaimed.
The little girl had replaced her torn robes with a more formal one--
still wearing the bright orange of the Kimura family, but with a
reflective, more expensive material.
He, Tamaki, and the bipedal members of Guild Invictus entered

the large room, shutting the door behind them.
"Don't you have... servants?" Tycon asked.
Tamaki opened a dusty chest in the corner of a room and began

grabbing cushions-- assumedly for sitting upon the wooden floor,
"Oh, don't you worry about that. The old house also serves as a
dojo, so everyone in the family helps out with the cleanin'."
Tycon nodded. That would be a no. They couldn't afford servants.
He glanced around the room, mostly devoid of decorations, much

unlike Baron Tavor's manor and their plethora of paintings, scrolls,
and various art pieces. (Hopefully, Miss Capulet had sold a
majority of them.)
He especially noted a large, if spartan chair at the back-center of

the room, seated upon which was... a pink pig? It was a
comfortable-looking plush, almost half the size of the young
Kimura Taree.
Taree followed his gaze and blushed, "E-eh? What's that doing
there?!"
The sound of a side-door opening up attracted everyone's

attention. A blonde woman entered carrying a tray of snacks and
tea, her blonde hair in a bun. "Oh, I thought the room looked a bit
lonely, so I got your favorite doll from your room."
The gently smiling young lady could easily pass for Young Master
Tamaki's older sister.
Tycon granted her a polite smile, "You are...?"
The woman placed the tray upon a short table and gave an
elegant bow, "My name is Kagehisa Yumiko, Tamaki and Taree's
mother. On behalf of my husband and my children, welcome to
House Kimura, friends."
...
The warmth of Yumiko's welcome was almost palpable. She was

skilled in both polite conversation and... simultaneously
embarrassing her daughter. She provided the most excellent
hospitality, serving tea and tiny cakes.
Dragan loudly proclaimed the deliciousness of Yumiko's cakes.
Tycon enjoyed the fragrant tea that Lady Yumiko poured,

particularly pleased with the warmth of the well-made, if
inexpensive, ceramic cups.
Barza told Yumiko a story about his childhood, excited that

someone was willing to actually listen to him.
Wroe tried to flirt with Yumiko.
Taree used her skill, Rising Storm, on Wroe's face.
Bucket was just happy to be there-- with Lady Yumiko especially

inquisitive concerning the young man.
...
Taree sat alone. Opposite her, she faced Tycon with Bucket at his
side. The other members of Invictus lounged around, at the
opposite side of the room, speaking freely with Tamaki and
Yumiko.
"S-so what did you want to discuss, Warrior Tycon?" Taree asked
nervously. "Is it about B-b-"
Bucket?
Tycon grimaced, "Business, young lady. The specifics."
"O-oh, I'm sorry. Usually, my dad takes care of all of this."
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Forgive me for asking, but where is

your father?"
Taree lowered her gaze, "Dad entered closed cultivation shortly

after Tamaki and I left the sect... According to Grandpa Kakui, Dad
left me in charge as the temporary Family Head."
Tycon nodded, "Closed cultivation? He's training himself, then?"
"Dad said that if he could make a breakthrough, we would have a

chance of surviving the Calamity... He said no one should disturb
him, or-- or..."
Tycon raised a palm, interrupting the girl's speedy descent into

despondency, "That will be fine, young lady."
Her father going into closed cultivation sounded like an act of

desperation. The man's actions placed his daughter and son in
great risk to the family's enemies, allowing them to be set upon by
House Muto.
...Tycon would have had a much easier time maneuvering in the

Ivory Sect's society with an older, status-established Kimura
patriarch than a rude, hot-headed pre-teen... but no matter.
Taree sniffled as she stared at the floor. Bucket tried to move, but
Tycon stopped him, shaking his head, "Young lady, tell us what
you know about your... Calamity."
The silver-haired girl nodded slowly, "It's... it's about the Guardian
Beast of the Ivory Judge sect."
Tycon nodded for her to continue. He knew that Guardian Beasts

were contracted beasts assigned to guard a family.
A sect was akin to an established guild. Hidden sects were hidden
in order to protect centuries of history, tradition, and esoteric skills.
A sect's Guardian Beast contracted from ancient times would be
far more impressive than a few-epochs-old familiar of a mage
guild.
"It... The Ancient Beast foretold its own downfall. And it's so weak
it hasn't appeared this year or last..." Taree frowned, looking like
she was about to cry, "With... without the Guardian Beast's
protection, the Ivory Judge sect will be vulnerable to rival sects
and outsiders."
Tycon raised his head in understanding... "So the real reason

House Kimura ventured outside the sect to find Outsiders... Was
to find a Beastmaster or Scholar capable of diagnosing the
Beast."
Taree nodded, but didn't meet Tycon's eyes, "It's just... our
Guardian Beast is rare."
Tycon gave a noncommittal shrug, "Of course it is. The older a

beast it, the more prized for its meat and materials. Beasts
capable of surviving only a hundred years are exotic; hundreds of
years, incredibly rare... and those suitable for Guardianship, a
statistical anomaly.
"It's just that..." Taree hesitated, "It's... a dragon."
Tycon found his eyes widened and his heartbeat racing. Bucket
had stood up and began screaming at Taree.
Tycon hadn't realized when he'd done so, but he'd stood up and
his short sword was unsheathed and gripped strongly in his hand.
Chapter 54 Dragons Don’t
Exist
ale held his metal staff up high as Tycon struck his sword down
P
upon it. His knees buckled under the weight and he dropped down
to a knee, cracking the wooden floor beneath him.
A few suns prior, Taree had seen Pale block Tycon's heavy
halberd. The halberd back then seemed weak, ponderous, and
slow... while the dull blade in Tycon's hands...
Her mind sorted through the legends she knew. She had read
about the blade of the kindly Sword Saint, who taught patience
and precision. Tycon's was nothing like that. Fear gripped her
heart as she remembered a legend that matched his sword... the
oppressive, remorseless blade of the Blade Tyrant.
Pale clenched his teeth and curled his body-- Taree had realized
that the boy was expecting a strike to the abdomen, like in their
training. In horror, Taree watched as Tycon drew his crossbow and
pointed it at Pale's chest.
"Whoa! Boss!" A massive red blur of movement smashed into

Tycon just as he fired his crossbow. Dragan had grabbed Tycon
and was restraining his arms. There was no way he could get out
of that!
"What are you doing?!" Dragan yelled, "Apologize!"
Taree was shocked when she realized Dragan was not yelling at
Tycon. He was yelling at her.
Taree screamed hysterically, "What?! What did I do??"

Pale was still staring at the crossbow bolt stuck in the wall behind
him. He had been incredibly close to death-- Dragan had saved
his life.
Pale turned to her, weakly smiling in defeat, "Dragons don't exist."
Taree's jaw dropped in shock, "Wh-what? B-but... they... do. I've...

I've seen it!"
Dragan yelled, "No! Aaaugh!!"
Tycon had dislocated his own shoulders in order to slip free from
Dragan's impossibly strong grip. Like a snake, he slid down
Dragan's body, and as he slipped forward in a sudden burst of
speed. Meanwhile, Dragan had fallen to the ground, holding his
ankle.
Rushing forward, a blue-haired angel stood between Tycon and

Taree.
"Boss! Calm down!" Tarquin Wroe brandished his sword, "Look,

it's me! I know we're fr--"
Without warning, Tycon stabbed his sword into the pit of Wroe's
stomach. He wrapped his opposite arm around Wroe's neck and
wrenched the blade deeper. With a shrill scream, dark clouds
billowed from Wroe's mouth as millipedes and other black insects
climbed out as if escaping. Tycon threw the Shadow-Wroe.
spinning down and cracking his head upon the ground, though he
dissipated into mist upon collision. The Actual-Wroe, who had
never left where he was sitting, coughed out a mouth of blood and
fainted against the wall.
Taree looked around, desperate for help.
Tamaki was valiantly protecting Mom in the room's corner.
Dragan was kneeling with a pained look, both hands clutching his
ankle. Wroe was unconscious.
Lone was frozen in fear. He was holding a plate with cake on it--
the plate and cake had fallen to the floor, but his hands remained
in the position.
She looked down to see that Pale was holding onto both of her
hands, gripping them tight.
"Please, Taree. Just say it," he pleaded, seriousness in his eyes.
"But... But..."
Kimura Taree had sought Guild Invictus in order to save her sect.
How could she possibly say that the sect's Guardian Beast, the
lifeline of the sect, the guarantor of the sect's prosperity and
longevity, didn't exist?
She looked deep into Pale's eyes. She was confused. She was
hurt. But she ultimately decided that she couldn't betray his faith.
She knelt down on both knees and, without hesitation, slammed

her head against the wooden floor with a painful, wooden thud.
"I'M SORRY!"
Upon the back of her neck, she felt the cold, dull steel of Tycon's
sword.
She shut her eyes hard, trying not to cry, "D-DRAGONS DON'T
EXIST!!"
...After what felt like forever, the cool metal touching her skin was
pulled away and she heard the cool ring of the metal sword sliding
back into its scabbard.
Taree slowly lifted her head, fearful tears running down her face
and ruining the makeup her mother had carefully applied.
Tycon stood with crossed arms, his golden eyes still radiating
cold-blooded rage. Taree shuddered, feeling a deep, permeating,
inexplicable hatred.
"Guilds cannot break an established contract outside of

extraordinary circumstances," Tycon's speech was measured and
he spoke clearly. "Dealing with a supposed 'dragon' is one of
them."
Taree gulped.
"Awaken Mister Wroe. Wrap Mister Dragan's ankle. Guild Invictus

will be casting a vote."
...
The situation was somehow reversed. Tycon sat at the front of the
hall with the members of Guild Invictus in front of him. Of the
Kimura family, only Taree was invited to remain, their guild's direct
contractee.
Tycon, green-haired and golden-eyed, got to his feet, standing

before his four other voting guild members. Even though he was
shorter than Lone, he somehow commanded as much presence
as Dragan, who was several heads higher.
"Unsurprisingly, I vote against. This contract is far more trouble

than it is worth. We will find other ways for Pale and Mister Barza
to gain strength."
He glared at Dragan, "And I find the motto 'All Risk, No Reward' a

rather injudicious battlecry..."
The red-haired giant shrugged but kept quiet.
Tycon continued, "If we're to help, we struggle against a possible

Dragon-rank threat. If we leave now, none will hear of the fall of
this Hidden Sect-- no employer we would care about, anyroad."
The guilds and the sects lived in different worlds. It was a point
that Taree had never thought of before. But what irked Taree
wasn't his honesty-- it was how he treated the fall of her centuries-
old sect so impersonally.
...
(For: 0 / Against: 1)
The giant-blooded man Dragan was rummaging through his ear
with his pinky finger, "Yeah, we don't really know these people."
The red-headed man was massive! Taree reasoned that he must

have had a giant's bloodline coursing through his veins. He
carried an equally huge dark-metal axe on his back with ease.
"An' takin' a look at this place... It doesn't look like they're gonna
pay us what we're worth."
Tycon nodded in agreement, "Your vote, Mister Dragan?"
"I'm gonna vote a resounding no. Let's just head to Merylsward

from here."
...
Tarquin Wroe stood quietly, a tall, thin man with androgynous

features, soft, touchable blue hair, and the most enchanting ocean
blue eyes.
Tycon lifted a quick palm, "Mister Wroe, before you begin... Mister
Dragan, did you have something to say?"
Dragan looked over and tilted his head, "Huh? Oh, yeah, Boss.
Mister Wroe's doin' good! I was just thinkin' that you and I always
manage to take the spotlight. Maybe we should give him a
chance, huh?"
Lone nodded in quiet agreement. Boss Tycon and Mister Dragan

were the two most dominant personalities in Guild Invictus. Maybe
if he and Pale and Mister Wroe had some more say in matters, he
wouldn't be so miserable all the time.
"My thought's exactly," Tycon's hand lowered to grab the whip on

his belt.
Acting out of instinct, Lone immediately leaped to the side of the

room, hiding under a table.
Tycon lashed out his bladed whip, grabbing hold of Wroe's neck.
"SPOTLIGHT!!" he commanded.
"Crashing THUNDER!!" Pale shouted, slamming his metal staff

against the side of Wroe's head.
Dragan thrust both of his hands forward, his axe blade sticking
deep into Wroe's side, spilling blackened blood onto the floor.
"Blastback!" A thunderous explosion shook the room. Wroe

staggered to the side, revealing charred, blackened flesh and
bone from his exposed ribcage.
Tycon pulled back the bladed whip... inflicting deep lacerations all
around Wroe's neck. Finally, the corpse collapsed the ground,
bloody and lifeless.
Taree was screaming in terror. Lone was yelling in panic, trying to

open the door.
The door suddenly gave way as Tamaki ran in, "What's goin' on?
Where's the fire?!"
A shadowy rift opened up in the room, roiling with power. Screams

became silence. Darkness became truth. And an entirely naked
Tarquin Wroe fell and crashed onto Lone, landing face-down, rear
pointed upward.
The rift closed unceremoniously, taking the unnatural darkness

with it.
Tamaki looked at the nude Wroe atop the unconscious Lone.

Then he looked at the freshly murdered corpse of clothed-Wroe in
the room's center.
He looked to everyone's stunned, yet expectant gazes... "Supper

will be ready in 'bout 20 minutes. Hope y'all are hungry. Mama's
makin' roast turkey with plenty of fixin's."
He quietly closed the door with a polite bow.

Pale ran over to calm down the terrified Taree, "Don't worry.
Spotlight is the plan for when Mister Wroe gets possessed."
Taree was mortified, "Wait, what? Does-- does that happen a lot?"
Pale looked away, "Well..."
Taree glanced at Dragan who was scowling while frantically

scrubbing his axe-blade, muttering curses in foreign languages.
She looked over to Tycon, who frowned but didn't answer.
She looked over to the naked Wroe, still atop Lone.
Wroe shot up an upraised thumb, not lifting his face from the hard
wood.
"I vote for," he mumbled.

Chapter 55 The 5th Vote
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark stood proudly in front of

Tycon. He gave a sharp salute with a hand to his chest, "Boss. I'm
here."
Tycon reared his head back in embarrassment and narrowed his

eyes, "Mister Barza... what are you doing? The votes are in order
of seniority."
Lone held his salute, "I'm reporting... Sir?"
"Sit down, Mister Barza," Tycon said with an annoyed voice.
"Sir Tycon? ...What?" Lone didn't realize what he'd done wrong.
Dragan was chortling in the background, "Ohh! You gonna take

that, man??"
"No respect for Bucket!!" Wroe yelled. He had put on a simple pair
of trousers and a tunic to hide his earlier nudity.
Lone turned around to see Pale, holding his metal rod with a
helpless look on his face.
Tycon sighed, "Mister Barza... Have you... perhaps, forgotten?

That young Bucket is your senior?"
Sweat dripped down Lone's forehead. He was so used to calling

Pale his sworn younger brother that he had forgotten he had less
time in Guild Invictus than he did, "But-- I-- I mean..."
Bucket gave him a sad smile, "It's-- it's okay, Lone."

Lone clenched his teeth, the corners of his eyes stinging. He had
hurt Pale's feelings!
Wroe and Dragan began to chant, "Push! Push! Push! Push!"
Lone immediately dropped down to the ground and began doing

push-ups, "I'm sooorrrrrrry, Paaaaale!!"
...
"Bucket," Tycon addressed Warrior Pale.
"Yes, Sir!" Pale stood up and gave the Outsider's salute, sharply
lifting his palm to his chest.
"You have done well, establishing the contractee's faith in you and
us... and I was looking forward to this mission increasing your and
Mister Barza's strength, to better face the challenges in
Merylsward."
"Thank you, Sir," Pale nodded.
"This is your mission..." Tycon pursed his lips, "--but do not be

blinded by the rewards, for this mission carries great risks. Are
you willing to follow through?"
"Sir? What... What would my father do?"
Tycon looked to the side, pondering for a moment, "He would ask
for my counsel. And I would try to convince him against such
risks."
Pale nodded, but remained hesitant... "N-no, sir. I vote no."
Tycon's face was etched with a deep frown, "You're smart, boy--
likely smarter than your father, as he did keep fools like us
around... Forgive me, young man, but if I am to accept your vote, I
must first ask you a question."
"S-sir?"
"If you vote no... are you absolutely certain you won't regret it?"
Tycon stared, expression unchanging.
"Sir, I can't risk everyone by being selfish!" Pale exclaimed.
Taree was confused. What was Tycon trying to do?
Tycon took a deep breath and nodded to himself, "Young man, I

see your logic-- and you're not wrong. I'm certain you're well
aware that we are trying to groom you as a leader, like your father
before you... but right now, Invictus' welfare is my responsibility--
not yours. Regardless of the results of this vote, I have final say."
Pale nodded, deep in contemplation.
"For this one time-- just this once, don't worry about us. I wish to
hear your honesty. How do you feel about this mission?" Tycon
asked.
Pale looked up, his face full of determination, "Sir... if I vote no, I
think I would regret it for the rest of my life."
"Hm," Tycon frowned. "Very well. Cast your vote."
"I, Pale, son of Quay, wish to continue the mission." Pale said with
finality.
...
Dragan was doing one-handed push-ups. He casually spoke to

Tycon as the green-haired Warrior sat cross-legged, sharpening
his blade on a whetstone.
Pale was in a corner, replacing Wroe's bloody chest bandages

with fresh ones.
"Wh-what's going on?" Taree asked Tycon. She wrung her tiny
hands in nervousness.
Tycon looked back in honest confusion, "Is there something
wrong, young lady?"
"You guys stopped at four votes?? There's still a little bit of time
before dinner!"
Dragan began to loudly guffaw, "Gahaha! Look at the last voter,

though!!"
Taree looked over to the Chosen One, who had just finished doing
push-ups in a lonely corner on the opposite side of the room. A
sizable pool of sweat had collected below beside him.
Gross.
Taree puffed her cheeks in frustration, "Warrior Dragan? What is

that supposed to mean?"
Dragan grinned with a savage smile, as if delighting in Taree's

pain and confusion, "Everything's up to the CHOSEN ONE!!
Juuuu~st as your legends predicted! Ahahaha~!"
Tycon patted the girl on the head, "Unfortunately, young lady,

Mister B-- err... Your 'Chosen One' will certainly vote against you."
The young girl was indignant, "Y-y-y-you don't know that!!

Dummy!"
She turned and called to Lone, "Chosen One!!"
"I'm coming!" He jogged over.
He wore an uncharacteristically clueless smile on his face.

"What's up? Just finished my body-weight workout. Boss Tycon,
I'm a weapon. Wanna see these cannons?"
Taree looked up with bleary eyes.
Lone looked at the young girl, then to Tycon's sharp gaze.
His eyes took on a shade of panic, "Wait, wait, wait-- what's going
on?"
"Have you. not. been listening??" Tycon asked in stilted speech.
Lone bowed deeply, "I'm sorry. Please explain it to me again."
"We're. Voting." Tycon stressed his words, before sighing deeply.
"What? Still?" Lone was confused.
"Well, there you have it, lady and gentlemen-- voting is finished,"
Tycon nodded and pat Lone on the shoulder.
"That's not TRUUUE!!" Taree screamed, stamping her foot down.

She carefully controlled her ki, so she wouldn't damage her dad's
floor.
Tycon rolled his eyes. He turned Lone by the shoulder to face him,
"Chosen One."
"...Boss, I'm sorry to interrupt, but... can you please not call me
that? When you say it, I somehow feel like I don't deserve it."
"...Very well, young man. The mission ahead is fraught with

danger, specifically that of a Dragon-rank creature. Mister Barza,
would you vote to proceed at great physical risk to yourself or we
can leave and head east to Merylsward, whereupon you can
gamble, eat to excess, and impregnate a whore at your leisure."
Lone frowned, looking to Taree's puppy-dog eyes, "I... really want

to say no. Thinking about a Dragon-Rank creature scares me...
After all, we barely won against Yoshio and Hisato..."
Dragan laughed, "Haha! That's right! Come on, man. There's no

way you'd agree with your level of strength. Getting a whore with
your level of charisma, though..."
Tycon scowled at Dragan but didn't admonish him.
Lone gave Tycon a guilt-ridden smile, "I know I'm not that strong...
but I believe in trying to save people... If we can save the Anxiety
Jump sect... we can make allies that will never forget us."
Lone returned Tycon's hard, yellow-eyed gaze, "I... I want to be a
hero, Sir Tycon."
Dragan's laughter stopped. Tycon narrowed his eyes.
The big man shot Tycon a meaningful nod, to which the golden-
eyed youth smiled helplessly.
"Very well, Mister Barza."
Taree gasped, her eyes wide, "Warrior Tycon, does this mean--?"
Tycon smirked, "Guild Invictus will stand by the results of the vote.
We will save your Guardian Beast, even if I have to kill it with my
bare hands."
...
"Young lady," Tycon stopped Taree as the group was being called
to the dining hall.
"Yes, Warrior Tycon?"
"As the terms have changed, Guild Invictus will require additional
compensation. You understand this, yes?"
"Oh! O-of course..." Taree gulped, "Um. I uh... What- would you? I
mean... my family doesn't have all that much to offer..."
She was afraid this would come. House Kimura wasn't nearly as
wealthy as the other factions. Pale's superior Tycon... He knew
this! He was a villain! Anything he'd demand from her, she
wouldn't be able to refuse!
Tycon narrowed his eyes, gauging her reaction, "I'd like

something... more... personal."
Shock filled Taree's heart. No! Did Tycon want her body?! But her
heart already belonged to another! Or did he desire her mom?!
With Dad still in closed cultivation, no one in the family had the
strength to protect Mom from Tycon's lustful ways!
Oh, no. Ohhhh, nooooo...
...Was he after her poor, innocent brother?
Tycon pointed to the stuffed pig plush sitting on the room's central
chair, "I want that."
With a reddened face, Taree screamed, "You cannot take away

Poogie's innocence, you DEMON!!"
Tycon stared blankly at the red-faced girl. She was standing on

top of a chair to point at him from slightly above.
Taree returned to reality, climbing down from the chair with puffed
up cheeks. She looked over to her pig plush. "Okay! Fine, then!"
"Is... something the matter?"
"N-no! Everything is fine! Dummy!"
"...Very well. When you can, I'll also need one of House Kimura's
trusted scouts. I'd like a message and a package delivered to the
Outside World."
"Alright!" Taree unhappily crossed her arms.
"Very... well.."
"ALRIGHT!"
Chapter 56 Parselmouth
eep in the Mosswood Wilds, in the territory of the Ivory Judge

D
sect, a cave was hidden away. Considered sacred ground, it was
protected by ancient, illusory formations, hiding its location from
potential enemies and threats. Deep within, slumbered the
Guardian Beast of the sect-- a great and powerful dragon... if
Taree was to be believed.
At Tycon's behest, the two of them traveled alone. The girl begged
for Pale to accompany them, but Tycon cruelly rejected her wish.
Pale and Wroe had information to gather.
Barza and Dragan had... work to do.
Taree kept a pathetic paper lantern as she walked through the

cool, humid cave. She had initially tried to keep a brave front but
that was quickly and unforgivingly torn away as she flinched at
every loud drop of water or and every shrill screech of a bat.
Even after chiding the silver-haired girl, the girl's demeanor did not
improve.
Unwilling to expound effort in being angry or disappointed, Tycon

decided to wholly ignore the girl. This included the fact that the
fool child's tiny hand had clasped tightly onto the material of his
cloak as they walked.
Coming to an end, Tycon puts his hands on his waist, overlooking

a vast, underground lake. A deep bluish-white shadow moved
underneath the clear waters and it began to emerge amongst a
great roiling of bubbles. A serpentine creature broke the surface,
its head, larger than a carriage. Its fish-like scales shimmered a
pale blue, perhaps once white. Thick whiskers fell from the
serpent's pointed face, granting it a wizened appearance.
The cave shook with its roar.
Taree quickly got to her knees and bowed respectfully. Placed on

the wet cavernous floor in front of her was a basket of tribute
sausages she had brought. "Oh, Guardian Beast! We come with a
tribute!"
Tycon crossed his arms, looking unimpressed.
Taree glared, "Warrior Tycon! Please! The Guardian Beast must

be respected!"
The great serpent roared once more and the cave trembled,
stalactites and debris falling and splashing into the lake. "(SHOW
OBEISANCE, MORTAL, AS THOU GAZETH UPON MY FORM!!)"
Tycon took a deep breath, sighing and shaking his head.
« System, inquiry: Why do I understand this creature's speech? »
[System response: The Host is fluent in Parseltongue, the

language of serpents and medusae.]
Tycon tapped his foot impatiently, splashing around a small

puddle. "(And what's so impressive about thy form, you old
codger?)"
The serpent looked stunned, "(WHAT?! DID'ST THOU NOT HEAR

ME?!)"
Tycon began yelling back, "(By the gods, everyone can hear you!
How about you lower your voice! I'm RIGHT here!)"
"(THOU ARE-- err...)" The serpent hesitated, "(The younger

generation has become so rude in the last epochs...)"
"(The older generation has remained arrogant and unyielding

since the beginning of time!)" Tycon shot back.
Tycon scowled. The creature before him was a dragon, but not
one as he feared. The creature was a flood dragon, a river
serpent. Even though the old fool before him was several hundred
years old and weighed several tonze, it was merely a big, toothy
river fish.
"(Why hast thou come, disrespectful whelp?)" The flood dragon

narrowed its eyes.
"(Have we resorted to name-calling, Old Fool? I'm here on behalf

of thy sect to help thee!)"
...
Taree almost couldn't believe her eyes.
She had seen the Guardian Beast once, several years ago with
her father. Her father had a rudimentary understanding of the
Guardian Beast's language and through that, he was able to
discern the Guardian Beast's prophecy-- of its demise and the
decline of their sect. Her father went alone many times afterward,
but no matter how many offerings he made, the Guardian Beast
had never appeared.
The Guardian emerged on this sun... But the man she had
brought with her refused to bow or kneel to its greatness!
And just when she was about to rush over and break his knees,
they started talking! Yelling back and forth!?
Warrior Tycon knew no fear.
And he could speak with dragons.
...
The flood dragon spat out an ugly crystal the size of a human fist.
Tycon picked it up with a frown. It was wet, "(And what the hell is
this, Old Fool?)"
Old Fool looked proud, "(O'er years and years of research, I've
discovered the way to resolve my condition. Thou must bringeth to
me the contents of this crystal!)"
Tycon read into the crystal's contents with the System's help.
Every line he read, he grew more and more frustrated, until finally,
a thick vein bulged in his forehead.
"(Thou MUST be joking!!)" Tycon yelled indignantly.
Old Fool shrank back, looking hurt, "(What dost thou mean? 'Tis a
consummate list, most serious in nature.)"
"Devil's Thorn? Yohimbe Bark?" Tycon roared, "(FIFTY virgin

women under the age of TWENTY-FIVE? How can thou DARE
request such things?)"
Old Fool averted his gaze, "(Is it too much? Has the number and
quality of virgins lowered o'er the epochs?)"
Tycon picked up and threw a head-sized rock at Old Fool's face,

which the latter deftly dodged, "(I'm not wasting my time gathering
all this!! If thou were suffering Mana Overload, why didn't thou
sayeth so?!)"
The giant serpent averted its guilt-ridden gaze.
Tycon took a deep breath, before continuing his rant, "(And what
dost thou mean 'years and years' of research?! Thou relies on
memories granted by thy bloodline!! When was the last time
thou'st even left thy cave??!)"
The flood dragon lowered its body into the water, its head level
with Tycon and Taree, "(O' Little White... thou shouldn't be so
angry for issues so small.)"
All of the anger drained from Tycon's body as he placed his face
into a palm, "You..."
"(Little brother~! Thy heart is magnanimous. Please assist this

humble Old Fool, so he can fulfill his duty to the White Scale
sect.)"
Taree tugged on Tycon's cloak, "Warrior Tycon... what... what is

wrong with the Guardian Beast?"
Tycon sat upon a rock, his hands on the back of his head. He
glanced at the flood dragon before facing Taree, "Old Fool is
suffering from what we call Mana Overload... Essentially, there is
a blockage of mana within his circuits--"
"Then he just needs a vessel to release his mana into!" The girl
yelled innocently.
Tycon was caught off-guard by the sharp girl's enthusiasm. He

glared at the horny flood dragon, who was nodding like a chicken
in agreement. Old Fool wanted fifty virgins? The old bastard could
dream. It was nigh impossible for a single female from the Ivory
Judge sect to be strong enough to survive Old Fool's 'release.'
Tycon refused to suffer fifty lives, mostly because its inefficiency

hurt his pride, rather than the morality of it.
"That's not going to happen, young lady," Tycon scowled.
Taree shook him back and forth, the corners of her eyes sparkling,
"How do we save the Guardian Beast, Warrior Tycon??!"
"First of all, stop that before I toss you into the lake."
Taree stopped obediently.
Tycon held out a crystal, "It's all in here-- a task only you can
perform, Kimura Family Head."
Taree took the crystal and cradled it like it was a child, "What must
I do?"
"Within the crystal are formation diagrams and alchemy recipes.

You'll need a team of Formation Masters to craft a sealing and
focusing formation. You'll need Alchemists to concoct a mixture to
increase mana-- err... spirit energy output, as your practitioners
call it... And, though I'll need to remove a few listed items, a large
number of spirit herbs need to be gathered."
Old Fool's face snuck close-behind Tycon, "(And the virgins?)"

Tycon smacked the flood dragon on the nose, "No! NnnnoO! Once
the formation is sealed and the medicine is taken, you will do
battle with me and my guild. Then you'll be able to use your mana
FOR COMBAT to your heart's content!!"
The flood dragon sank its nose and mouth into the water and
snorted bubbles, pouting with its eyes.
Chapter 57 Good Guy Dragan
arza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, sat on a rock in a near-open

B
field. A lonely paper lantern provided him with its miserably
inadequate flame. He tenderly rubbed the rough calluses on both
of his hands.
He was covered in dirt and grime and was taking a much-

deserved break.
A single older man slowly approached, tottering quietly in wooden

sandals and carrying his own almost worthless paper lantern. He
cleared his throat, eyes full of distrust, "Warrior Lone... You told
me you had a message from House Muto?"
The old man of the Kimura household silently observed and

silently judged. Most members of the sect viewed Lone and the
other Outsiders as curiosities. The man in front of him, however,
looked to him with outward and unabashed suspicion.
Boss Tycon suspected the man of being a spy.
That someone as large as Dragan could be so soundless was

horrifying. Dragan's gigantic form emerged from the bushes like a
ghost, dwarfing the old man near half his size. In a flash of red,
Dragan smashed the blade of his axe against the man's side and
rammed him violently into a boulder.
As the man screamed in pain, Dragan held his axe steady with his
right and struck the man over and over again with his meaty left
fist. Finally, he unstuck his weapon, dropping the traitor to the
ground, and as a mercy, decapitated the convulsing, frothing at
the mouth elder with a downward stroke of his weapon.
Lone slid off of his rock to walk over and inspect Dragan's
handiwork. He'd doubted he'd ever have the strength to savage a
man so badly.
"That should be the last of 'em... for now, anyroad." Dragan looked
pleased, covered in dirt, grime, and blood, just as Lone was.
They were killing people Tycon had identified. Dragan did not
question the certainty of Sir Tycon's list. Lone initially held doubts,
but they were dispelled more and more with the ease of luring
each suspected traitor.
He knelt down, examining the older man, his face frozen in shock.
Closing the man's eyes with his fingers, he gave a silent prayer to
the gods before beginning to loot the body.
It was macabre work, but the old man no longer had any use for
his possessions.
"Mister Dragan, this guy's got a ring, but it's stuck."
"I got'cha, bud." Dragan unsheathed a knife from his back and
tossed it over. It stuck, blade down into the dirt, "Use that."
Lone shuddered. Guild Invictus was far more terrible than the
Shadowdark Wolves or any adventuring team he'd ever
associated with. Their unorthodox methods and training were
nightmarish. The level of skill that each and every member had
shown was beyond frightening.
He felt as if he were a fish in a lake full of leviathans.
"Eh? What's wrong, man?" Dragan waved, "Cut it off, pocket it. If
you get enough from fencing it, you can buy a new sword once we
get to Merylsward."
Lone snapped out of his reverie. He was in a daze, "Who... who

are you guys?"
Dragan slung his axe over his back and rocked his body back and
forth, "Ooooo-wee, what a question, bud..."
"Listeeeen~ Loooone. I like you, man--" The way Dragan's tone of

voice changed, ran a chill down Lone's spine.
"But lemme tell ya, that's not the kind of question you wanna hear
a real answer to in an adventurer's guild. So I ain't gonna give you
a straight answer, buuuut I can give you the gist of it."
He pointed a thumb at his own chest, "We're a bunch of

murderers. Bunch of thieves. Power-hungry bastards, all of us.
Xenophobes, sometimes... not so much that one in Invictus, but
you know what I mean, pal.
"And all of us are running from something we don't wanna face."
"You--," He pointed at Lone, "want something better for yourself."
"Bucket wants to make his dad proud. Horse is wanted for murder,
back in the Free Nation. We've all got stories."
Lone turned away from Dragan's gaze as he held the severed

finger in his hand. The ring slipped off easily, a hard silver color,
and he pocketed it, "I'm sorry, Dragan. It won't happen again."
Dragan's face broke into a wide grin, "Hey man, don't worry about
it. My story's just as bad as anyone's. In that regard, no one's
really 'better' than the other. We all fight, eat, and shit together."
He moved closer, his voice hushed, "Just... don't step on people's

toes. You saw it. Boss nearly killed the kid-- and he likes the kid...
If you cross someone's bottom line in our profession... when they
snap, it's not pretty."
Lone's heart trembled once more, "What do I do, man?"
"You do as you're told," Dragan shrugged. "You get stronger. I

dunno, man-- we're all trying to figure out what we're supposed to
do. But I think the bottom line is... don't die."
Lone returned a thoughtful smile, "I haven't been given permission

to die."
Dragan raised his eyebrows, before snorting into a laugh, "Wow.

You're retarded. But you're alright by me, Lone Shadowdark."
"You're a pretty good guy, yourself, Dragan."

The two shared a friendly smile before tacitly returning to work.
Dragan began dragging the body to the hole and Lone followed,
carrying two shovels.
...
Tycon entered a room deep underneath the Kimura family manor.

Several seals had been smattered in an odd pattern by the door,
paper talismans with mana-rich ink, made of magical herbs and
inscribed by a Formation Master.
« System, inquiry: Display the room's effects. »
[Private Sanctum. Fourth-Circle Abjuration. The barrier prevents

magical and corporeal senses, to include hearing, vision, and
mana-sense. Teleportation is blocked into and out of the barrier.
Planar travel is blocked within the barrier.]
Fourth-Circle... Tycon was impressed. From his memories, he

knew that Third Circle was the limit of humans, with anything
higher than that requiring complicated and costly rituals. House
Kimura must have invested a considerable amount of resources in
the room's creation.
While helping out in the kitchen, Tycon had asked Kagehisa

Yumiko about the Patriarch and the concept of closed cultivation.
Interested, Tycon requested a room for private training, similar to
the conditions the Patriarch was using. The room needed to block
auras, be capable of withstanding damage, and most importantly,
its privacy needed to be assured.
« System, reset security features of the Ring of Holding. »
[Understood. Warning: Items contained in the ring will be forcibly

ejected. Please confirm.]
« Confirmed. »
[Resetting.]
A flood of items spilled out upon the smooth, stone floor. Simple,
but sturdy weapons. Folded, ornate robes. A large chest, nearly
the size of a kitchen-stove... and smelling of dried herbs... and a
pile of rocks?
« System, detect: Any item radiating an aura OR is unique. »
The system identified several personal effects-- an identification

badge, hairpins, specific sets of clothes. Tycon separated the
disposable effects, like the badge, into a single pile-- to be burnt
and destroyed, later. Anything of value was returned to the ring, to
be fenced in Merylsward. Anything inside of the ring couldn't be
detected. And the ring, itself, was cleared of its former attunement
to Muto Hisato.
Tycon was concerned for any attempts of divination or scrying,

spells that could track specific, unique items or auras. Even if he
didn't fear House Muto and had no problems posturing in public,
he preferred to act privately and with caution on his personal time.
Tycon picked one of the blue rocks up, sensing a radiation of

unrefined mana.
Mana rocks... or 'spirit stones' as the cultivators called them. They

were useless to him.
He opened the box of herbs... and with the System's help,

identified everything inside.
"With this, we have enough herbs for Old Fool's ritual."
He picked up a crimson-bodied spear, the metal below its blade

inscribed with an unfamiliar script. It was the only item the System
identified as having an aura.
« System, identify. Please and thank you. »
[Lifedrinker Spear. First-Circle Magical Spear. Transfers the vitality

of defeated enemies to the user. The spear is currently attuned to
House Muto. Attunement must be cleared in order to soul bind.
Clear attunement? Y/N?]
« Ah, yes. System, attune the Lifedrinker Spear to Guild Invictus.
»
[Understood. Clearing attunement... Attunement cleared. Binding

to Guild Invictus...]
The foreign writing below the spear's blade disappeared... and

soon was replaced with an embossment of a stylized sun.
[Attunement complete. Soul bind possible. Soul bind? Y/N?]
« No, but thank you. Death to the enemies of Invictus. »
[Understood. Death to the enemies of Invictus.]
"What a useless spear... I suppose I can give it to Bucket." Tycon

mused, "At least this one should be harder to break."
Chapter 58 Ananta
" Here," Tycon tossed the crimson spear to Bucket, who caught it
deftly with one hand.
"Sir?"
"Magic spear. Drinks blood. Doesn't restore wounds, though-- just

makes you feel better," Tycon summarized the spear's effects in
quick succession.
"Sir?! You're giving me a magic spear??" Bucket's eyes gleamed

with excitement.
"It's a... Lifedrinker spear." Tycon narrowed his eyes.
Taree, the mediocre Martialist's eyes glowed to match Bucket's

excitement, hugging the young man and pressing her nonexistent
chest to his arm. "Warrior Pale! That's a Spirit Weapon! Perhaps if
you train with it, you'll even be able to attune to its spirit and learn
its name!"
"It's called... the Lifedrinker," Tycon frowned.
Bucket held it up and stared with huge eyes, "The Lifedrinker...

Cooool."
Taree puffed her cheeks, looking like she was about to rudely
complain. Thankfully, the appearance of a hurried elderly human
in scholar's robes made her pause. Tycon glanced above his head
to be reminded of the gentleman's name, 'Elder Kakui.'
"Young Mistress! Something terrible has happened!"
Taree ran up to him and looked up with her disproportionately

large eyes, "Grandpa Kakui? What's happened?"
"The Young Master was out gathering herbs for the ritual..."
Tycon had seated himself on the table that Pale and Taree were
seated on, "By the way, Elder Kakui. I've appropriated all the
herbs."
"Well, Warrior Tycon, that's wonderful news, but... the Young

Master has been kidnapped!!"
Tycon took the tiny fork and sampled a colorful looking cake. That
Kagehisa girl, Tamaki's mother, was a decent cook but was an
excellent pastry chef. He didn't usually like pastries, but her cakes
were wonderfully rich and their sweetness... comforting.
Taree was panicking, raring to go. Pale was trying to calm her
down. The Elder was also trying to calm her down. Taree began to
cry. Pale and the Elder began to panic. Tycon took the opportunity
to quickly finish Taree's slice of cake.
"Elder Kakui."
"Y-yes, Warrior Tycon?" The old man was flustered, looking

somewhat unused to pandering to children.
"Where has Young Master Tamaki been taken?"
"W-we don't know yet! We'll send out our best scouts,
immediately!"
Tycon sighed. He waved his hand, silently activating his spatial

ring. A box of herbs appeared beside them. "Here are the
materials for the ritual. Are your people ready to produce?"
"Wh-what?! But-- we were expecting-- this amount of materials

would take weeks or months to gather!"
Tycon took a deeper sigh, massaging the bridge of his nose, "Do I
have to do everything myself?"
The old man lowered his head in shame.
Tycon glared, "I asked you a question, old man."

Elder Kakui jumped to attention before bowing respectfully, "No,
my lord! I will send for men at once. We will recover the Young
Master, at all costs!!"
"Don't bother," Tycon waved in annoyance. "Focus on completing

the various components for the ritual."
"Y-yes!" The elder replied.
Tycon glared, unmoving.
"Yes, lord!" The old man gulped.
Tycon stood up and waved for Pale to follow. Pale gave Taree a
quick apology and hurried after him.
...
Taree and Elder Kakui were left watching their backs.
Kakui took a handkerchief and wiped the sweat on his brow, "Oh,
my. I haven't been scolded like that since the sect wars, some
twenty years ago..."
Taree frowned. She hated that man. He was so rude and arrogant.
But she couldn't truly be upset... The thought of it annoyed her to
no end, "Warrior Tycon is doing as much as we can for us. We
can't let down his trust... I'll... I'll go talk to the Alchemists, myself."
...
Tarquin Wroe found out where Young Master Tamaki was being
held. It took him 30 minutes. Tycon questioned if (A) Guild Invictus
was very proficient, or if (B) House Kimura was grossly
incompetent.
He concluded that it was a little of Column A and all of Column B.
The western fortress was maintained by House Muto, and it

served as an outpost against raiders from either across the
Icehorn mountains or from within them. As the Ivory Judge sect
hadn't been attacked in years, the fortress served as a prison for
House Muto's internal affairs.
Guild Invictus was going to raid it.
Tycon had assumed his large white snake form and slithered
alone along the mountainous crags in the darkness. He had two
entire bells before Invictus would move without him, so he had to
move quickly.
...He was uncertain that Dragan and the others would be able to
wait even that long.
He wished he had purchased a second pocket watch, back in

Nice... There was no way in the seven hells he would lend the rest
of Invictus his own. He would take a crossbow bolt for any of the
useless bastards., yes, but he refused to trust any of them with
anything nice.
Tycon slithered up and around a thick petrified tree, wary of a

particular creature lying in wait. The System had assigned its
transparent name with a might-attack-him yellow tag, and he had
no intention of provoking it.
"(Are you searching for anything in particular?)" Tycon offered

towards the creature in the shadows.
The larger creature slithered out, twice as thick as Tycon around,

and far lengthier. Its scales were dark and smoke smoothly
emanated from its form, "(Ohh? The male has such excellent
vision?)"
Tycon grew far, far more wary, upon hearing the Shadow Snake's
female voice. Medusa society was matriarchal. And for all the
snakes he knew of, including Shadow Snakes, the female was
much, much larger than the males, and their domineering natures
reflected their size.
Tycon was confident that his snake form was a quarter-tonze and
over 20 fulms. She was thrice his size. Easily.
"(Ohhhh, mmmyyyy. You're the most impressive male I've ever
seen.... Boy.)"
Tycon did not like the interest this female had taken. He did not
like it at all. "(Please excuse me, Miss. I really have someplace I
need to be.)"
With a ludicrous speed that Tycon dearly wished hadn't belied her
size, the female slithered in front of his path, "Oh, come now, I've
been ssssssoooo bored~"
"(Please, excuse me, Lady, I...)" Tycon paused, staring blankly.

She spoke the common tongue. "Oh. Is that how it is, then?"
He should have known that something was amiss. Shadow

Snakes were jungle-dwellers and did not at all belong in colder
mountainous areas of the Kingdom.
[Large Snake Form Cancelled. Returning to Human-Form.]
Tycon took off his dark hood, revealing his youthful face and
green hair, skin as ivory as his white scales, "If that's the case, I'm
certain we can come to an arrangement."
The snake swirled around Tycon, well-away, but close enough to

put Tycon on edge.
"(Ah, Ivory Prince)," The female did not seem surprised, at all.
"Sssssstay with me awhile. I do sssssooooo desire the *warm*
company of a man."
Chapter 59 Endless
ycon was not interested in keeping such dangerous company,

T
especially with the female's lascivious body speech and body
language implying that she sought copulation. He was still
working, after all.
But at the same time, he felt helpless. He'd have to entertain the
female, at least for a short while. He couldn't be rude and put to
chance that she'd actively work against him.
Women are petty creatures, no matter the species.
He decided to put forth effort towards gaining an advantage from

it.
"My name is Tycondrius. And the lady's name is?"
The snake widened her eyes, appearing translucent and white

within her shadowy form, "Ohhho, so my guess was correct."
Tycon shrugged and took a seat upon her back, gently stroking
her smoke-covered scales. She trembled under his touch, "Your
name."
Her body curled around Tycon's shoulders and neck as he stroked

the underside of where her throat would be.
"Dear Prince, this one's name is Ananta," She flicked her tongue
playfully at him.
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Ananta? (The Endless?)"
He could swear she smirked back at him, "'Tis just a name,

(Sweet Prince.)"
"Well then, (Lady Endless). May I convince you to deign upon me
(the secrets of thy body?)"
The woman's snake body gently compressed around Tycon's, "

(How very forward of you, Ivory Prince.) And what will I receive for
my troubles?"
...
A nude human woman with short, bedraggled black hair was

happily chewing on some dried meat, ignoring the iciness of the
evening mountain air, "Wow! Thissssss issss reeeeeeally good!"
Ananta did not seem to utilize her human form often, judging by
her nudity and sloppy appearance. But human teeth were best for
consuming Tycon's prized smoked and cured rations.
"Your flattery is my greatest achievement," Tycon exaggerated.
[Shadow Body added to Skill list.]
Excellent. The woman shared a drop of her mana-filled blood. It

was an odd process that Tycon didn't understand well and it
greatly taxed Ananta's physique and mana... but with his System's
automating assistance, he was able to develop a new Skill.
« System, display effects of Shadow Body »
[Shadow Body: Passive ability. Reduces visibility in dim light and

darkness.]
"Whoa. This is worthless."
This was not excellent. He already used his Snake-form to sneak

around unseen. A slight improvement on an ability he had no
issues with was no improvement, at all.
Tycon was displeased. He would have chosen to escape or even

fight this ridiculous female, had he known he was wagering his
rations for nothing.
Ananta snuck up from behind Tycon, rubbing her naked human
body against the back of his cloak and marking it with her scent.
"What'sss wroooo~ng, (Sweet Prince?)"
"(The secrets of your body) are unimpressive, Ananta."
She nibbled on his ear and whispered in a sultry voice,

"OhhHHhh, (Sweet Prince,) you wound me ssssssoooo with your
wordsssss."
Ananta moved to Tycon's front, wrapping herself within his cloak

and sitting on his lap, her arms resting on his shoulders, "In that
case, I'll provide you even more... (intimate secrets of my body.)"
Tycon grabbed the girl's wild hair, enjoying its softness and taking
in her lustful scent. He pulled her close into a lengthy kiss, using
his tongue to explore hers and feeling her body tremble in
anticipation.
Pulling apart, he placed a finger upon her lips, "And what will that
cost me? A~nan~ta?"
She leaned in closer, running her tongue up and down Tycon's

neck, grinding her naked hips against his loins, "I've never mated
in my human form. Perhaps you'd like to be my first?"
Tycon grinned, pulling her waist closer beneath their shared cloak,
"I'll do you one better."
...
[Shadow Body has evolved into Shadow Body, Enhanced.]
Ananta was happily chewing on some fatty dried meat, "By the
gods, this issssssss DELICIOOOOUSSSSSS! This is even
BETTER THAN SSSSSSSEXXX!!"
...Well, at least she was happy.
Even though he wasn't forced to make such a calculated risk,

Tycon's heart bled. He had taken a portion of the Gann belly,
cured it in brine, smoked and cooked it, to make a wonderful,
fragrant, marbled meat intended to be thin-sliced. After bribing
Ananta with a full portion, he only had half a portion left.
He hid it away in a corner of his spatial ring, immune to scent,

immune to magical divination. A sun would rise when he would
need it for a morale boost. And he promised himself to be far, far
away from any dangerous females when he decided to partake.
He almost regretted not sleeping with Ananta instead of relying on

bribery... Though he would have been far more keen on the idea if
sexual cannibalism wasn't so commonplace amongst their
species. Larger females tended to consume their partners, post-
copulation.
Some males were into that. Tycon was not.
« System, display effects of Enhanced Shadow Body. »
[Shadow Body, Enhanced: Passive ability. Becomes invisible in

dim light or darkness. Can phase into material with the thickness
of 1 ilm.]
Excellent.
« System, Activate Large-Form and Shadow Body.»
[Large Snake Form Activating. Shadow Body Activating.]
Tycon decided to hurriedly slither away while the woman was

distracted. He couldn't risk losing any more of his rations.
He had wasted plenty of time, as it was.
...
The blonde archer, Kimura Tamaki, was carefully tinkering with the
lock to his wooden cell door, "Almost got it. Almost..."
He slipped, breaking the wooden pick. "Aw, fiddlesticks."
Tamaki was unused to precise finger dexterity. He cursed his

clumsy fingers. Frustrated, he took a step back and rammed his
shoulder into the door.
The door moved slightly off of its hinges, "Oooh."
He slammed his shoulder against the door again. And a third time.
Finally, with a solid front kick near the locking mechanism, the
wooden door bent and opened outward.
Tamaki rubbed his sore shoulder, pleased with his work. "Now I
gotta get m' bow. Then I gotta get outta here."
He moved all quiet-like, peeking around the corners for any

enemy troops, "If I know Coach, she's already sent folks ta rescue
me. I'd really rather not inconvenience Tycon and Invictus. They're
good people."
Peeking into the next room, he observed a bored Muto Martialist,

slacking off, meditating.
It was his chance.
Tamaki ran into the room and grabbed the man by the neck. He
was tall for his age, so their heights were similar. Holding the fella
up against a wall, Tamaki use the forced and fury in his right fist to
bash the guy's face in. Blood went everywhere as he kept
punching, knocking out two teeth and making his hand throb in
pain.
Once he was sure the guard was unconscious, Tamaki let him
down and picked up his sword. "This'll be useful. I sure wish I had
my bow, though."
"We'd rather you'd put that sword down, Warrior Tamaki."
Tamaki turned to face the voice. It belonged to a woman with a

ponytail, wearing dark leather armor and a captain's sash on her
arm. A half-dozen guards stood behind her, lookin' menacing.
Tamaki put on the friendliest smile he could manage, "Cap'n!

Didn't see you there."
The woman crossed her arms, "Put the weapon down, Kimura."
Tamaki threw the sword, "Take that!"
Scout Captain Muto Shun caught the sword by the blade, "I've
trained our Stone Body art to basic completion. Most of us have.
I'm really not sure why you thought that was a good idea."
Tamaki backed himself to a corner, "Stay back! I know martial

arts!"
Shun looked to her companions. They all began laughing.
They all knew martial arts.
"Aw, fiddlesticks," Tamaki cursed.
With a wave of her hand, Shun's men surrounded Tamaki and

began to beat him.
Chapter 60 Traveling
Merchants
"We shouldn't be doing this!" Lone pleaded.
Dragan forged ahead, cradling his dark-metal axe with an

expression full of anticipation, "Come on, bud! Don't be a puss!"
"Boss Tycon said to wait! And it's only b--"
Lone reflexively stopped, subconsciously shrinking his shoulders

facing Dragan's massive frame. The big man had waited for him to
catch up.
The big man grinned jovially, "Come on, man. You didn't wanna
stick to my plan before! Come on, it'll be fiiiiine!"
"Come on, Lone." Pale pat Lone's back, "It'll be fine. I'll protect
you."
Lone averted his gaze, curling his lips. Inwardly, he was thankful
that Pale was on his side. But he had remembered that the boy
was half his age.
Pale began following after Dragan, while Tarquin Wroe caught up

on the side, "It'll probably be fine, Lone."
The angelic boy's hair flowed in the wind. It always seemed to do

that, for some reason.
Lone returned a weak smile, "I'm just a bit worried. I always tend
to get injured-- with just about everything we do."
Wroe smiled gently, his eyes shut, "As far as injury is concerned,
any Invictus member should always have at least one potion on
them."
Lone furrowed his brows, "Wait, you guys are getting potions?"
The group stopped.
Dragan frowned, "Well, yeah? Doesn't heal everything, but can

save you from bleedin' out. What, did you leave yours back at the
house?"
Lone shook his head, "What? No, I was never given a potion!"
Wroe tilted his head, rotating his neck in his typical creepy
manner, "Boss Tycon issues potions at the beginning of each
mission. This isn't your first mission, though?"
Wroe, Dragan, and Pale looked to each other.
"I've got mine," Wroe had placed the vial filled with red liquid on
his belt, beside his sword.
Dragan revealed a small triangular vial that hung from his neck,
normally kept hidden by his tunic, "Haven't used mine for a few
missions."
Pale dug into his bag and offered a thin red vial, "Here you go,
Lone. I never use mine."
Wroe hovered over Pale, "BuuUUuckeTTtt... Don't lie."
Pale shuddered and retracted his hand... but he reached out

again, still offering, "I don't use mine... a lot."
Lone closed the boy's hand and pushed it away, "No, I'll be fine,
Pale. I'll just be extra careful."
Pale nodded and put the vial back into his pouch.
Lone turned to Dragan, "What's the plan? The mountains look

pretty difficult to climb, but I brought some rope and climbing
gear."
Dragan smirked, "We charge through the front."
"Being a mountain fortress, there's probably a baaaa--" Lone

paused briefly, "I BEG your pardon?"
Dragan lifted his hands up and pointed a finger from either hand
sideways, towards the fortress, "We'll assault the fortress from the
front."
Lone looked up the steep ramp, lit by large braziers, "But... they'll
see us."
"Yep!"
"They have... murder holes they can shoot arrows out of!"
"Uh huh!"
"There are LOCKED DOUBLE DOORS!!"
"Well, that's unfair." Wroe interjected, "They might not be."
"Maybe we can tell them we're traveling salesmen?" Pale offered

hopefully.
Dragan pumped his greataxe in the air, "Great idea, Bucket! We'll
tell 'em, alright. We're merchants... of DEATH!"
Wroe raised his eyebrows, "How about if I call down a Creature of

the Stars upon the fortress! Those that look upon its splendor
would toss away their worldly wants and sing in praise!"
"Boss Tycon said not to let you summon anything from the
stars..." Pale grimaced.
Even Lone frowned, "I also don't agree. I don't want to be

responsible for 200 people crippled by insanity and mind-
afflictions."
Dragan tilted his head and placed his hands on his hips, "Tarquin,
Tarquin, Tarquin... would you really beat up a crippled person?"
Wroe smiled-- a bit too wide, "How much are you paying me?"
"Nothin'."
"You drive a hard bargain. I'll do it," Wroe showed a clenched fist.
Lone put a palm on Wroe's fist and gently pushed it down,

"Nnnoooo..."
Dragan threw his head back in laughter, "Hahaha! Lone! Bucket!

Can you BELIEVE how violent this guy is??"
Wroe began yelling back, "YOU'RE one to talk!? I get this from
YOU!!"
Dragan looked offended, "Now, now, Mister Wroe. Let's not name
any names."
Pale tapped his crimson spear to the ground, making a keen

ringing noise and stopping the conversation.
"Let's just follow Mister Dragan's plan," He said, smiling helplessly.
...
Scout Kiyoshi jogged up the steps to find the Captain. It had only
been a few suns since Muto Shun's transfer, but she was a
reasonable leader-- a blessing in the cold, western fortress.
Someone had locked the armory, which wasn't an issue-- the door
was locked once every two months or so. Someone would have
fallen asleep inside or a couple would sneak off, thinking they
were clever. The Captain held onto the heavy key.
As one of the more veteran scouts, Kiyoshi would appeal to the

Captain to reduce the offender's punishment. Incidents arisen
from boredom were common in the Muto western fortress. With
nothing to do but train and roll dice, every warrior in the fortress,
no matter their age, gender, or role... got a little stupider.
The fortress was built to be manned by over 100 warriors and was
capable of housing 3 or 4 times that amount. In its storied history,
the fortress would see thousands of standing warriors and
personnel, rotating expeditions into the western reaches as the
fortress commander dictated. Over the past several epochs, the
number of men and women stationed at the forest was steadily
reduced... With their current numbers, Kiyoshi wasn't sure they
could actually fend off any attackers, whether it be from the
western forests or the demon-barbarians from the north.
Kiyoshi's worry was heightened with the fact that smoke was
beginning to billow out from underneath the armory door.
Someone might have been burning incense. Or someone may
have dropped a lantern and fallen asleep. They were told time and
time again to be careful in the armory. There was a quarter-tonze
of explosives in there... cast-iron shells filled with Orkish Sugar, a
fragrant, highly explosive black powder.
If House Muto used everything in there for demolitions, they could

blow a hole in the side of the Icehorn Mountains.
Kiyoshi opened the door to the planning hall... and found the
Scout Captain uncharacteristically asleep, sitting at the central
table with her head buried in her arms.
"Captain, there's an issue," He walked over.
The woman remained unmoving. Kiyoshi gulped in nervousness.

He'd never had a chance to look upon a sleeping woman before--
not that he was planning on doing anything lewd.
He could understand the Captain catching a quick nap. Adjusting

to the cold, stone and wood fortress, he'd suffered more than one
sleepless night and fatigue-ridden sun. He gently shook Captain
Shun by the shoulder, "Cap'n."
He grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted to sit her straight... but
something was off. Sweeping back her shoulder-length hair, he
found a crossbow bolt stuck in her neck.
Before he could yell, he felt a hand cover his mouth and hot steel
pierce through his back. Straining his neck to look at his attacker,
the last thing Kiyoshi saw were golden eyes underneath a dark
hood.
Chapter 61 All Risk, No
Reward
ycon stood atop the fortress walls, well hidden in his snake form.
T
The western fortress was built atop a tall, steep, narrow upward
slope. On a clear sun, a few dozen archers, along with some well-
placed traps could defend the fortress against several hundred.
Tycon's stealthy navigation through the fortress was far easier

than the Tavor manor. His Enhanced Shadow Body allowed him to
use his belly scales to grip onto the ceiling with a diagonal
sidewinding undulation.
It felt ridiculous, stealthily sidewinding.
He had succeeded in setting fire to the armory, assassinated the

highest rank in the fortress, and even found the kidnapped Tamaki
alive in his cell. He had even found an escape route that their
small group could use to sneak into the fortress.
All he had to do was slither down the side of the fortress and meet
up with Guild Invictus.
Shadows were moving up the steep hill up to the fortress.
Tycon shook his head, denying it. No... It couldn't be his ever-so-
patient allies. It was just... a coincidence, perhaps.
He squinted his snakey eyes to better see. A big shadow. A tall,

thin shadow. A particularly small shadow? A shadow wearing far
too much gear.
Tycon's fears were confirmed. Guild Invictus was quickly approach

the front of the fortress.
No cover. No stealth.... No. plan.
Tycon heard lots of yelling from inside the fortress-- and soon
arrows began flying towards his friends.
...
"Swords!" Pale yelled.
Barza knew better than to argue. He flipped his own blades,

presenting the hilts towards Pale. The boy tossed his spear up
and took Barza's swords as Barza caught Pale's spear.
Pale rushed forward, rapid blades slashing apart oncoming arrows

while Barza and Wroe rushed behind him. Pale was... really good
at stopping things thrown and shot at him.
"Dragan!! Get behind Pale!!" Barza yelled. An arrow whizzed past

his face and slashed his cheek open.
"All risk!!" Dragan broke into a sprint with a hair-raising scream,

"NO REWARD!!"
Wroe tapped Barza on the shoulder, "He'll be fine... probably."
...
It took Dragan over five minutes of full-speed sprinting to climb the

steep hill.
Tycon's legs felt sore just watching him. He could do... maybe...
one minute?
30 seconds, for sure.
Dragan performed a beautiful leap forward, lifting his greataxe

behind his back. He nailed his axe into the massive double doors.
The axe stuck, of course. Unsticking the weapon from the wood,
the giant man continued to hammer and chop away at the
massive doors. Archers behind the door's murder-holes continued
to fire arrows that would stick in his leather armor or were
deflected by his axe blade.
Tycon put away the cast-iron bomb he was prepared to throw. He

was quite tempted to kill his ineffective idiot-friend but... his
usefulness outweighed his stupidity more often than it didn't.
"Hey! Who the hell are you?!"
Tycon turned to see that a couple of archers had finally climbed

the inner stairs up to the front wall.
It took them long enough.
He held his palms open in a show of harmlessness and began to

walk towards them, "Gentlemen, I appear to be lost."
...
Pale demonstrated his extraordinary and boundless stamina,

running up the hill while using Lone's swords to deflect all the
arrows he could. As it neared its end, the Pale, Wroe, and Lone
reached the fortress.
Pale took cover to catch his breath and massage his eyes. Seeing
and reacting to so many arrows in the evening, with only the
brazier fires to rely on, taxed his concentration to its limits.
None of the three took any direct arrow hits. Pale was a genius
combatant. And now it was Lone's and Wroe's turn.
Lone took the magical red spear and thrust it through a murder-
hole, stabbing a man in the throat. Power surged through him,
surprising him and sharpening his senses-- the crimson spear's
magical effect. Using only his peripheral vision, Lone used his
bare hands to catch an arrow that had been fired at him. He
turned to see his surprised attacker and rushed forward to stab his
spear into the man's screaming teeth. The same sense-
sharpening power surged through him, once again.
...Lone... really wanted a magic weapon of his own.
...
Wroe poured water from his canteen onto his hands, which misted
outward in a rainbow of water vapor. In the same motion, he
reached his sword hand forward, he grasped, and he pulled. A
wide-bladed sword, ethereal white... formed out of mana in the
mist. The sword's design was unapologetically Fae in nature,
confusing, aesthetically pleasing. It looked elegant and fragile, but
somehow deadly, all at once.
Tycon thought it looked stupid.
With each slash of Wroe's sword, the Daeva launched an eldritch

crescent of magic power forward. With unerring accuracy, each
eldritch blast took an archer's life through the fortress' small
openings.
Tycon glared down from the top of the fortress wall, adjusting his
seating upon the small pile of corpses he had arranged for his
own comfort. Wroe looked upwards towards him-- the only
Invictus member that had noticed him so far.
Wroe smiled, looking particularly foolish.
Tycon fired a crossbow bolt at him. Wroe dodged it.
Tycon read Wroe's lips as the Daeva yelled back, 'I'm so very
foolish, you're very handsome, Sir Lord Tycon.'
Wroe went back to killing.
...
Tycon dropped down the front of the fortress wall, landing besides
Dragan.
Mister Dragan didn't rely on magical attacks, like Mister Wroe. He
did not have a spear, like Pale. He didn't have javelins, like Barza.
Tycon crossed his arms, watching Dragan... The Titanblood had

reached through a murder-hole opening, grabbed an archer by the
neck, and was repeatedly pulling-- slamming the human's face
against the fortress stones.
"Mister Dragan."
"One second, Boss." Dragan continued to pull the poor fool

against the stones, the sound like a sack of meat striking a
chopping block.
"...Dragan."
"If you're here to yell at me, Boss, the plan was a stunning
success!" The red-haired giant insisted.
Tycon frowned, "Mister Dragan, I'd like to ask you how many
archers you've incapacitated in that manner."
Dragan reached forward deeply and with a final pull, a loud

crunching sound emanated from beyond the wall. He turned with
a grin and a show of bloody fingers, "Three!"
"And you couldn't have..."
There were many things Tycon could have advised... Utilizing

stealth. Climbing the walls. Looking for a back door.
...Waiting for him to return.
Seven hells, they had Wroe, they could even have used trickery
and deceit.
They could have pretended to be merchants.
Tycon waved his thoughts away as he walked off. There was no

winning against Dragan at the current point in the battle,
"Nevermind."
Tycon surveyed the outside of the fortress... no further attacks
came. He assumed enough guards had died in its defense-- the
remainder of them had likely collected and formed secondary
defensive line. It would be a simple task to sweep the rest of the
fortress, loot it for anything decent, and save Young Master
Tamaki.
Guild Invictus gathered around him. Tycon casually inspected

each of them and was glad to see no one was injured, though
Pale looked very fatigued and Barza had gained a very nasty cut
on his cheek-- it would scar later and make him look more of a
grizzled veteran than he actually was.
Dragan jogged up with enthusiasm, "Oh, yeah, Boss! The door's

pretty thick. I think we still gotta climb in."
Tycon grabbed the sturdy chain that served as a door handle.

With a steady pull, the door slowly lurched open.
"I disabled the locking mechanism a quarter-bell ago," Tycon

exhaled a deep sigh.
The group entered the fortress, each of Invictus smiling

apologetically... save Dragan. The red-headed giant laughed
shamelessly, the entire way.
Chapter 62 Cry Of Injustice
imura Tamaki was beaten lightly but was largely unperturbed by

K
his capture. The Young Master had tried to escape and was
beaten by martial arts for his troubles. Young Pale commiserated
with him, bonding over their shared personal experiences.
Tycon beat the both of them with a stick until they stopped feeling
sorry for each other.
The Muto western fortress was set ablaze, most of its weapons
were destroyed, and all of its defenders turned into corpses. If any
survivors did escape, they would be hard-pressed to explain the
deaths of several dozen men and women, well-positioned in a
secure military structure... especially if they understood fortoress
was lost to a mere group of five.
Guild Invictus returned to the Ivory Judge sect past the midday-
bell of the following sun.
Barza and Dragan had purged the targets Tycon had earlier
identified in the Kimura household. Even if more spies remained
hidden, they would certainly act with caution, seeing some of their
ilk conveniently missing. The disappearances would become more
apparent in time, but Tycon was intent on Invictus having left the
sect by then.
As added insurance, Pale and Tarquin Wroe had succeeded in

gathering information. Blackmail material was so very delicious to
Tycon.
As a great, but welcome surprise, Kimura Taree had succeeded in

gathering the requisite ritual scrolls and alchemical mixtures in
their absence.
"So, Warrior Tycon," Kimura Tamaki, along with his sister and the
members of Guild Invictus were gathered around a
campfire. "Could ya tell me again why I wasn't allowed ta go back
to the house?"
Tycon sprinkled a handful of coarse salt on the river fish Tamaki

had caught. "Kagehisa Yumiko has been informed of your safety.
Are there any other issues you would need to address?"
"Well, I was just curious."
Taree scooted closer to listen. She seemed curious, as well.
Tycon twisted his mouth, "Caution. Whether there is or is not a

plot against our attempt to cure the Guardian Beast, there is no
need to broadcast our efforts."
"Well, alright, then. I'm just glad I'll be able to help." Tamaki gave a
warm smile.
Tycon sipped from his warmed cup. Yumiko, the Kimura siblings'
mother, had gifted Invictus two jugs of rice wine containing
steeped unripened plums.
"I've only brought people I trust," Tycon said quietly to himself...
« System, change setting: Aggression ranking, Levels:4. Hostile,

Tentative, Non-Hostile and... Trusted. »
Tycon mentally changed his System's tag settings and he watched

as the transparent green tags of all of Guild Invictus change from
a green color to a comfortable blue.
He trusted their character. And he trusted their strength. Anyone

that wasn't at least Bronze-Rank would die a meaningless death if
they were to fight against Old Fool at his full strength.
« System, inquiry: I wish to know the classes of my immediate

allies. »
Tycon looked to Dragan first. He couldn't hate Dragan, as foolish
as he often acted. There was a spark of cunning in the man's eyes
that Tycon wouldn't dare underestimate. As long as they remained
allies, however, that cunning was a boon to the guild.
[System response: Dragan Ashlord, Iron-Rank Swordmage.]
Tycon couldn't hate Tarquin Wroe, either. The poor fool was
misguided in his love for the beyond. It would certainly lead to a
young death. Tycon would use that to his benefit. And payment for
his good faith, he silently promised to kill the man with his own
hands, if the Daeva were to ever cross a forbidden threshold...
[Tarquin Wroe, Bronze-Rank Hexblade.]
Pale-- or Bucket, as he was often called, had come a long way.

The case was similar with Barza Keith. The fight ahead would be
dangerous, but its potential for growth was exponential. Old Fool
would be the strongest creature that Invictus would have ever
fought, (to memory.)
[Pale, Bronze-Rank Spear Novice; Barza Keith, Bronze-Rank

Warrior.]
...The classes of those 2 were incredibly peculiar. Pale's Spear

Novice class sounded like it would promote into something far
better... And Barza's Warrior was a side-grade from his previous
Ruffian class, but better suited his natural strengths.
Pale needed more diverse training in order to unlock his potential.

Barza needed more training, all-around. Long, harsh suns were
ahead of him.
He was surprised that even Kimura Taree had a blue tag. He had
thought the young girl didn't like him much. She caught his gaze
and turned away with a hmph.
Rude, as always.
[Kimura Taree, Bronze-Rank Martialist.]

Tycon raised his wooden cup to the man of the hour, Kimura
Tamaki, whose presence had increased their enjoyment of food in
the wild by adding delicious fish and non-poisonous berries to
their diet.
[Kimura Tamaki, Bronze-Rank Fisherman.]
Tycon involuntarily spat out his delicious wine, the worst recent
faux pas he had ever committed.
"What's wrong, Warrior Tycon? Is the wine mama made too

strong?" Tamaki asked.
"Oh, it's nothing to worry about, Young Master. I think I may have
bit into the sour plum." Tycon shook his head.
Tamaki laughed, "Yeah! It'll sneak up on ya if yer not careful!"
Tycon decided he'd have Kimura Tamaki watch when they

reached Old Fool's cave... no, to avoid suspicion, he'd have both
Kimura siblings keep watch.
...
Pale bowed politely to the massive serpentine fish, "Hello,

Guardian Beast! Please excuse us!"
Tycon waved his hand, "No need to be overly respectful. Old Fool
is a few epochs older than you, but isn't grand or respectable, at
all."
"(Little White! Must you correct the little one? My feelings are
hurt!)" Old Fool, the flood dragon, scrutinized the group of 5 that
came to visit him.
Pale bowed again before running off to observe Wroe. The

Hexblade was arranging a ritual circle with the use of several
previously crafted talismans.
"(I do look forward to a great battle.)" Old Fool's voice rumbled

excitedly, "(Five of you! You must be great heroes! The blood of
titans! The blood of angels! And you, Little White... Ah, and the
human must be a great, storied hero! And the elf must be an
incredibly powerful being, to have reverted in age to look so
young!)"
Tycon smiled but did not respond.
Old Fool squinted his eyes, "(Little White... I see you've drawn a
sealing formation... But... what is that second circle your magician
is drawing?)"
Wroe finished the spell circle and it began to suffuse with a gentle
bluish cloud of mana.
Tycon explained, speaking quickly, "Ley Line Circle. It establishes

a focused connection to a targeted ley line, of which your
underground lake, quite obviously, is a natural hub. The focused
connection provides a surplus of siphoned mana. The rich mana
environment allows the caster to focus eldritch energies with a
higher Completion Rating, affording a more efficacious mana-to-
spell ratio, faster casting rate, and reduced mental fatigue..."
Tycon shrugged, "I'm uncertain to any particulars beyond that."
"It's like drinking from a punch bowl!" Pale added.
Tycon nodded, "Very astute, young man."
"(And... those additional pills and talismans?)" Old Fool asked.
"Mister Barza is applying the Waterbane enchantment to our

weapons. We also have a small collection of pills that will
temporarily increase our strength and agility. Miss Kimura Taree
has been quite thorough in arranging for the assistance and even
House Muto has donated hundreds of spirit herbs towards our
cause."
The large box of spirit herbs that Tycon had appropriated from
Muto Hisato was easily enough to create additional pills if it was
for a mere five combatants. Tycon requested temporary
enhancement pills and enchantment talismans, as opposed to life-
saving pills and talismans containing damaging spells.
Old Fool's voice took on a tone of concern... "(Is that-- that is a
siege weapon!)"
Dragan was positioning a ballista, adjusting it to point at the

overgrown river eel. The projectile was designed to break a
fortress wall and would inflict a grievous injury, even with Old
Fool's strength.
"Yes, that is indeed a siege weapon," Tycon nodded, feeling quite

proud of Dragan's suggestion. "I've also brought a small collection
of explosives."
Old Fool's nervousness was palpable, "(When thou mentioned

we'd do battle... I was hoping... for... an honorable duel of
strength?)"
Tycon checked his pocket watch, "It's been about 30 minutes

since you've swallowed the mana circulation pill, Old Fool. How do
you feel?"
The flood dragon averted his gaze, "(Little White... Please listen to
this old fool... Can we... can we talk about this??)"
Tycon yelled out, "Old Fool's said he's ready! Commence the
attack!!"
"BY HER BLADE!!" "VICTORY OR DEATH!" "DEATH TO THE

ENEMIES OF GUILD INVICTUS!!" "ALL RISK, NO REWARD!!" --
Each of Guild Invictus' shouts were more worrisome than the last.
...The mournful cries of the Guardian Beast's injustice rang

throughout the sect's lands.
The Ivory Judge sect would enter a new age of strength and
prosperity. Their warriors would grow strong under the Guardian
Beast's protection. Their enemies would never dare to lay siege to
their lands, lest they offend the ancient creature.
For generations afterward, the sect flourished, owing thanks to the

Chosen One of legend and their band of noble heroes.
Chapter 63 Victoire
uard Captain Varen Capulet went out for a stroll, taking a break
G
from his desk job. Ever since Baron Zindo Tavor's estate was
taken over by House Charm, he had far less time wielding a
sword versus wielding a pen. His niece, Sorina, had him charged
him with overseeing a number of operations, including
coordinating with the local Adventurer's Guild.
It had been a few moons since then, long enough to form a

peaceful habit of his new life. He missed patrolling in armor, but
not the long hours and the stink of it. He disliked the feel of a sore
writing wrist, but it was better waking each morning muscle-sore,
all over.
It was a comfortable job, reviewing paperwork, signing each page,

talking to the other old adventurers, and most of all, enjoying the
company of his adorable niece on the rare times that she could
spare the old man a moment. He was even considering retiring
soon... It was growing harder and harder to remember the
simplest things, sometimes. But he hoped he could be of help to
little Sorina until her growing pains as the Invictus' financial officer
had passed.
Varen spotted Sorina approaching, out on her morning run. She

was wearing a light tunic and shorts, running at a brisk pace.
Varen waved. It was nice to see the young lady working so hard.
"I hate men! They sh'dall die!!" Sorina was chanting a strange
cadence.
Running behind her was the ponytailed mercenary, Korr, keeping

Sorina's pace while wearing a weighted metal training vest.
"Could you... do something about that song, Sorina?" Varen asked
politely as the duo ran past him.
"All men are scum, Uncle! Not you, though! Love you!" Sorina
smiled, trying to catch her breath.
"KEEP RUNNING, B*TCH!!" Korr yelled, her sword suddenly

drawn.
Sorina kept running. She had been working incredibly hard,

hosting merchants and establishing several trade contracts in the
few weeks she's been in power. On top of that, she didn't neglect
her physical training-- though he was fairly certain Seldin Korr's...
encouragement had something to do with that.
Korr stopped in front of Varen, sheathed her sword, and gave a

polite bow.
"Ah, Miss Seldin-- ah, you preferred Korr, right?" Varen gave a
genial smile.
Korr nodded in response. Varen was already more-or-less used to

the woman's quietude.
"I see my niece is still training every waking sun. That's good."
Korr nodded, her smile somewhat forced. Varen appreciated the

effort, even though the poor girl's smiling face looked... slightly
unnatural.
"What was her regimen again?" Varen scratched his greying head,
"Forgive this old man's forgetfulness."
Korr gently pat Varen's arm in an act of care. Varen didn't quite
understand, but he was pleased to be doted upon. In Korr's
naturally soft voice, she murmured, "100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups,
100 squats, and a 6 malm run."
Varen nodded with a hum, "Hmm, impressive. How about martial

arts? Has she shown any aptitude for weaponry?"
Korr shook her head, "She shows promise with wands."

Varen sighed. If that was the case, neither he nor Korr would be
able to assist her much. Ah, wands?
Varen suddenly remembered something, "That's right. Miss Korr,

when you have some time, please drop by the Adventurer's Guild.
I... can't for the life of me, remember why, though."
Korr's eyes looked worried as she nodded. With a small wave, she
sprinted full-speed after Sorina. Varen followed her figure as she
left.
"Ah. She drew her sword again." Varen mused, "How nice to
watch this generation train so hard."
...
Wizardess Victoire Blanchett greeted Varen and Korr on an open-

air balcony on the second level of the guildhall. The head of the
Adventurer's Guild in Nice was an older woman from Varen's
generation, but her skill with makeup (and perhaps a bit of magic)
she looked barely older than Korr. Like all magicians in the
Kingdom, she valued fashion, and today wore an open wizard's
robe, white trousers, and a colorful blouse.
She looked less than thrilled at Varen's arrival.
"So the Capitaine of ze Garde finally decides to grace me with his

presence," She complained loud enough for adventurers on the
first floor to gawk.
Varen smiled wryly. That wasn't how he remembered it... "I was
just here yesterday, President Victoire?"
A sugar cube floated magically from a plate at the table's center

and plonked against Varen's forehead. Varen stared down sadly at
his tea, where the sugar cube had landed. He didn't like sugar in
his tea and he had a feeling Victoire knew that.
"Foolish Capulet, three suns! I asked three suns ago for you!" The
woman's speech devolved into a string of curses in the old
language.
Korr sat patiently as she quietly picked at a dainty slice of cake
Victoire had provided. She wore an artful dark polka-dot dress and
a beret atop her dark-red hair, a drastic change from the form-
fitting armor Varen was used to her wearing.
She seemed to notice his gaze, "I broke my armor and still need it
fixed."
Varen nodded. Had she told him that before?
Victoire leaned over the table, "Ahh, Korr, my beautiful fox! It 'as
been many years, no? Every year, we still send flowers to Raoul's
grave."
Seldin Korr nodded with a small smile, "It's fine, Victoire... I have a
new leader now."
In a magical poof of pink clouds, Victoire reappeared behind

Korr's chair, hugging her and nuzzling her cheek. Varen gulped at
the woman's brazenness. President Victoire had become a Circle
Mage as a young teenager and was one of the most dangerous
peak Second-Circle magic casters on the east side of the
Kingdom.
Unbothered by the president's affection, Korr lifted a tiny fork of

cake to her mouth.
"So tell me, tell me. What is he like, ze new Baron? Is he

'andsome? Do you grow LOST in his eyes!? And is he very
powerful in ze nighttime, if you know what I mean? Hohoh!"
Varen narrowed his eyes, "Madam President! Really? Miss Seldin

Korr is a professional, not a--"
The wizardess hissed like a cat, and pressed her ample bosom
into the back of Korr's head in an embrace, "Pah! What do you
know, you old geezer!? Korr ze Unbreakable may be a tiger on the
battlefield, but she is a petit kitty when it comes to love~! Isn't zat
right, my little fox?!?"
"Yes." Korr gave a simple one-word answer. Varen doubted she
was even listening to the conversation.
Varen coughed, "Well, anyroad... why have you called us here,

President Victoire?"
After Victoire finished her petting session, she rested her chin on
Korr's head. "Ze former-Baron has woken up from his coma. He
has had... some very... mmm~ interesting things to say."
Varen crossed his arms in thought, "Can... Zindo do anything? I

mean, legally."
"Non," she responded. "Ze Kingdom's inspectors have come and

zey have gone. The Council saw fit to strip Zindo of his barony for
his crimes. Baron Tycon's coup of his estate was ratified soon
afterward-- perhaps too easily... but zat is none of our business."
Varen couldn't make sense of it, "Then what could he possibly

do?"
Victoire stood up with a shrug and a charming wink, "I'm almost

certain ze fool will tell you, once we see him. Won't the two of you
accompany an old woman to the guild dungeons?"
Chapter 64 Zindo’s Revenge
hat Victoire referred to ominously as the guild dungeons, Varen

W
did not find nearly as dramatic as she'd initially made them out to
be. Beneath the guildhall was a wine cellar, a small room serving
as an armor, and two barred and guarded rooms with the cellar
stairs being the only exit.
A severely bandaged Zindo Tavor lied in one of these rooms on a

filthy bed.
"Dear gods, the conditions? Really, man?" Varen questioned the

adventurer guarding the cell.
The guard shrugged, "Listen, Cap'n. No one's paying enough coin

to clean out the man's bed e'ry time he soils himself. We hired a
maid, but we caught her poisoning the dastard's meals."
"Every... time, you say?"
Victoire ordered the man to open the doors, "Monsieur Dragan of

Sol Invictus... 'e reported that ze former baron fell down ze stairs.
And his insides, zey were... ahhh~ how you say, disturbed. He
cannot control his bowels, like~ like a child or a... Guard
Capitaine."
Varen deigned not to respond to the jab. He had never publicly

soiled himself... to memory, anyroad, "Hm. I see."
The trio entered Zindo's cell, assaulted by his stench. He was

difficult to pity, leering with a broken-toothed grin. He had gone
from an overweight lecher to a too-thin and sickly one.
Zindo sneered, "Finally come to beg for me to release you from

the Tavor ancestral curse, have you?"
Varen grit his teeth, "You... what do you mean?"
The broken man laughed, wincing in pain as he chortled, "Let me

guess! Inexplicable deaths?! Doors locking and the room's
inhabitants suffering mysterious accidents? Haha! It's a curse laid
by my ancestors! Only I know the secrets to--"
"Killed it," Korr interrupted in her light voice.
Varen looked at her dubiously.
Victoire held Korr's face in her hands, "Little fox... how do you
mean, when you say... killed ze ghost?"
Korr clenched her fist proudly, "I beat it with my fists. It won't
possess anyone any longer."
Zindo paled, "IMPOSSIBLE!!"
Varen stroked his short pepper beard, "Well... in the few weeks
since, we haven't had any mysterious deaths in the manor."
Victoire offered, "And my little fox, she speaks wis' ze utmost

honesty."
Zindo clenched his remaining teeth, "Fine then! You must be here
for the ledgers of my supposed misdeeds!"
"Nope," Korr responded.
"Damn!! The ledgers were well hidden away in the bookshelves!

How infuriating! Then you're here for the deeds to my
companies!!"
"Nope."
"Whaaat?! I can't believe you've decoded the cipher in my hidden

ledgers and cracked the code to the safe!! But surely, you're here
about the rumored cache of coin I've hidden in the manor!!"
"Nope."
"I had the switch underneath my desk CUSTOM MADE by the
Tinkerer's Guild! Damn!!"
Varen approached Korr's side.
"Did you really know about that one?" He whispered.
She nodded, "Sorina found two."
Zindo yelled once more, "Then you're here about the mercenaries
my brother's hired!"
"No-- oh..." Korr hesitated, "Yes."
"Hohohoahahaa!!" Zindo laughed. "My brother's sent me a letter

saying he's hired the Staghorn Guild to take care of your little
adventuring company!!"
Varen noticed that Korr's expression had gone pale and Victoire
looked uneasy. He crossed his arms, "What's this about the
Staghorn Guild?"
Victoire frowned, "It is a guild from ze sou'zern part of the

Kingdom, near ze Holy Country. Zhey are a company of elite
troops made from 'ardened veterans, sharpened in battles all over
ze western continent."
"Duke Tavor..." The Mage seethed, "Zat... ZAT PIG!!!"
Varen's worries began to grow, "What do you mean *Duke*

Tavor!"
"Pah! Capitaine, your memory, it gets worse every sun! Zindo's

elder brother, he is a Duke in Merylsward!" Victoire scolded.
A Duke... this was worse than Varen could have imagined.
"What can we do..." Varen brooded. "Guild Invictus has less than
ten members. They're at a great disadvantage to fight a company
of a hundred or more,"
Victoire shook her head, "The Invictus leader, he is a cunning
nobleman. We cannot give up hope, Capitaine."
The sound of teeth breaking interrupted the two. They turned to

Zindo Tavor, his nose and mouth bloodied, and with his two front
teeth missing from his already-crooked grin. Korr held Zindo's
neck in her left hand and her raised right fist was covered in
blood.
"Non, Little Fox, non!!" "Miss Korr, you must restrain yourself!!"
...
After several minutes of Varen unsuccessfully trying to grapple

Korr, Victoire was finally able to calm her down, speaking gently
and even resorting to singing a calming lullaby in the Old
Language. The former Baron, however, had lost more teeth and
his face was as swollen and misshapen-- though Victoire admitted
that Zindo was far worse when he was first transferred to the
adventurer guild's custody. From falling down stairs, she said.
Korr stood outside the cell, looking in. She had washed her hands
and was holding a fat pink plush that somewhat resembled a pig.
Was that new? Varen didn't remember such a thing... but his
memory didn't seem so trustworthy, in recent suns.
It seemed to calm her a bit. But the young lady was still puffing
her cheeks in outward discontent.
"Hur hur hur..." Zindo was determined to have the last, mocking
laugh.
"What else do you have up your sleeve?" Varen asked.
"I'm glad you ath'ed," Zindo spoke, brandishing a new lisp. "My
deare'tht brother hath thought to recruit Macthimuth, an Ethyrian
gladiath'r! Your Baron Thycondriuth HATH NO CHANCE! Hue hue
hue hue hue!!"
Korr pressed her face against the cell's bars with a very loud
bang.
"EEEEE!!!!!" Zindo yelled in shock, falling off of his bed in an

attempt to scramble away from the threat of more pain.
Her eyes seemed to glow a deep red, but Varen reasoned that it
was a trick of the torchlight.
...
After Korr's silent threat, Zindo wisely refused to say any more.
The trio left the cellar and returned to the main hall.
Varen turned to the guild president, "Did you understand any of

that drivel?"
"Sacred gods..." The woman cursed, "Zindo, he speaks of...

Maximus of Ezyria. He is 'Sanctum Parmularius'... a Shield
Warrior of ze Holy Country."
Korr immediately spun on a heel and began walking towards the

exit. Varen called after her, "Miss Korr! Miss Korr, don't be rash!"
She turned her head with glowing red eyes, "I'm leaving. Leader
must be warned."
Chills ran down Varen's spine as she watched her departing form.
Victoire sighed loudly, "Capitaine, you nincompoop. Your Baron

Invictus 'as charmed ze Unbreakable. She needs your support,
not your cowardice."
Varen wiped away sweat at his brow, "Well, it's just that... Sir
Tycondrius gave strict orders to keep Korr here."
"Pah! What do you know!" Victoire threw both of her hands into
the air in exasperation, "Korr, she is a woman of action-- NOT a
piteous damsel who waits patiently for her husband to return from
ze war."
Varen could only give a helpless look in response and silently pray
to the gods for his employer's safety.
Chapter 65 The Patriarch's
Return
imura Daigo, Patriarch of the Kimura family, stepped foot into his
K
own home after weeks of absence.
The other members of the Kimura family rejoiced at his arrival.
"The Patriarch has returned!" "Welcome back, Patriarch!"

"Patriarch!"
Daigo was pleased. When he'd left, the impending Calamity had
hung over the family's head like an axe ready to fall. Seeing his
entire household, full of gloom and hopelessness, he vowed to
grow stronger. He needed to do all that he could to rekindle the
spark in the Kimura family, to drive them to seek success, to
flourish within the sect.
He gave passing greetings to his loyal family members and

immediately made his way to the central hall. He would shoulder
the burdens of his Ivory Judge sect by himself if he had to.
...
"Uncle Kakui," Daigo addressed his Uncle and Chief Advisor.

"Summon the Elders."
Daigo sat imposingly on the central throne. He had changed into

the flowing golden robes of the Kimura family, heirloom blades
worn on his side. He wore his flowing, silvery hair in a high
ponytail held by sticks, dashing and wild, like the heroes of
legend. He flashed a masculine smile at Kagehisa Yumiko, his
gorgeous wife, who swooned exaggeratedly with her hands to her
heart, "My husband is so manly!"
Damn straight, he is.
Elder Kakui gave a light bow of obeisance, "Of course, Patriarch.

What shall I tell them?"
Daigo grinned widely. To answer the elder's question, he allowed

some of his aura to leak through unrestrained.
Elder Kakui stumbled back a step in surprise, "N-n-nascent

Profound Realm?!"
"That's right. I've been in the Otherworldly Formation for nearly a

year and have finally broken through, increasing my speed and
strength several-fold."
"Patriarch! That's wonderful news!"
Daigo's smile hardened and turned grave, "I know I have given
our family hope with my return... Where before, it was an
impossible task, I now believe I have a 30% chance to succeed.
But I will need your help, Uncle, along with that of the other elders.
We will resolve the Guardian Beast's condition together..."
Daigo stood up and clenched his fists, releasing his aura, "For the
fate of the sect!!"
Elder Kakui furrowed his eyebrows with a wry smile, "Patriarch...

that."
Yumiko gave a polite bow, "Dear husband, the Guardian Beast's

issue has already been resolved. For several suns now, the
Guardian Beast has made several appearances. The sect's
morale is high and the younger generation is improving their
martial arts rapidly."
Daigo's smile twitched. The biggest tribulation the sect had

suffered in his lifetime had passed and he had no part in its
liberation. A slight part of his heart ached that he wasn't the
foretold hero of the Calamity... but ultimately, he decided he was
happy as long as his family is safe.
He released a deep sigh of tension and plopped back down into
his seat. He reached out to hold Yumiko's soft hand, "Thank you,
dear wife."
"Patriarch, shall I still summon the elders?" Kakui offered.
"Uh... no need," Daigo shook his head. "News of my arrival should

have already reached them..."
Daigo steepled his fingers and crossed his legs, "Instead, I wish to
see Shiroma, Akira, and the Mahoutsukai, Seiji Hojo. Now that I've
had my breakthrough, I'm confident in... dealing with them."
He'd always known about traitors amongst their ranks. It was just,
he hadn't had the overwhelming strength to call them out on it.
Kakui looked troubled, "Patriarch... Those three in particular..."
Daigo raised an eyebrow, "Don't tell me you've been fooled by

them, Uncle. It was quite obvious they've been working against us
for some time now!"
Kakui laughed nervously.
Yumiko squeezed Daigo's hand and smiled gently, "Dear

husband, what Elder Kakui may be trying to say is... those three
have taken an extended leave of absence and have yet to return."
"Oh... well. Surely, they grew worried of my return." Daigo nodded

slowly in understanding, "How uh... long have they been gone
for?"
"Nearly a week now, dear husband."
Daigo adjusted himself in his seat... "What a strange coincidence.

Very well..."
That piece of news was stranger still... But though the shadows
darken, the light of justice shall eventually prevail. Daigo shelved
his worries and moved his thoughts to something more pleasant.
He smiled at his beautiful wife, "How is... my daughter?"

"--Our daughter," Yumiko gently corrected.
"--our daughter." Daigo coughed. "Before the Otherworldly

Formation opened, I sent Taree to try to recruit a large or medium
mercenary company in Aviard to assist in defending the family."
Elder Kakui broke into a radiant smile, "Yes, Patriarch! She has
performed admirably! The Outsiders are quite strong. From what I
understand, they played a large part in the Guardian Beast's
convalescence."
Daigo applauded, "Yes! How many mercenaries have joined with

our Kimura family? 200? 100? Several dozen battle-hardened
elites?"
"Five men and two horses, dear husband," Yumiko answered.
Daigo choked on his own saliva, coughing violently. Yumiko firmly

massaged her husband's back.
Daigo nodded contentedly, wiping tears from his eyes, "It seems...
Taree has a good eye for people, then? ...I hope to groom her to
be the next leader of the sect..."
He shut his eyes and thought of the future... "I believe it is near
time for our lovely daughter to journey outside of the sect and
experience the world."
Yumiko smiled with closed eyes, "Little Taree has made one of the
Outsiders her little boyfriend."
Daigo felt as if a bolt of lightning had struck his heart, "Wait,

WHAAAAAT?! Uncle Kakui, IS THIS TRUE?!?"
Elder Kakui wiped the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief,
"That--"
"Speak to me of this man!!" Daigo demanded, "How old is he?!

What sect is he in? Who are his parents?! Is he strong??"
Kakui bit his upper lip, "He's... he's young. Very young. I don't
know his lineage but he does have... peculiar features. And he's
quite strong for his age."
Daigo stood up from his chair, "I will see to this young man! He
must be tested! I wish to challenge him in Mortal Kombat!!"
Yumiko squeezed her husband's hand with a bit of force, "Be nice.
I have given the boy my blessing."
A cold deluge of dejection washed over Daigo's spirits. It was rare

when his wife had a strong opinion about something... and when
she had her mind set. Hm. No matter how strong Daigo was, he
would not risk antagonizing his wife. He had no wish to be on the
opposite end of her bow's deadly precision.
...And he had not grown enough in power that he could forego

sleep.
He coughed as he sat back down, "O-okay, then. I... look forward

to meeting him."
Yumiko giggled lightly in amusement.
Daigo struggled to change the topic, "How is... my-- our son,
then?"
Elder Kakui pursed his lips, "Patriarch... several suns prior, Young
Master Tamaki was kidnapped."
The battle-hardened patriarch stood up with a wicked grin, "Ah,

excellent news."
He was growing frustrated that he hadn't yet found a problem he

could act upon.
Yumiko glared. Oh. His excitement had come out wrong.
Daigo cleared his throat, "Uncle Kakui, arrange for two squads of

warriors and archers to accompany Yumiko and I. I'm sure this is
the Muto family's doing, as only they would be so brazen to kidnap
my-- err... our one and only son."
Daigo grinned with a radiant smile, "Come, my love, and bear
witness to my blade! On my honor, I will save our son before the
sun falls!"
Yumiko had covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a laugh.
Daigo gazed helplessly at his beautiful wife, his excitement

immediately faded, "Dear wife... Is your foolish husband missing
something?"
"Little Tamaki has already been rescued. I'll have him come home
for dinner."
Daigo slumped back into his chair.
He glared up to Elder Kakui. His uncle could only smile

apologetically.
Daigo let out a deep sigh, "Dear wife... I'm hungry."
Kagehisa Yumiko kissed her husband on the cheek, "I'll have the
kitchens prepare a feast for dinner. But you can sate your hunger
on some of the smoked meats."
...But he was hungry now... Daigo's stomach threatened to rumble

in protest, "Smoked meats? Since when has our family dabbled in
smoked meats?"
"It's a favorite of the Outsiders and is growing in popularity in the

sect."
Daigo returned a warm smile as he stood to hug his wife.
"The Outsiders, our saviors?" He mused. Some food was better

than none "Then please, my love, indulge me."
Yumiko returned his embrace, "Welcome home, dear."

Chapter 66 Maximus Of Ezyria
lemont rubbed his hands together and placed them upon his
C
cheeks. Even in the late winter, the Mosswood Wilds teemed with
life, thick moss, curious wildlife, and vibrant gold and green leaves
flowing in the chill wind.
Thankfully, the Wizard had done his research on the area and had
packed warmly. He was always quite good at preparation and
theory, becoming an established Circle Mage and graduating with
the highest honors at the magical colleges of Arcanix. His
versatility and counsel gained him a reputation among
adventuring companies, ultimately becoming the Vice Leader of
Guild Staghorn.
Walking forward with his ornate, darkwood quarterstaff, he

approached his superior, "Sir Leserre."
The older, Heavy Armor Knight turned, his entire set of armor
clanking noisily with the movements. He lifted up his visor to
reveal a healthy face and a luxurious mustache, "Speak with your
chest, Clemont! I can barely understand you, speaking out of your
nose like that."
Clemont wryly smiled and flared his nostrils, "Right... I wanted to

ask you about Mister Vanzano."
"You mean the Paladin!? Worth every copper, hiring that one!
Haha!"
Clemont adjusted his circular glasses, "With respect, Sir Knight,

not every combatant from the Holy Country is a Paladin. I believe
Mister Vanzano is a gladiator from the arenas in his territory, a
Parmularius, to be exact."
Leserre returned a blank stare, "But he... crusades for the Eternal
Flame, right?"
Clemont nodded, "That is a general assumption of anyone from

the Holy Country, which I believe to be true in Mister Vanzano's
case."
"'Deus Vult, Die Heretics!' am I right?" Leserre chuckled. "We've

got a name for people like that. We call them Paladins."
Clemont pursed his lips. There was no arguing with the man.
Leserre's strong gloved hand patted Clemont's back, nearly

toppling him, "Oh, don't be such a fuss, Wizard! What does it
matter whether he's a Paladin or a delicious cheese? The
Company's paid good coin for his assistance."
Clemont frowned, inwardly thankful for the sturdiness of his

quarterstaff, "As with all new hires, I would prefer to.. How can I
term this...? Keep my eye on him."
"Whaaaat? What's the harm in it? He's a Paladin! It's not like he's
a Rogue or an Assassin." Leserre twirled his mustache
emphatically.
"It is not that I suspect him of lying... But you understand that the
Kingdom and the Holy Country haven't always been the best of
allies."
"Well, yes." Leserre looked confused, "But, actually no."
Clemont nodded, reminding himself to make a point before

Leserre grew bored, "Mercenaries from the Holy Country...
Paladins, then... They always have a purpose, a cause that they
follow. You see, in the Kingdom and in the Free Nation, the cause
is almost always coin. But in the Holy Country? Sometimes, it's as
easy as hunting heretics. Just as easily, it's as abstract as...
delivering justice. I do not yet know the cause of Mister Gian
Vanzano."
Leserre ineffectually scratched his metal helmet. A falcon cried
above their heads, and the pair glanced up and followed its path
as it returned to its nearby falconer.
"Well. how about you ask him, yourself?" Leserre motioned for
Clemont to follow.
Several Staghorns made way for the Knight and Wizard, allowing
them to step over the ridge. Clemont heard the yells of the scouts
as he came into view of the man.
"Maximus! Maximus!" The other scouts chanted.
The Parmularius known as Maximus, actual name Gian Vanzano,

was a handsome dark-haired youth. He wore a form-fitting muscle
cuirass of brilliant polished silver, revealing an athlete's sleek and
functional biceps, and a stylized battle skirt showing off lithe, well-
muscled legs. In Maximus' left, he carried a golden circular shield
emblazoned with a black lightning bolt. In his right, he wielded a
simple spear.
Behind him, the scouts dragged a massive, 3 yalm tall green-

furred bipedal monster... and with the way the men cheered, it
seemed the man had killed it by himself.
Clemont found the notion ridiculous.
Even Leserre started to chant, "Maximus! Maximus!! Hohoho!"
The gladiator raised his spear up high and spread out two blue
gigantic dragon wings on his back. Though there wasn't a cloud in
the sky, lightning struck down at the tip of Maximus' spear, with
the resulting crack of thunder, almost deafening. The dozens of
men in the forest clearing only cheered and applauded louder.
Clemont's eyes were as wide as dinner plates, "A Gann... I've

read about them at the Arcanix library... They're powerful
creatures boasting great strength and a transformation ability
when injured."
One of the scouts ran up to report, "That's not all, Master Wizard!
The Paladin felled the Gann in a single blow!"
A round of cheers resounded from the scout's declaration.
Maximus, the man of the hour, strode up to Knight Leserre and

Clemont. Upon closer observation, small blue reptilian scales
were present on the man's naked shoulders and biceps. That and
his conspicuous scaled wings marked him as a claimant to a blue-
scaled draconic bloodline.
"Sorry, Knight Leserre." The gladiator spoke in a gruff voice, "Your

guys didn't get a chance to show off. I didn't think it'd be so weak.
"
"Not a problem, Paladin! With you here, the mission's as good as

done!!" Knight Leserre began to laugh heartily, embracing
Maximus with unabashed delight.
Clemont kept his peace, forcing a smile. It was not his place to
question an ally so well-loved by the Company... He just didn't feel
comfortable having a man so powerful among their ranks.
...
Twenty archers stood in the tree branches, hidden by the thick

canopy of branches, practiced in their silent movements.
The archer squad leader caught Kagehisa Yumiko's eye and

communicated through hand motions.
[Single Target] [Outsider] [Ready to Fire, Waiting on Command]
Yumiko held a hand out. [Wait]
She thought she saw something familiar. A group of five Outsiders

had only recently saved the Ivory Judge sect. She prioritized
benevolence rather than outright hostility. She would observe the
lone Outsider for harmful intent before she ordered their life taken.
After a moment of quiet observation, Yumiko identified that the

woman held a very familiar pink pig plush beneath her arm.
"Cheerio, I'm going down. You can stay here."
Squad Leader Chihiro looked back with mouth agape, "M-madam

Yumiko, you can't just--"
Yumiko tilted her head and smiled warmly. With a light wave, she
backflipped off of the sturdy tree branch-- Chihiro wouldn't be able
to stop her.
Leaping and swinging deftly from branch to branch, Yumiko

quickly descended to the forest floor. Her gentle landing only
allowed the golden leaves on the ground to gently tremble in
greeting. She had landed in front of the Outsider's horse, causing
it to rear back in panic.
"Hello~ Outsider! Do you know whose lands you are trespassing?"

Yumiko winked with a smile at the younger woman.
Chapter 67 Unforgivable
Betrayal
eldin Korr, the Unbreakable, held fast to the horse's reins, trying
S
to keep him steady. Her mount reared and bucked in complaint,
but she would not be thrown off so easily.
"Shhh. Mister Hurricane. Calm down," She whispered.
Mister Hurricane did not calm down.
A beautiful blonde woman in black and yellow robes stood in their

path, holding a peculiarly shaped longbow, "Um? Miss Outsider?"
"Hi, I'm fine, thanks," Korr responded, trying to keep her balance.
Her tummy muscles were feeling sore.
"Miss... did you need assistance?"
"No, I'm good." Korr hugged the horse's neck.
"Mister Hurricane, you are embarrassing me in front of company,"

She whispered.
Hurricane neighed disobediently and, with Korr unbalanced, he

was finally able to buck the lithe woman off of her saddle. She
stood up and dusted off her leather trousers and long-sleeved
shirt, rubbing her sore buttocks in an unladylike manner.
She wasn't wearing armor because it was still broken. She kept
forgetting to put in the order to repair it. Stupid.
She turned and watched Hurricane gallop off.

"Be free, Mister Hurricane." She muttered. "If we ever meet again,
you will pay for your sudden but inevitable betrayal with your life."
Her adventuring supplies were still attached to the horse, her

rations, her bedroll-- everything but her weapons and her newest
huggable plushie.
Leader had sent it to her via the Courier's Guild. It was her favorite
thing.
The archer cleared her throat, "Was that... your horse?"
Korr turned to face her, "Mister Hurricane and I are no longer on

speaking terms."
The archer raised up a dainty hand to her mouth, stifling a giggle,

"My name is Yumiko. May I ask for yours?"
Korr drew a sword, "My name is Korr."
With a twirl of her hands, the archer deftly nocked an arrow onto
her bowstring, but didn't yet draw back on it, "Usually, trespassers
are dealt with harshly and lethally."
Korr didn't say anything.
Yumiko smiled awkwardly, "Um. Miss Outsider?"
"Yes?"
"You're trespassing."
"Oh...." She was? That was embarrassing. Korr relaxed her

shoulders and resheathed her sword.
"Should I go back?" Korr pointed behind her with her thumb.
The blonde woman smiled gently, the type of smile where her
eyes closed when she smiled wide enough, "That depends, Korr.
Where are you looking to go?"
Korr frowned. She didn't dislike this woman. But she talked a bit
much... It reminded Korr of President Victoire back in Nice... "Ivory
Judge sect."
The archer opened one eye, looking somewhat treacherous,

"Then you're headed in the right direction."
Korr nodded slowly in understanding as she drew her sword once

more, "Then I have to get past you..."
"But before we begin, I'd like to know... why you have..." The
smiling archer pointed, "that?"
...What was she pointing at. Her sword?
Korr held her blade up, "This is Michael. I got this for 95 silver
when we visited Passage. I had to borrow coin from..."
"Oh, nonono, I'm sorry." The archer replied, a bit troubled. "I
meant to ask about... that." She pointed again.
"Oh. I'm sorry?" Korr resheathed her sword.
The two stared at each other awkwardly... before Korr slowly drew
the handaxe on her thigh, "This is Adele?"
After another moment of silence, Korr continued, "Adele was

Leader's gift to me for my 20th nameday-- oh, not New Leader, I
mean Old Leader--"
The archer hesitated for a moment before putting her arrow away.
"And what's that?"
Korr pouted, slightly confused. But she supposed she could

answer the nice lady's questions... She put Adele back in her
sheath before drawing the curved blade on her lower back...
...
Kagehisa Chihiro stood by with a twitching eyebrow. She had sent

out most of the remaining archers to track the other Outsiders'
movements while her charge, Lady Yumiko, had been fooling
around with the Outsider, Korr.
It had almost been a full bell. Yumiko was braiding the woman's
long, dark red hair while listening to the Outsider tell stories about
her weapons.
"Madam, can we just... shoot her, already?" Chihiro whispered.

"The one-eyed Outsider is obviously a villain."
"Whaaaat? Of course not, little Cheerio. Little Korr is the sweetest

thing!" Yumiko happily hummed. "My daughter likes her hair short,
so I haven't been able to braid hair for years."
"O...kay. How... do we know she's not, Madam?"
Yumiko finished braiding Korr's hair into two long ponytails. The
pale yellow ribbons added a charming contrast with the dark red.
"Alright, little Korr. Would you tell us about the Poogie you're
holding?"
Korr reflexively hugged the pink pig plush in her arms, "What
would you know about Percival?"
Yumiko patted the fully grown adult woman on her head, "I knitted
Percival myself."
Korr seemed to relax a bit, "Oh... It was... a gift."
A tinge of blush colored her cheeks, which immediately caught

Yumiko's attention.
Yumiko recognized the pig plush as one she had crocheted for her
daughter. Warrior Tycon had demanded the cheaply but lovingly
made plush as additional payment for the monumental quest of
saving the sect-- an action that showed the magnanimity of Guild
Invictus. She had wondered what the Warrior had done with it...
but it seemed to be part of the package Tycon had sent to the
outside world. Seeing it in Korr's hands, the woman must have
had a unique status in the guild.
Chihiro complained to Yumiko in hushed tones, "Madam... I still
don't think we can trust her. She's clearly a scout for the hundred
others! Why would her arrival be so coincidental with theirs,
otherwise?"
Yumiko turned to the braided Korr, "Little Korr, did you bring one-
hundred men with you to the Ivory Judge sect?"
"Nope. Just me and Hurricane. Why?"
Chihiro fell to the ground, screaming, "Why would you just

aaaaaassskkk??!"
Yumiko faced Korr and put her hands on her cheeks. Korr didn't
particularly react to it, "So you said Percival was a gi~ft?"
Korr nodded, her cheeks squished in Yumiko's hands.
"Then you must know Warrior Ty~con?" Yumiko grinned.
Suddenly, Yumiko turned to Chihiro, "Cheerio!! Korr's burning up!

This is so adorable!"
Chihiro looked worriedly at the reddening Korr, "Madam, I think

she's trying to say something."
Yumiko released the poor twin-braided girl, letting her speak, "Sir
Tycon is... my..."
The two girls leaned forward. Yumiko was invested. Chihiro just
liked gossip.
"...Savior."
Yumiko placed her hands on her heart, swooning, "Oh, I love it."
Chihiro crossed her arms, "That's not where I thought that was
going, but okay."
Yumiko smirked, "Did you want to tell Auntie Yumiko why you've
come, little Korr?"
Hesitantly, the girl nodded, "I'm here to warn Leader... the
Staghorn guild is coming for him."
Understanding dawned in Yumiko's eyes, "So it seems the other

Outsiders in the guild seek to harm Guild Invictus, our benefactor.
Cheerio."
Chihiro bowed lightly, "Madam."
"Mobilize one-hundred Martialists of our Ivory Judge sect. The

other families should be eager to compete for the favor of our
Kimura family and Guild Invictus. Oh, and make sure Guild
Invictus and my husband are informed."
Chihiro smiled weakly, "Very well, but... cousin, you know my

name isn't Chiirio, it's... Chihiro, right?"
Yumiko smiled, her eyes were thin, nearly closed-- but her cheeks
didn't smile along with them, "Did I stutter, darling cousin?"
A chill ran down Chihiro's spine. She inwardly cursed for

questioning a Master Archer, "N-no, Madam. I'll be going, then."
Chapter 68 Rise Up
"Sir Leserre!"
A shorter Staghorn archer with slightly pointed ears ran to Knight

Leserre, golden leaves crisping below his feet.
"Well? Out with it, Scout. Are we under attack again?" Leserre
poked Maximus playfully with a metal elbow, "Perhaps you could
show the Staghorns how it's done, my good man?"
"Yeah, don't do that," Maximus replied in a gruff voice.
The scout stared awkwardly. Clemont interjected to save Knight

Leserre from more embarrassment, "Report."
"Y-yes, Master Wizard. The road is blocked," the scout was

trembling, nervous.
Clemont adjusted his glasses and observed the man for a

moment, "Is it the enemy? What of their number? ...Do they have
armor units or magic casters? What weapons do they have?"
Clemont tried to prod the scout with leading questions, but the
man seemed reluctant to speak, "Well, about that... There's... just
one. And she's an archer."
Knight Leserre grabbed the scout and shook him, "Juuuust ONE?!
And it's a SHE?!?!"
Maximus spoke, his face twisted with displeasure. From the few
interactions Clemont had with him, he only seemed to voice his
disdain, "There are dangerous women in your Kingdom. Have you
heard of The Unbreakable?"
Clemont crossed his arms. He had no issues with gender equality,
but was more interested in countering the mercenary hire, "The
Unbreakable's been retired for years."
Maximus shut his eyes, crossing his arms to mirror Clemont. The
light that streamed through the forest's gold leaf canopy made the
blue scales on the man's shoulders shine. Quietly, he muttered,
"You don't get to retire in this kind of life..."
The wizard grimaced. He had no counter for such an ominous

statement. Wizards in the Kingdom went from school to
contracting with the government or an adventuring company or a
noble house or business. Even older wizards became teachers or
researchers, private or independent. There was no such thing as
retirement.
Leserre growled, "The Unbreakable?! Well, that's a fat chance to

nothing out here in the Mosswood Wilds! Come, Staghorns! Let's
have a look at this terrifying woman!"
...
The blonde woman, Kagehisa Yumiko, stood alone.
She wore exotic black and yellow robes embroidered with thorns
and flowers. In her dainty hands, she wielded a warbow of her
family's design, taller than she was. A heavy quiver hung from her
side, its open flap revealing dozens of arrows.
Leserre, Clemont, and the scout strode up to the front of the

company, Knight Leserre's heavy armor clanking announcing their
arrival, "A fine woman! Come to parlay, has she? We must be
careful! The words of women are toxic! Poisonous! Not to be
trusted!"
The scout coughed, averting his gaze, "Sir Leserre, she's crippled
2 of our men already."
The Heavy Armor Knight's face twisted in confusion, "Wait, what?

Then why haven't we attacked her yet? We should be
ATTACKING her!!"
The scout paled, "Sir... I-- we..."
Clemont placed a hand on the scout's shoulder, "Take a deep

breath. Tell us what you know."
The scout glanced fearfully at the physically imposing Knight, but

nodded to the Wizard, "Master Wizard, one of our archers tried to
fire a warning shot. But the woman shot off his fingers."
Clemont's eyes narrowed, "An expert shot, then. But that's not
impressive enough to strike fear in the hearts of Guild Staghorn."
The scout frowned, "Corthas said some... uh... choice words to

the lady."
The wizard clicked his tongue. Corthas was a rude individual who
often boasted about his sexual escapades and had a penchant for
bawdry tales. If anyone in Guild Staghorn were to be reported for
sexual harassment or worse, Corthas would be the first Clemont
would suspect.
"What happened to him, then?"
"Half a dozen arrows in seconds, Master Wizard."
Clemont raised an eyebrow, "Impressive speed. And accurate

then?"
The scout visibly shivered, "Precise. Too precise, Master Wizard.

Every shot hit Corthas in the jewels. Nary a man dares ta act after
that display."
Leserre groaned loudly, "Bwhaaaaat? Send the WOMEN then!?"
A female archer shouted back, "But Sir! F*ck that guy!"
A wave of murmuring went through the company. Knight Leserre

scowled. Clemont smiled weakly. Having Corthas in the company
had always been an issue for morale, but it seemed the archer
took care of the problem for them.
Clemont tapped his quarterstaff against the ground, in thought,
"Nothing will be done unless someone opens a dialogue."
Knight Leserre waddled to within shouting distance of the archer,

"You there! Archer! What purpose do you have attacking Guild
Staghorn?!"
The blonde woman smiled-- a coy and arrogant smile that

Clemont was familiar with. He had seen it often, the knowing
smirk of a rich and powerful mage woman, whose status and
power afforded her the world.
Clemont felt incredibly uneasy.
"You are trespassing on the lands of the Ivory Judge sect! Turn
back, Outsiders!" the woman yelled in a light, but stern voice.
Leserre chuckled to himself, laughing at a joke only he found

amusing, "How about you go back home and wash some dishes,
woman! Your threats don't work here!"
Leserre turned back to Clemont, grinning. Clemont was making

rapid cutting motions along his neck, 'You idiot! It's okay to insult
the enemy, but don't insult a fifth of the company along with them!'
Seeing Clemont's reaction and the glares of every single female

warrior and scout in the company, Knight Leserre coughed in
embarrassment, "Anyroad, we can't just leave, lass. We're
searching for a Dark Guild... An eeeevil guild! ...A Guild Invictus!
Have ye--"
"--Guild Invictus is under the protection of the Ivory Judge sect,"

the archer declared.
The Knight and the Archer glared at each other in hostility. The
woman hadn't saved an onze of Leserre's face.
The woman raised her chin haughtily. She didn't yell, but her voice
was clear, "Turn back, Outsiders. You are not welcome here."
Leserre's face had turned bright red from anger. He dropped the
visor to his full-helmet and roared, "Then I've only one choice!!
ARCHERS!!"
Clemont put a palm onto his face. He had lost much of his
confidence in the mission. There was far too much coin involved
for the mission to be so straightforward.
Near three dozen men and women nocked arrows into their bows
or loaded their crossbows, aiming them at the lone woman.
The massive armored Knight crossed his arms, his voice dark and
echoing in his helmet, "Have ye got anything left ta say, girl?"
The girl drew an arrow with a flourish and pointed her bow to the
sky.
"Rise up, sons and daughters of the Ivory Judge sect! The sect
has raised you, nurtured you, protected you! And now the enemy
has arrived at our gates and they seek to harm your friends, your
family, your way of life!!"
Leserre began to babble, "No, wait-- that's not what I--"
The woman fired the arrow into the air, emitting a heaven-piercing
screech.
"Death to the enemies of Invictus!!" the woman screamed.
And enemies and arrows began to rain down from the trees.
Chapter 69 Worth Every
Copper
he sounds of battle hung in the air, the clanging of metal, the

T
firing of arrows, men and women yelling. Kagehisa Yumiko walked
back to where Seldin Korr was hiding.
"So where did you say you came from again, my lovely
daughter?"
Korr blinked. Since when had she become Yumiko's daughter?

"Um. I came from Nice."
Yumiko offered her a triangular item wrapped in leaves. Korr

opened it immediately and found a fragrant sweet rice cake. Korr
decided she didn't have any more questions. Nom.
Yumiko smiled, tilting her head cutely, "Nice?"
"Nice," Korr confirmed.
"Nice."
"Um. Yumiko?" Korr nibbled away at the rice cake, but she still
had concerns.
"Yes, daughter?"
"Should we... be helping?"
Yumiko gave Korr a sudden embrace. Korr had kept a tight grasp
on the leaf-wrapped rice cake, so she was okay with it. "Aww!
You're so sweet, daughter. But don't worry, our Ivory Judge sect
isn't so easy to bully."
...
A 6-fulm tall armored tank waded through the battlefield. Clemont

was fending off an Ivory Judge swordsman with his staff. With a
heavy swing of his arm, the end of Leserre's flail caught the
swordsman's head.
Clemont exhaled a sigh of relief but lamented at the sword marks

on his freshly damaged staff, "My thanks, Sir Leserre."
The Knight walked up to the swordsman in the orange tunic and

brought his flail down upon the man's head once more. He turned
to Clemont and flipped his visor up to reveal his face, "Seven
hells! These buggers are resilient! That one was still moving!"
Clemont adjusted his circular glasses, "Not an isolated incident,

then?"
Leserre shook his head, "Our numbers are about even, but it
looks like our men are having trouble in one-on-one combat."
Clemont glared at Leserre. Leserre stepped in front of Clemont,

blocking some arrows with his armored body, "What?"
"Since when does Guild Staghorn train to fight in single combat?"

Clemont chastised the bigger man.
"Ohhhh, riiiight." Leserre turned about and yelled, "Archers!! Take

out the ranged threats! The rest of you lot!! Close ranks!! Attack in
teams of 3!!"
The sound of horns blared, an unmistakable sound amidst the

chaos, and the company as a whole began to form into its
practiced formations.
"There! How was that, ya grumpy old wizard!" Leserre twirled his
sweat and blood covered mustache.
Clemont rolled his eyes. He was Leserre's junior by several years.

Instead of answering, he rapidly made four gestures with his left
hand and channeled mana through his staff, "Just cover me,
Emilien."
A sparking blue sphere of energy swirled at the end of Clemont's

staff-- not to the level of Maximus' mana, but still dangerous.
"Shock Sphere."
With another gesture, the sphere darted away, colliding with a

group of orange-clothed Martialists. Electricity coursed through
their bodies and they fell to the ground, frothing at the mouth.
Clemont felt some of his confidence return. As resilient as the sect
warriors were, his spells remained effective.
Leserre whistled, "That's our Wizard! A hundred times better than

I could ever do!"
Clemont sighed, "If you'd applied yourself, you'd be able to cast

something more complicated than a middle-schooler can."
The knight laughed shamelessly as the pair waded back into the
melee.
...
The lone Martialist landed in front of Gian Vanzano. Gian and his
allies looked up. The man had fallen an impressive distance and
had landed unscathed.
"Ha! You don't look so tough, warrior!" The youth, bereft of armor,
wearing merely an orange tunic and trousers, bounced playfully in
a boxing stance, "Is that a shield? What are you, scared?"
The Staghorn mercenaries gripped their weapons uneasily. Gian

clenched his left hand, his arm covered by a shining metal shield.
He spun his spear in a flourish in his main hand while staring
impassively in observation of his opponent, "You talk too much..."
One of Staghorn's axe warriors stepped up to Gian's side, "Sir

Maximus, shall we surround this one?"
In a blur of silver armor, Gian had closed the gap between himself
and the orange Martialist. With a clang of metal, the Martialist was
forced back. Gian stared at his spear in suspicion.
The axe warrior was confused, "Sir Maximus... did you just..."
Gian nodded wordlessly and narrowed his eyes as they began to

glow an electric blue from his residual mana. The axe warrior
gulped and with a hand motion, he and the Staghorn took a
defensive step backward.
The youth rubbed his chest, grinning, "Haha! Was that all,
Outsider?! I'll have you know, I'm the 5th strongest man in the
Ivory Sect's young generation! Tremble in fear and hear my
name!! For I am--"
Gian Vanzano unfolded his draconic blue wings. "Tremble in fear."

Raising his wings up to the sky, Gian's height dwarfed his
opponent. The Martialist gawked, his ability to gloat suddenly
absent.
"Hear. MY. Name." In a crackling rush of blue, the dragonborn

moved.
"Tch. What use are wings here?!! Bring it on!!" The Martialist
yelled as he prepared to block the attack.
Gian drew back his spear, his shield forward.
"Maximus."
Like a bolt of lightning, he thrust his spear forward, easily piercing

through the youth's chest. The man began to scream in pain. But
the screams became halting as magical electricity coursed
through the man's body and the smell of ozone and burnt flesh
filled the air.
Gian bashed the youth off of his spear with his shield before
leaping forward again, "Maximus."
The man's spear pierced through the youth's skull and it burst
open like a cracked watermelon, showering bits of charred fat.
A Staghorn archer vomited.
The axe warrior dry heaved but was able to hold on in front of his
juniors, "Treat the Martialists as if they're wearing armor! Blunt
weapons and vulnerable points! We've trained for this!"
"Yes, sir!" they resounded.
...
Knight Leserre smashed his flail into a Martialist's ankles,

fracturing the woman's leg and taking her off of her feet. As he
raised his flail a second time, he stopped as he noticed a sect
swordsman screaming and rushing at him from his blind spot.
An arrow in the side of the man's neck stopped his charge. And a
brief moment later, a second, further piercing arrow dropped him.
Leserre nodded as he dropped his flail on the fallen woman's face,

"Good, well done! Scout, report!"
The scout from earlier had returned and nodded to both Knight
Leserre and Wizard Clemont, "Heavy casualties, Sir Knight. But
Sir Maximus' magic has wrought more casualties to the enemy
forces than they've done ours."
Clemont furrowed his brows, "What? Are you serious?"
The scout grinned, "'Tis glorious, Master Wizard. Maximus calls

down lightning and thunder like he's a demigod."
Clemont nodded, "Sacred gods, I've heard the Dovahkiin are

strong in the ways of magic... but that sounds ridiculous."
Leserre laughed, elbowing the gangly wizard, "Worth every

copper, eh?"
The scout nodded with a smile, "We might win this one yet."
Clemont allowed himself a smile. Perhaps he was too quick to
abandon hope for Guild Staghorn.
And then he noticed that the scout's right eye had sprouted an
arrow shaft.
Chapter 70 A Terrifying
Woman
agehisa Yumiko drew back her warbow and released another

K
arrow. With it, another enemy scout dropped to the ground.
Korr watched with envy. When she was younger, she was
respectable with a bow, being able to pull the heaviest of draws
with relative ease. The elven archer in her old team told her that
her back looked like the raw, rippling muscles of a sexy, murdering
tigress.
When she lost her eye, her depth perception was crippled as well.
She could only accept her fate and rely on weapons that served
her in melee. Seeing her new mother's skill, though, lit the fires of
pride in her heart.
Korr's instincts told her that she could trust Yumiko. And the
archer told her to stay hidden. Korr thought that it would be very
nice if Yumiko and the Ivory Judge sect could rout the enemy
without more reinforcements.
Korr had saved Barza Keith in the past with her fists. If Guild
Staghorn dared to hurt new-Mom Yumiko, she would use those
same two hands to murder every Staghorn she could.
...
"Hold still, woman!" Knight Leserre smashed his iron flail into the
ground, rocks and golden leaves spilling into the air.
Kagehisa Yumiko nimbly leapt away, firing an arrow that failed to

pierce the man's heavy armor.
"Why do you seek Guild Invictus?" Yumiko spoke sharply, firing
another three arrows at the crowd of Staghorn warriors.
Clemont raised a mana shield around himself and those around

him, but an arrow still took a casualty, two yalms away. "Sir Knight,
would you please stop toying with the enemy?"
Leserre swiped his flail repeatedly in an 8-pattern, "Seven hells,

Wizard, can't you see I'm TRYING?!"
Fed up with his inaccuracy, Leserre threw his flail at the jumping
woman. He ran forward, a clamoring mess unsheathing a
longsword. Attacking with a downward swipe, Yumiko was finally
unable to dodge. She threw a fist forward to block the sword, but
the weapon bit an ilm deep into her knucklebones.
"'Tis none of yer business why we're tryin' ta take out Invictus.
Buuuut let's just say there's a lot of money involved!"
"You fiend!" Yumiko growled. Sweat dripped down her brow from
the pain, and she adjusted her breathing to alleviate it.
'I must unseal it... the Kagehisa Forbidden Technique. I've already
passed it down to my daughter. I can die without regrets...'
Yumiko thought of her husband, Kimura Daigo. He was the one

that forbid her to use the technique, 'Please forgive me, dear
husband. Your dear wife can't heed your words on this sun.'
With the force and fury of a thousand falling suns, she kicked
Knight Leserre in the groin.
It was a beautifully executed kick, utilizing a natural rotation of her

body. Her bones and skin had undergone hardening and training.
As an archer, she was not as accomplished as a swordsman or
boxer, but her shin bone was harder than her fists or feet.
A crack reverberated throughout the forest, a codpiece broken.

Golden leaves fell from their trees. Baby birds wept for their
mother to return. A pack wolf howled, lamenting the loss of one of
their own.
A single tear fell hot, down Clemont's eye, "Sir Knight... Your
sacrifice will not be in vain."
Raising his hand up, he began to extract a cold, purplish mana

from his surroundings, "Chill Strike."
"C-clemont!" Leserre yelled, the pitch noticeably higher than his

usual baritone.
Feeling a hint of danger, Clemont immediately canceled the spell,

the purple mana dissipating in a flash. A thrown weapon bounced
harmlessly off his mana shield-- the yellow-robed woman
managed to throw it while his concentration lapsed. A line of blood
spilled from his mouth from the mana recoil, but it was better than
a knife in his throat, "What a terrifying woman."
...
A woman in a white long-sleeved shirt walked out from behind a

tree. She wore walking clothes and only carried a sword and a
handaxe.
"Another woman who looks like she doesn't belong on the

battlefield," Clemont lamented. He glanced to his left and right,
noticing none of the others in Guild Staghorn were moving to
attack her. The woman in yellow likely elevated their caution.
What was worrisome was that the dark-haired woman didn't say
anything. With her clothing, she wasn't part of the sect-- she just
looked like a normal merchant girl of the Kingdom. But when her
hair swished to the side, she revealed a scar and a glass eye.
Clemont narrowed his eyes in deep suspicion and his heart

palpitated in nervousness, 'Dark hair. One eye. But no armor...?
No. Two out of three signs. She couldn't be who I'm worried
about...'
The girl lifted the handaxe and sent a rapid spinning circle straight
at Knight Leserre. With barely enough time to recover from his
injury, Leserre lifted his sword arm. The axe head sundered his
thick metal arm guard and sank deep into the bone of his forearm,
"G-g--g-grAHHHHHHH!!!"
As Leserre wailed in pain, Yumiko dashed to Korr, embracing her

with one arm. The coldness of the slayer of men had abruptly
transformed into a proud mother's praise, "Daughter, you came to
save me!"
Korr nodded, pouting.
Yumiko pinched Korr's cheek, "Very well, Mama Yumiko will watch
you fight, then."
Korr puffed her cheeks as she looked at Yumiko's bloodied fist,

"Your hand..."
Yumiko sighed with a gentle smile, "Oh, I'll be fine, daughter. But
you should make the big, bad metal man pay, alright?"
Korr nodded, "I'll tear out his spine and beat him to death with his
skull~"
Yumiko pat Korr on the head, planted several kisses on her

cheeks and forehead, and dashed off into the trees.
...
Two Staghorns had grasped Knight Leserre by the arms and had
dragged him back to relative safety.
"Seven bleeding hells, Clemont-- the woman nearly cleaved my

arm in two!" Leserre's helmet had fallen off, revealing a delirious
expression and the man's dark, curled, sweat-matted hair.
Clemont unstoppered a potion and poured it down Leserre's

throat, "These things are expensive. Don't throw it up."
Leserre nodded before pulling out the handaxe on his own. Tears
of pain were running down his cheeks, but no one dared to
mention it. The blood flow stopped but a single healing potion was
not enough, "My arm's finished, I can feel how weak the bone is."
"Contact!" A Staghorn swordsman stepped out, swinging his blade
to defend Leserre and Clemont. For his troubles, the dark-haired
woman had stabbed her sword down to the hilt through the
Staghorn's chest and lifted him up into the air above her head.
With a brutal rend, she pulled her blade through the man's side--
slashing through both his ribs and his leather armor, before
dropping the lifeless corpse to the ground.
In the shower of blood, Leserre clearly viewed the glass eye of the
cold-blooded murder in front of him.
He allowed a single word to grace his lips, "Unbreakable."

Chapter 71 Sol Invictus
eldin Korr, the Unbreakable, thrust her sword into the remaining
S
Staghorn's mouth. She drove her sword into the ground, taking
the man down with it. Without hesitation, she stomped on the
man's neck and wrenched the sword out in a violent twist.
Leserre, now weaponless, turned to Clemont, "Master Wizard!

What do we do?!"
Clemont grit his teeth, his eyes wide in panic, "Don't worry, I have
the perfect spell for this."
Leserre's eyes brightened, "Very well! Then we'll both work

together to defeat this vile--"
"Expeditious Retreat."
"--wo... what?"
Clemont knelt down in a runner's start position. Mana glowed at

the tip of his staff, flowed into his body, and he sprinted away in a
blur.
Leserre raised his arms up, palms forward in surrender, "Aha.

Madam Korr? Miss Korr? Lady Unbreakable! I am Sir Emilien
Leserre, Knight of the Kingdom. I have always greatly admired--"
The Unbreakable's eye glowed red, "Soul-Scorching Blade."
"EEEE!!!!" Leserre threw himself onto the ground, feeling the

reaper's scythe pass over him. As he looked behind him, black
and rotting slash marks had marred the nearby copse of gold-
leafed trees.
The woman stared at her sword blankly, unmoving. Leserre slowly
stood up, his knees trembling, but he gulped and mustered the
courage to approach the woman, a head shorter than he was.
"Um. Milady?"
The sword was marred with a web of black cracks, wisping with
smoke. After another moment, the metal crumbled to dust.
Leserre breathed a sigh of relief, "Now that you're unarmed,

perhaps we can--"
Remaining wordless, Korr walked over to one of the swordsman's

corpses and grabbed another blade.
Leserre immediately began to panic again, "Wait! Wait wait wait!

Why are you doing all this?!"
Why *was* she doing all this? Korr placed a finger on her chin in
thought.
She was here to save the guy she liked. She felt her cheeks
turning hot. She couldn't tell the Knight that! The Knight's
mustache looked untrustworthy. What if he told Leader? That
wouldn't do.
Oh, but she came out from hiding because Yumiko was hurt. But
what would she say about Yumiko? That she's her newly adopted
mom? That doesn't work... Is there a legal process for that? Can I
even get a new mom? How much coin would that cost?
...How many moms can I legally attain? Who do I have to fight to

get that right?
Knight Leserre wanted to ask another question, but Korr, as if

sensing the man's impatience, raised her hand to stop him.
Leserre clinked his gloved forefingers together, waiting patiently.
"Maximus."
A bolt of lightning streaked down from the clear sky, forcing Seldin
Korr to dodge and roll away. Standing up, she faced her attacker
with a growl, "The Council cannot stop me!"
The tall and handsome Maximus of Ezyria had arrived, his golden
shield and silver muscle cuirass gleaming in the light, "Wow.
Clearly a villain."
Leserre hurried behind the holy warrior, "Paladin! You came to

save me!"
Maximus nodded serenely, "I came to deliver justice."
An axe warrior hurriedly approached Leserre's side, "Sir Knight,

our side's taken heavy casualties, but the enemy has withdrawn
thanks to Sir Maximus' artillery support."
Leserre nodded, "Good, good. Then we shall rally our forces and
attack the woman! Together!"
Maximus jabbed out an oppressive open palm, "No."
Leserre and the axe warrior shared a glance, "Sir Maximus?"
"I will face the Unbreakable alone."
The axe warrior couldn't stand for the command, "Sir Maximus!
Let us aid you! If it wasn't for you, half the company would have
been killed!"
A wave of agreeing murmurs tided through the gathered crowd,

nearly 3 dozen Staghorns remained. Over half of their number
had become casualties, injured and killed, but their hearts still
burned brightly with pride and the promise of victory.
Leserre gulped, his eyes moist, "Sir Maximus, by the honor of

Guild Staghorn, I cannot let you go alone."
Maximus clenched his outstretched palm into a fist. With a growl

of power, lightning struck his upraised arm, the ear splitting burst
of energy causing the Staghorn warriors to shield their eyes or
dive for cover.
Maximus walked through the stunned and fallen men and women
of Guild Staghorn, "Keep your lives. Stay out of my way."
...
Maximus leapt up with unfolded wings, high into the sky, blocking
the light spilling from the canopy with his shining form. Shield up,
spear pointed downward, he plummeted towards Korr.
"Maximus!!"
His entire body sparked with a blur and pale blue streaks of arcing
electrical energy.
Korr grabbed the body of a Staghorn by the legs and swung them
horizontally.
Maximus was forced to block with his shield. The momentum of

the blow pushed him far back, but using his wings to adjust and
striking his spearhead into the earth, he was able to stop his
momentum. Unsticking his spear, Maximus stood tall. He walked
counter-clockwise, stretching his neck and his shoulder muscles.
"Maximus. Gladiator of Ezyria," A low, inhuman and feral growl

emanated from Maximus' throat. He clanged his shield with his
spear, startling Korr for a moment, "State your name!"
"Korr..." The woman stopped for a moment, staring off into

nothingness. Maximus turned back to look at Leserre, Clemont,
and the rest of Staghorn. Leserre made an exaggerated shrug.
Korr placed her sword fist into her open palm. She had figured
something out.
"Korr, Assistant Chief Financial Officer of Invictus."
Maximus raised an eyebrow, "Invictus? Guild Sol Invictus?"
Korr the Unbreakable tilted her head. She looked behind her but
realized there was no one else Maximus could be speaking to.
She pointed at herself, "You were you asking me? I don't know...?
Why?"
Maximus responded immediately, paying no mind to the woman's
pause, "Sol Invictus is the name of a well-known Arena Guild
where I come from. The guild's name is in the Old Language of
the Holy Country."
Korr nodded slowly, as if she understood. But the look on her face
indicated otherwise.
Maximus turned around, facing the Staghorns. He pointed a

speartip at Leserre, "You. I was not told we were seeking Sol
Invictus."
Sweat began pouring down Leserre's neck, "I uh... Well-- that..."
Clemont stepped forward. He had returned from his rapid

withdrawal, "Perhaps they are not the same, Gladiator."
Maximus faced Korr again, "Tell me. Do you know of Arena

Champion Quay?"
Korr shook her head, clueless.
"...He was the leader of Sol Invictus." The shield warrior sighed,
"Then perhaps the two guilds are not the same."
"W-were you two lovers?" Korr asked hesitantly.
Maximus was stunned, "What? No. Why is that the first thing you
ask?"
Korr frowned.
Maximus put his shield and his spearhand on his hips, "No,
really?"
Korr tapped one of her boots against the ground, "You kinda had
that... look in your eye, when you were asking about him."
Maximus averted his gaze, "I really... respect the guild. That's all."
"But it doesn't matter," Maximus lifted up his spear as it crackled

alive with electric energy once more. "You should have known this
since you joined a Dark Guild on your own accord..."
Dark clouds formed overhead. Maximus' eyes glowed blue with

power.
"By Bolt and Flame, you will be Purged."

Chapter 72 When In Doubt
"Maximus!"
Lightning struck through the canopy of trees, setting a portion of

the forest ceiling ablaze and barely missing Korr. As she leapt
away, she collided with a small sapling, breaking it.
Maximus dashed to her side and thrust a powerful ensorcelled

spear at Korr's center of mass, "Maximus!"
In an explosion of energy, Korr was blasted backward, tumbling

through brush and thorn, colliding painfully against a thick tree
root. She stood up, her clothes torn, bloody scratches all over.
She gripped a sword in her right and a broken sapling, longer than
a spear, in her left.
She regained her balance and began sprinting forward.
Maximus formed his hand into a circle and held it in front of his
mouth, "Roar of the Sky Dragon!"
With an ear-shattering boom, a draconic screech shook the forest.

A line of electrical energy surged towards Korr, halting her
movement and lighting her sapling on fire. She dropped her
sword. But she slammed her right fist hard against her chest as if
to restart her heart.
The action stunned Maximus. And in that moment, Korr's thrown

flame-wreathed sapling struck Maximus in the chest. The man
was launched backward an entire 3 yalms, before smashing the
impromptu javelin apart with his shield.
Korr picked up her sword. Some of her hair stood tall from the
electrical energy in the air, making for a ghostly image. Her
functional eye was wide and bloodshot, and she hobbled towards
Maximus like she was possessed, "Come on... Let's fight."
Maximus crossed his arms, "Korr, the Unbreakable. You are a

terrifying existence."
Korr tilted her head, "Are you ready to fight? Out of spells? Let's
fight. I'll slice open your stomach and choke you with your guts,
you worthless cretin."
Maximus shook his head and unfurled his wings, his form
towering over Korr. And with a gust of wind, he flew up into the air,
hovering stably against a backdrop of smoldering leaves.
Pointing his spear downward at the grounded woman, he began

to ready another lightning strike.
Korr smashed her sword blade into a nearby tree, its bark erupting
in smoky, shadowy rot, "That's... that's not fair!"
...
Tycon stared through the forest canopy and narrowed his eyes in
annoyance. Dark clouds had too quickly begun to block the
afternoon sun.
"Tss. Doesn't look good."
Barza Keith rested his two swords on his shoulders as he walked,

"Yeah, I know what'cha mean, Boss. I didn't bring a jacket."
Dragan twisted his tree-trunk neck over to look at the two, "Think
it's already started, Boss?"
Tycon tapped anxiously on the sword hilt on his waist, "Mister

Wroe, the dark clouds?"
Wroe's blue eyes glowed with an arcane light, "I don't detect dark
magic. But there is a lot of lightning mana up there."
Dragan rolled his eyes and his entire head with it, "Well, yeah.
That's how thunderclouds work."
Wroe stared back unflinchingly, "Shocking."
Tycon checked his pocket watch.
Barza looked apprehensive, "Boss, should we go look for Pale?"
Tycon returned an annoyed hmph, "His half-a-bell has yet to

finish. Why are you so worried?"
Barza scratched his head with his thumb, "He is kinda young."
"I'm certain you were just as capable at Pale's age, Mister Barza."
Tycon responded.
Dragan sidled up with a peculiar grin, "What were you doing when
you were 9, Lone?"
Barza thought for a moment, "Well... Uh. I think I was probably

pissing myself in primary school."
Dragan began to laugh, holding his stomach. Tycon rolled his

eyes, "I apologize, then. It seems not much has changed since
then."
"It was ONE TIME!!" Barza yelled indignantly.
"Oi, here 'e comes!" Dragan called out. He dropped his axe and
bounded a few steps forward.
Dragan reached his arm out and caught a fast-moving leather-

armored bundle. He spun around a few times in a circle to ease
the force of impact, eventually releasing a dazed Pale.
Pale fell to the ground, the golden leaves crisping beneath him.
Tycon tapped the fallen Pale with his boot, "I don't know why you
insist on doing that, young man."
Wroe smirked, "When can I get next?"
Tycon turned to Dragan, "If Mister Wroe does the same, don't
catch him."
Dragan grinned, "I'll treat him like target practice. Boss' orders!"
Pale stood up with a salute, "Sir, reporting as ordered!"
Tycon nodded, "Report."
"There's a big battle ahead! A group of soldiers that are wearing a

lot of green and then people from the sect!"
Tycon sighed, "Numbers, boy. What's the distance? And what

armor are they wearing? I thought I taught you specifically how to
report."
"O-oh. There's... a lot? I didn't count."
"More than 20? More than 50? 100?" Tycon pushed the boy's
head.
The boy grinned foolishly, "I dunno, Sir! But it was definitely more
than 50."
Tycon sucked in air through his teeth. He wasn't keen on

approaching the battle straight on.
The boy continued, "They're less than 10 minutes away. Everyone

is armored in leathers... They have crossbows and swords and
spears and--"
Tycon raised a hand to stop him, "Enemy mercenary company.

Armored uniform. Trained with cold weapons and crossbows. Am I
right?"
"Yes, sir! And there was a... deer on their flags?"
Tycon nodded, crossed his arms, and shut his eyes.
« System, search with conditions: List:Guilds. Color:Green.

Symbol:Deer. Nation:Alizeau. »
[System response: 1 encountered result. Staghorn.]

« System, inquiry: Any relevant information concerning Guild
Staghorn. »
[System response: As of the last update, Guild Staghorn is led by

Heavy Armor Knight Emilien Leserre. No other information.]
« System, inquiry: When was this last updated? »
[System response: The last update occurred in the adventurer's

guild in Nice.]
Tycon frowned, deep in thought. As helpful as his System was, it

wasn't omniscient, "Bucket, did you spot any elites?"
"Yes, sir. There was a Knight in full armor and a flail, there's a guy
with blue wings and a shield and spear-- oh, and there was a guy
in a big wizard hat!" Pale put his hands over his head to indicate
the hat's ridiculous size.
Dragan's eyes brightened immediately, "Boss!! Geek the mage?!"
Pale nodded, "My dad always said 'when in doubt, geek the mage
first!'"
Wroe pulled his magic sword out of his waterskin, "Let the geeking
commence."
Tycon nodded resolutely, "We geek the mage."
Barza followed along cluelessly, "Guys! Guys? What does that

mean?"
...
Heavy Armor Knight Leserre pulled on Clemont's robe, "Hey.

Wizard. Should we... help Sir Maximus?"
Clemont gulped uncomfortably, his mouth dry. The field in front of

them consisted only of two combatants, the winged Maximus and
a woman in a bloodied shirt flinging boulders and small trees at
the former. Maximus was able to easily dodge the telegraphed
projectiles and he returned an equally neverending barrage of
lightning strikes. The green moss and gold leaf forest had quickly
turned into a charred wasteland.
Clemont rubbed his face, wishing he could wake up from the

nightmare. He looked to his left and right. Guild Staghorn still had
3 dozen combat-ready men and women. But with their strengths...
"Sir Knight, I believe intervention would beget needless
casualties."
The crowd began to shift as a dark-hooded scout weaved his way

through. The scout placed a hand on Clemont's shoulder, "Master
Wizard, I have a suggestion."
Clemont scrutinized the green-haired youth before him, not

remembering his face. Since when had they had a scout with such
bright, golden eyes? "Speak your mind, Scout. I pray your
suggestion can change the status quo."
Chapter 73 Geek The Mage
ycondrius of Charm made his way through a gaggle of some 30

T
armed men and women. He had stealthily picked up a cloak from
a fallen Staghorn and draped it over his armor, relying on the
spectacle that was Korr's fight to go unnoticed.
The Heavy Armor Knight was wearing a makeshift sling,

supporting his sword arm. He silently assessed the mustachioed
man's clumsy size and slack-jawed look as traits belonging to an
idiot. The Wizard was the only other person in the group that
looked threatening.
For a reason Tycon could not fathom, Korr had abandoned her
post in Nice and was fighting a winged Holy Country warrior who
could literally vomit lightning bolts. And by fighting, she was
throwing improvised projectiles at the winged man while he
returned fire with accurate lightning-based spells. However, with
all her bruises and charred, torn clothing was, Seldin Korr hadn't
sustained any obvious injuries nor appeared to be running out of
stamina.
Tycon placed a friendly hand on the Wizard's shoulder. He

seemed like an intelligent, respectable gentleman-- an excellent
enemy to defeat early on.
"Speak your mind, Scout." The wizard's eyes met Tycon's, "I pray
your suggestion can change the status quo."
« How unfortunate. I suppose my suggestion will. Activate. Geek

the mage. »
[Activating. Geeking the mage.]

Before the effects could process, Tycon grabbed the wizard by the
collar and belt and threw him out of the crowd.
The Knight began to yell, "What?! What are you DOING,

Scout?!?"
Paying the metal man no need, Tycon drew his razor whip lashed
out, precisely bleeding the downed wizard's calves. The thin man
shrieked in pain, like he was dying. How uncouth.
« Activate Razor Spin. »
[Activating. Razor Spin: Razor Whip ability. Target takes additional

damage from charge attacks.]
Tycon firmly raised his voice, "Geek the mage!"
He ran forward, and delivered a running kick to the Wizard's

stomach. That and the illusory poisoning from Vexing Gaze made
the robed figure spit out a glob of blood.
[Lamb to the Slaughter conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]
[Activating. Death to the enemies of Invictus.]
Dragan fell out of the trees first, a red blur with his elbow pointed
downward for an unnecessarily reckless elbow drop.
"Geek the maaaage!" He smashed into the wizard's chest before

clumsily rolling away, laughing maniacally.
Pale leapt off a nearby tree branch and dove with his crimson
spear-haft downward.
"Geek the mage!" He smashed the spear's blunt end into the
wizard's abdomen. Hopping off, he spun his spear to hold it like a
club and began brutally bludgeoning the downed wizard.
Wroe appeared out of a magical shadowy sphere, flying

downward at a peculiar 200 degree angle, eventually stomping
onto the wizard's face with both heels.
"I honestly had no idea what you guys meant until just now," the
blue-haired angel admitted.
Barza ran up, having missed his moment, and began stomping on
the wizard, "Yeah, take this!!"
Tycondrius was mildly disappointed, but Barza he inwardly

applauded the man's fighting spirit.
...
The process had taken some 15 seconds.
Knight Leserre stared dumbfounded, his jaw near unhinged. "Wh-

what?"
Clemont was being brutally beaten by 5 random, screaming

adventurers. "P-please! Stop! Oh! Why?!" he begged.
Tycon, having already done his part in the savage takedown of the
wizard, walked over to Korr and the hovering winged warrior. He
handed Korr a waterskin.
She took it, her face red, assumedly from physical exertion, "L-
leader's personal waterskin."
Tycon squinted his eyes in confusion. Was there a significance to

his waterskin he wasn't aware of?
She drank from the skin thirstily, before wordlessly dashing off...
not towards Maximus, but to the wizard. She too began to kick
and stomp the rolling man.
Tycon turned to the flying man awkwardly, "Hello."
"Hi," He landed on the ground and lifted his spear as an

acknowledgment.
The man wore a silvery muscle cuirass, a popular armor style in

the Holy Country. He folded his blue scaly wings behind him and
rolled his shoulders, emphasizing the blue scales on his muscled
upper arms. He radiated an aura of confidence, strength, and
free-flowing mana. He would have been an intimidating enemy...
Tycon stared above the man's head with confusion. The system
had already identified him, even though he, himself, didn't know
who he was.
His name was Maximus.
And the color of his name was blue, the color of trust.
« System, inquiry: Basic information on Maximus, specifically

rank, class, and race/species. »
[Gian Vanzano. Alias: Maximus of Ezyria. Dovahkiin Iron-Rank

Warmage.]
« How powerful. System, save settings as default for basic

information search. »
He had no reason to doubt his System. Tycon put away his whip
and offered an arm, "Have we met?"
Maximus grasped Tycon by the forearm, the customary greeting in

the Holy Country. "We have, Lord Tycondrius."
"Tycon is fine, Mister Vanzano."
"Then Maximus will be fine, as well. I heard a rumor that Sol

Invictus has become a Dark Guild since we've last met. I would
like to hear of circumstances from you or guild leader Quay."
Tycon nodded, crossing his arms and placing a finger to his lips,
"To begin with, Guild Invictus' actions here are purely benign.
However, I was not aware that we had become a Dark Guild."
Maximus nodded, "Guild leader Quay was always noble and just,
so the news had come to me as a surprise. The rumors must be
untrue."
"Hold, Mister Maximus. I do not wish to lead you astray."
"Mister Dragan!" Tycon called.
Dragan halted his kicking of the wizard to jog over, "Hey, Boss!
Ohhh, heyyy! Maximus!! How ya been, man?"
The two clasped forearms, "Good, you?"
Tycon interrupted-- "Mister Dragan, I was wondering what

atrocities we've committed since we've last met with Maximus."
"Eh, what? BOSS!! Why the f*ck do you always blame me?!"
Dragan looked hurt.
Tycon was nonplussed, "Because it's usually you."
"Okay, fair." Dragan placed his hands on his hips, "But to answer
your question, Boss, we haven't done anything grossly illegal
since."
"What? Are you sure? Murders? Arson?" Tycon was having a

difficult time believing the giant.
"Nope."
"Are we... suspected of anything?"
"Nope!"
"Call Bucket over," Tycon ordered.
"C'mon, Boss! Can't you believe me?!"
Tycon glared in response. It would be problematic if Guild Invictus

had the reputation of being a Dark Guild, a guild reputed for
carrying out illegal or immoral missions. And there would be more
problems if crusaders from the Holy Country like Warmage
Maximus were seeking to collect their bounty.
"Okay, fair." Dragan shrugged in defeat.

Dragan tagged out with Pale, who hurried over.
"Oh, hello, Sir! It's nice to see you again." Pale exchanged
greetings with the much taller Maximus.
"You are... Quay's son?"
"Yes, Sir! Oh, um-- Dad is missing, so Sir Tycon is Sol Invictus'
leader for now!"
Tycon crossed his arms, "Pale, is the guild wanted for any
crimes?"
"N-no, Sir! Not in the Kingdom! Oh, and not in the Holy Country,
either."
Tycon nodded with furrowed brows, turning to Maximus, "Well,

this is a surprise to me, as well."
Maximus looked confused, "I... don't know why it should be. The
uh... Girl is with you, right?"
Tycon glanced over to Korr. She was on her hands and knees,
beating the wizard with a sharp rock she found, "Y-yeah. She's
uh... She's alright."
Maximus nodded hesitantly, "She said some kinda... treasonous

things."
Pale ran back to the wizard-kicking group and tagged out with
Seldin Korr.
Korr jogged over. Tycon used his sheathed sword to block her
from landing a fist on Maximus. She puffed up her cheeks and
aggrievedly looked to Tycon.
Tycon stared for a moment, "Why are you here, anyway?"
Korr ran away.
The two stared at her departing form. Tycon turned to the

Warmage, "I'll vouch for her. She's... not a bad person."
Maximus raised his eyebrows, "I... see."
Chapter 75 Patriarch’s
Challenge
atriarch Kimura Daigo sat in the central courtyard of the Kimura

P
estate. Honored personages and guests had been invited from the
various sect families.
Earlier that sun, a team of 100 comprised of elites of the younger

generation and a few sect elders were dispatched against an
Outsider force of 100. According to his wife, Kagehisa Yumiko,
Guild Invictus was instrumental in routing them with only minimal
severe casualties. After observing them carouse and converse for
a time, Daigo concluded that the youth in their group had the
highest status.
"Uncle Kakui, that is..." Daigo stealthily directed the elder's

attention to the green-haired youth wearing a black kimono.
Elder Kakui adjusted his posture pridefully, "Patriarch, that is

Master Invictus Tycon. He is the leader of Guild Invictus, wholly
responsible for resolving the great Calamity."
Daigo continued to silently observe, "Is that so...? Tell me more of

this youth, Uncle."
The older man averted his gaze, "He is an honorable leader, far
more experienced than his age would suggest. His aura may be
foreign, but his accolades speak of his strength and capability."
Daigo looked to his side, at his wife's empty seat. He wanted her
opinion, but she was still busy preparing. "Yumiko has advised
that I do not antagonize my daughter's boyfriend... But how much
older is this Tycon than my beautiful daughter?! He's what-- 18?
19? Nearly twice Taree's age."
Elder Kakui wiped his brow with a damp handkerchief, "Err..
Patriarch, that--"
Daigo stood up from his seat, "Aha, I've got it! We'll disguise my
challenges as a contest! Then Yumiko won't be able to scold me!
Ahaha! Uncle Kakui, your patriarch is a GENIUS!! "
Kakui held out a hand, "No, Patriarch. Please wait!"
"Leader Tycondrius!" Daigo descended the steps of the outdoors

platform, approaching Guild Invictus' table. With every sect
member bowing or nodding politely, the man would be a fool to
not know who he was.
"Patriarch," Tycon stood and bowed politely. A young man at his

side with a spear did the same. Daigo was pleased with their
knowledge of sect tradition.
Daigo promptly ignored the boy, "What say you to a set of

contests as part of the celebration! I'm certain the sect would love
to see the capabilities of the men and uh... horses who made this
celebration possible."
Why were there horses being served wine and snacks at their
table? Daigo had associated with Outsiders before but was not
aware of such a custom.
Tycon's first reaction was to look towards Tamaki, another

anomalous action that confused Daigo.
"Ooh, a celebratory contest. Don't worry, Young Master Tycon.

Dad's got no reason to embarrass ya. You can take it at face
value," Tamaki explained with an innocent smile.
Tycon gave another polite bow, "Very well, Patriarch. Guild

Invictus accepts your challenges."
...
"Why is it only me?" Tycon asked in annoyance. He held a sturdy

bamboo blade in either hand.
He and Patriarch Daigo had moved to a sparring circle for a bout
of swordsmanship. Many of the sect members had gathered
around to watch, talking excitedly.
"Master Invictus is sooooo hot." "I wonder if he needs a yin

cultivator!" "I want Invictus Dragan to perform next!!" "By the gods,
have you seen the boy with a spear?!" "With the silver armor? I
dream of him every night!" "The boy? Wait, that's illegal!" --Tycon
deigned to ignore the crowd's conversations. He mentally
reminded himself to never listen to the murmuring of a crowd, ever
again.
Daigo had taken a low crouched sword stance, "I must warn you,
Warrior Tycon! For many years, I have practiced the Shiba
Defensive Sword!"
Tycon darted his eyes left to Young Master Tamaki. Was Tycon
supposed to know what that was? Was it impressive? Tamaki
flashed him a giddy smile and an upward thumb of approval.
"Three moves, Warrior Tycon! If I cannot take 3 moves from you,

I'll admit defeat!" Daigo declared.
Tycon pointed to himself, "Oh, then I can go first?"
The patriarch laughed, "Ahaha! Of course, young warrior! The

challenger always goes first!"
'But... you challenged us?' Tycon thought. His reverence for

Yumiko's mate was quickly declining.
Tycon began to move counter-clockwise, with the patriarch

matching him. Tycon checked to make sure his back was to the
crowd and that nothing was behind the patriarch.
Tycon slashed at the ground, "Iron Dragon Rend."
The patriarch reflexively dove out of the way as the ground

opened up, rocks and debris flying up and away. Members of the
sect covered their ears to block out the loud sounds of the
breaking earth.
The crowd was eerily silent from the ridiculous display of power...
then it erupted into excited yells.
"Oh, what was thaaaat?!" "What SKILL is that!!" "N-n-nascent

Profound Realm!!" "No way, the destructive power was far too
great for that!!" "It's like he's the Chosen One!!" "Psh. There's no
way he can talk to animals!!"
Sitting among the fight's observers, Barza Keith's face had paled
to a ghostly white, "I... I survived that?"
Pale pat the man's back to reassure him, "I-it's okay, Lone. Just
don't piss off Boss."
Tycon tossed aside one of his swords. It had completely

disintegrated from the mana he used.
"Shall... we continue, Patriarch?"
"N-n-n... NEXT CHALLENGE!!" Daigo declared.
The crowd erupted into a roar of cheers.
...
Patriarch Daigo had set up two seats and a board game. Pieces
with foreign lettering on them were placed on a checkered board.
"I have been training in this game for many years! I am
unbeatable within the Kimura clan!"
Dragan raised his hand, "Ooh! I know this game!!"
Tycon shrugged. He walked back and tagged out with Dragan with
an accurate slap of their palms before taking his seat beside
Barza.
Daigo looked aggrieved, "Wait! But..."
Tycon raised his voice from where he sat, "I forego this challenge,
as I am no match for Patriarch Daigo in this contest. I have
chosen Mister Dragan as Guild Invictus' champion."
Daigo pursed his lips, unable to argue. The youth had declined
firmly and respectfully. He eyed the brutish red-maned giant of a
man that sat in the tiny seat before him and was scrutinizing the
board. Daigo would have to defeat the man, Invictus Dragan,
before he could think of another plot to discredit Invictus Tycon.
Tycon glared at Barza, "Is there a reason you've got a stupid look
on your face, Mister Barza?"
"Well, Sir... I figured you'd be good at those sorts of games. You're

super strategic."
Tycon shook his head with a helpless expression, "Is it such a

surprise? Board-based tactics are not one of my innate skills."
"But you could play it a lot and get better?"
"This is true. Like with any skill, training and combat beget
improvement." Tycon smirked, "But since you so altruistically
suggest I improve my board-gaming skill, may I suggest you work
on your swordsmanship?"
Barza held his heart as if he were injured, "That kinda hurts, Boss.
Right here."
Tycon softened his expression in mock care, "To solve such an

affliction, I propose we add to your training regimen."
Barza gave a piteous look, holding his stomach, "My stomach's

not feeling so great, Boss. I'll be back."
As Barza weaved his way through the crowd, the Patriarch flipped
the board, pieces and all. Dragan sat, grinning wildly.
"NEXT CHALLENGE!!" Daigo yelled.
The crowd erupted into a roar of cheers.

Chapter 76 Reclaiming His
Honor
atriarch Kimura Daigo's heart bled. He had lost two challenges in

P
a row, embarrassing himself in front of his entire sect. Perhaps
many would see his actions as giving Guild Invictus face,
challenging them in areas of their expertise...
But Daigo had no idea that Invictus Tycon could sunder the earth
with a casual swing of a sword! And he hadn't an inkling that he'd
be so soundly defeated in a board game by Invictus Dragan! What
was next? Could the child with the pointed ears beat him in
escaping an Illusory Formation?
Daigo couldn't risk it. He requested Elder Kakui to retrieve his

personal stock: dozens of large ceramic jugs of rice wine, expertly
brewed by his beautiful wife with a Kagehisa family recipe. They
were reserved for special occasions, like an important marriage or
saving the patriarch's face.
"I must warn you," the patriarch declared. "I have NEVER been
defeated in drinking!!"
Tycon made several gestures with his hands and a number of

Guild Invictus returned to their seats.
The boy left-- he was a bit young to drink. The Patriarch liked the
boy's calm demeanor. If his daughter chose the boy instead of the
arrogant, green-haired youth, he might be more accepting of the
pair.
The two horses walked off. "They're designated drivers," Tycon

explained.
Two massive men walked up.

Invictus Maximus was a silent, dark-haired man, easily over 6-
fulms tall, parts of his revealed chest and neck covered in blue
scales. Invictus Dragan towered over him, over 8-fulms tall,
sporting a mane of red hair, massive naked calves revealed by a
too-short kimono.
Daigo began to sweat. He was confident in his drinking ability. But

against the two behemoths of Guild Invictus? He might as well
challenge his wife to an archery contest.
The patriarch's confidence began to recover with the approach of

Invictus Tycon. Tycon was the average height of a sect Martialist,
a few ilms shorter than Daigo, himself. His build was average, not
bulky at all. And the youth didn't look even 20-years of age.
A lanky-blue haired boy, Invictus Wroe, and a youth with a scar on

his nose, Invictus Lone, also stood with him. Even those two
looked like they could outdrink their leader.
All he had to do was defeat the boy.
Betting it all on this final fight, Patriarch Kimura Daigo would

reclaim his honor.
...
Several rounds later, the patriarch was passed out on the table.
Maximus was giggling like a maniac. Wroe was rubbing his hands
on his cheeks, in a lonely corner of the massive courtyard, facing
the wall.
Tycon had lost track of Barza but assumed he was soiling himself
in a dark corner of the Kimura estate.
Festivities had continued, even with the patriarch's unfortunate

show. Tycon had to accept a few drinks from the other sect
families and had to politely rebuff their friendly offers. Unless the
sect opened its doors to the Outside world, offering trade and
services, working intimately with any other sect family was a
waste of time for Tycon.
As the evening wound down further, Dragan and Tycon had
collected with Elder Kakui and were sharing a jug of some of
Yumiko's fruit wine.
"What were those contests about, Elder?" Tycon asked.
"Well, Warrior Tycon. It seems that the patriarch was worried that
you had designs on his young daughter," Kakui responded,
nursing his drink.
"The silver-haired brat? How ridiculous. As if I would be interested

in such a rude girl. I've assigned the boy to entertain her."
Kakui nodded with a hiccupping smile, "Ah, yes, of course. The

Young Mistress has always spoken highly of Young Master Pale."
"Second question!" Dragan draped his arm over Tycon as he

slurred, "Elder Cockatoo! Where's-- where's the good drink? The
strong stuff!"
Kakui contemplated for a moment, "Well, I can go and--"
Tycon raised a hand, "Elder, wait a moment. Mister Dragan."
"Yeah, Boss?"
"Can you still taste the drink?"
"Whaaaat? Nah... Nah! It's like water, Boss!"
Tycon smiled to Kakui, "Mister Dragan will be fine with the current
libations-- Thank you, Elder."
Dragan laughed, sucking in air with an odd laugh-groan, "Cheers!

I'll drink to that, bro!"
Tycon poured Kakui another drink as the elder nodded in

understanding.
"Elder Kakui... Do you know the whereabouts of Korr and Madam

Yumiko?"
The elder smiled and looked past Tycon. Slowly and suspiciously,
Tycon turned his body to face the threat.
The gorgeous woman had Korr's dark-red hair. Her hair was
styled up, the minimal amount of makeup she used only added to
her charm, and an incredibly subtle fragrance about her smelled
of sweet, summer flowers. Her fiery orange robe accentuated
what curves she had and she nervously held a fan she used to
hide her face.
Tycon stood and placed a finger on the woman's wrist, moving the
fan away, so he could gaze upon her face. Korr kept her scarred
eye closed but she looked away, unwilling to look straight at him.
"H-how do I look, Leader?"
Tycon shut his mouth. He had been gawking, "You look... good."
Over the woman's shoulder, he saw the angry glare of Kagehisa

Yumiko as she drew back her warbow. What. Why?
"Y-you look GREAT, Korr! Wow! Much cute. Such beautiful!" Tycon
babbled until Yumiko lowered her bow.
Korr revealed a shy smile, "Oh, alright."
Tycon gave a sigh of relief, "Korr, would you like to go out with me
tomorrow?"
...
In the morning, Tycon had Pale escort him and Korr to one of the
sect's training grounds.
"I'm sorry for kidnapping you, Mister Pale."
"It's okay! I won't be kidnapped next time. I'm really strong now!"
The two seemed to make amends easily enough.
Tycon and Korr had much in common with physical training

knowledge, so morning exercise was a must.
"Bucket."
"Yes, Sir?" Pale replied.
"Are you joking with me, you little turd?" Tycon crossed his arms.
"Sir?" Pale didn't answer, confused.
Pale had led them to the most ridiculous obstacle course Tycon
had ever seen. There were spinning logs to jump from, bars to
hang from, a swimming portion-- the obstacle variety was making
Tycon's head ache.
"So this is the obstacle course part of the training ground. Let's
move on," Tycon tried to drag Korr away.
He had used a reasonable amount of strength, but Korr hadn't

budged in the slightest. He looked to her with wary eyes-- she was
staring at the course with sparkles in her eye.
"D-did... you want to do the obstacle course?"
Korr nodded rapidly like a bird.
Tycon cursed inwardly. How in the seven hells was he going to not
look like a fool in front of Seldin Korr?
Chapter 77 Hot Springs
" You... You can't be serious. You really want to do... that?" Tycon
pointed.
A lengthy obstacle course had been constructed in a field,

comprised of several spinning wooden contraptions, various
checks of agility, and a somewhat familiar warped wall.
"Can we, Leader? ...Unless you don't want to. Then it's okay, we
can do something else." Korr gazed downward, tapping the points
of her forefingers together.
One of her fingernails was missing. It was likely a result of the

battle from the previous sun, where she held off a hundred men
by herself to buy time for Guild Invictus.
Tycon took a deep breath. It was becoming more difficult to

politely convince the woman against running the course together.
Or maybe he could just let her do as she pleased? Tss. But she
kept saying the word "we" so she probably intended for this
activity to be a coupled event.
A small cluster of whelplings approached while Tycon was deep in

thought. Kimura Taree had gathered a collection of snot-nosed
children around her and Pale's age.
"Hello, Warrior Tycon! Are you and Warrior Korr going to run the
obstacle course too?"
Tycon glared at the group of preteens and young teenagers...

along with an excited Pale.
"Ohh, that's Warrior Tycon!" "Oh, the savior of our sect!" "Wow, he
looks really strong!"
Korr stepped forward, "We won't lose to you."
Tycon's heart sunk. It appeared again, the "we" that he dreaded.

With Korr's words, he could no longer escape.
...
« Activate Great Leap. »
[Warning: User's Completion Rating is too low for Skill activation.

Concentration will be greatly taxed. Force Activate? Y/N?]
« Activate Nimble Climb. »
[Warning: User's Completion Rating is too low for Skill activation.

Concentration will be greatly taxed. Force Activate? Y/N?]
« Activate... Parkour? »
[Skill not found.]
« Activate Will to Live. »
[Skill not found.]
Tycon wasn't sure how he did it, but he managed to survive the
obstacle course without begging Korr or Pale for assistance. He
was, however, bereft of mana. And his Skill usage had taxed his
concentration and stamina to the point that his head pounded
reminiscent to an entire squad stomping on a wizard.
"Wow! The Outsiders are so cool!" "Yeah! The way the green-
haired grown-up climbed like he could stick to walls!" Yeah,
amazing!"
He glared at the departing children. They weren't even breathing

hard. Tycon was cursing himself for pushing himself past his
limits. He had gone to great lengths to impress a group of children
that wouldn't even remember him in half-a-bell, whose greatest
achievements were learning not to soil themselves.
He mentally reminded himself to add that particular course to
Barza Keith's training regimen.
Pale smiled apologetically and departed with Taree.
Korr was still excited, "Leader! Let's do it again!"
How she still had the energy, Tycon had no idea. "G-go ahead, I
have to... uh... Practice my breathing techniques."
Korr nodded and jogged away with her arms trailing behind her.
Tycon collapsed back onto the floor. He did not look forward to the
rest of his plans.
...
A short time afterward, Guild Invictus, the Kimura siblings, and

Elder Kakui had began to hike northeast. Kagehisa Yumiko had
suggested he bring Korr to local hot springs and Elder Kakui knew
the way.
Girls liked hot springs.
The Kimura parents were invited, but Yumiko was intent on taking
care of the patriarch, who had apparently been shot by an arrow
in a freak accident. Tycon highly doubted that a skilled archer like
Yumiko would make such a rookie mistake, but he decided not to
delve.
The trip was relaxing, Barza was relieved to have a sun off of
training and was trying to communicate to Horse and Jeremy,
'Chosen One practice,' he called it. Dragan and Maximus were
"hydrating" with a jug of Yumiko's booze. Elder Kakui was
recounting sect ghost stories to an enamored Wroe, while Taree
and Pale listened on the side.
Why were those two walking so close to each other?
Korr told Tycon a few stories-- they all seemed to interconnect but
the whole of it was incredibly difficult to follow. He tried his best.
It was shortly after lunch that the atmosphere turned from cold
and chilly to warm and humid, with clouds of mist from the nearby
springs pervading the area.
"So... you don't really need to get an extra bag." Korr was
explaining to Barza, "Just put stuff in your bra."
Dragan examined Barza's figure, "Hey, Loooone! What kinda bra

d'you think fits you, man?"
Barza gave a troubled smile, "I wouldn't wear one, though. Do you
know how hot wearing a bra is?"
The traveling group stopped for a moment to stare at Mister

Barza. The group erupted in laughter, with the exception of Tycon
and a politely smiling Elder Kakui. Both Maximus and Dragan had
laughed so hard, they were wiping tears from their eyes.
"I had thought brassieres were only socially acceptable for

females to wear?" Tycon asked.
"They are!" Barza replied with a reddened face.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Then why would you admit to having
worn one?"
The laughter was interrupted by Pale, who emerged from the

greenery.
"Boss," Pale approached apprehensively. "You'd better come see

this."
Tycon excused himself to follow the boy. He wasn't keen on

whatever surprise Pale had found. He was already annoyed about
the issues he'd suffered in the morning and the incessant
headache from overexerting his concentration wasn't going away
anytime soon.
"I trust you won't be wasting my time on frivolities, young man. I

am in no mood for jokes."
Pale stopped and pointed at a heated pond.

Tycon's eyes widened. His heart began to race. He gnashed his
teeth so hard that Pale shrank his form from worry.
"Armor! Armor and weapons!" He yelled, "Get everyone over

here!! WHY AREN'T YOU MOVING FAST ENOUGH?!?!"
...
Guild Invictus and company gathered in front of a large east-

facing cave mouth.
Elder Kakui was thoroughly confused, "Young Mistress Taree...

What's going on?"
Tycondrius had ordered everyone to be armed and armored. He

was stomping around, wary and... furious?
Taree seemed to know what was going on, but she was anxious
and visibly trembling. She looked up to Kakui with pitiful tears
pooled at the corner of her eyes.
Kakui shut his mouth, refusing to ask more of her. She was
frightened. And he was trying to remain calm and rational, as an
elder of the sect. He summoned two sabers from his spatial ring,
their familiar weight comforting. Whatever crisis were to come, as
a Kimura family elder, he would protect the children and his sect
benefactors even at the cost of his life.
"Get the HELL OUT HERE!!" Tycon screamed into the cave.
Then he began to roar, different tones and pitches, with an

intermixed series of guttural clicks-- sounds Kakui wasn't sure a
human should be able to make.
Slow and measured pounding of stone emanated from deep

within the cave. Something heavy. Something with steps that
echoed as it walked. Something huge.
The smell of sulfur became more pronounced, an acrid stench

that made Kakui's eyes water. Whatever was coming, he had no
knowledge of it. A great beast? A demon?
Kakui looked to Tycon with confusion. What could such a young
man have identified that required such vigilance?
It reared its head out of the darkness of the cave, a great red,
serpentine neck with red horns curved back towards its wings. Its
head alone was as large an ox and the rest of its red, winged
body, stood taller and sturdier than a two-story fortress. It reared
back its head and roared. The earth shook, the stones erupted in
steam, and waters rumbled and splashed.
"(WHOMST HAS AWAKENED THE ANCIENT ONE?!!)"
Its words were foreign, deep and unsettling. The magic was
ancient and the depths of his human soul could understand it on
primitive instinct. The creature before him was an ancient beast...
knowing the magics of an ancient, sorcerous language...
"Seven bloody hells, you ugly bastard, WHAT took you so long?"
Tycon yelled, defiance in his eyes.
Elder Kakui knelt to the ground, speechless. Who was this youth
to so brazenly taunt an Ancient Red Dragon?
Chapter 78 Legend Of Korr
he red dragon blinked its eyes and yawned, lazily spouting a

T
gout of flame.
"(It has been many years since a mortal has spoken to me so

brazenly.)" The dragon sighed, "(I shall forgive thy foolishness...
this once.)
The dragon sleepily unfolded its wings, more than doubling its
already-massive size, "(Behold. I am a great and powerful dragon.
You've found me.)"
Kakui grabbed Taree's shoulders, "Young Mistress, what... what

shall we do?"
Taree wiped the tears from her eyes and shook her head, "Wh-
what can we do? Grandpa, we have to trust in Warrior Tycon."
Pale held Taree's hand and nodded to Kakui. The older man
gulped a lump stuck in his throat but remained silent.
"(I've had quite a long flight, and I'm very tired, you see. I'd really
prefer you all return in, say... an epoch? 16 of your years should
do, for certain.)"
The dragon yawned again, a wider, uglier, serpentine-neck-flexing

yawn. "(So bugger off, will you? Before I change my mind.)"
"Yeah-- You can't sleep here, Lizard," Tycon ordered, as if he were

offended.
Barza tugged on Tycon's cloak. "Boss... Boss, I know you have

your thing against... the lizards but... What the heck are you
doing?"
"Not now, Mister Barza," Tycon angrily shoved Barza back to the
rest of the group.
"Oh?" The dragon looked perplexed and responded in the

common tongue. "And why in the blazes not, mortal??"
"The cave." Tycon pointed at the ground with emphasis, "It's.

Mine."
The dragon furrowed its great, scaly brows, "What? Don't be

ridiculous. I was obviously here first. How could this cave be...
yours?"
Tycon crossed his arms, "Simple. I discovered it."
"You... You can't just say you discovered something-- well... Fine,"
The dragon snorted flame from its nostrils. "I discovered this cave,
first! How about that?"
Tycon laughed, "Hah! Your claim is IRRELEVANT!!"
The red dragon reared its head back, "What? By what... logic
could you possibly make that claim?"
Tycon pointed angrily, "I don't BELIEVE IN YOU!! You don't

EXIST!!"
Elder Kakui hid his face in his hands. Taree stared with wide eyes,
open mouth. Barza began to sob quietly.
Tamaki, hiding behind a rock, flashed a thumbs-up motion of

agreement to Tycon.
The dragon stared blankly. It squinted its eyes. It lowered its head
to be level with Tycon, its head alone taller than the green-haired
youth, "I. Beg. Your. Pardon?"
In a flash of movement, Tycon stabbed the dragon in the eye,

"INVICTUS!!!! PIN LEEEEFFFT!!!"
The dragon roared in anger. Taree collapsed, her entire body

shaking in fear. Tamaki couldn't hold his bow steady, eventually
collapsing to a knee behind his rock. Kakui too, had fallen upon
both hands and knees in despair. He looked up and spotted Lone,
the Chosen One, stunned with his dual blades stuck in the earth.
Kakui shut his eyes and slammed his fists to the ground beside
his fallen sabers. How were they to survive the coming onslaught?
Wroe appeared out of the mist-- the humid environment perfect for
his abilities. He pulled his ethereal blade out of the vapor and
plunged his blade into the dragon's left claw, "PIN LEFT!!"
Pale had already circled behind the dragon. Bouncing off of a wall
for height, he stuck his crimson spear into the dragon's rear left
claw, "PIN LEFT!!"
Tycon roared, "TAREE!! STRIKE RIGHT!!"
"I-- I can't move!!" She screamed.
Tycon turned and scowled, "Idiot!!"
He pointed a hand awash in mana at her, "Desire Trigger!!"
Taree's eyes widened in an instant. Choking back a sob, her legs

began to move, and she sprinted towards the dragon's right side.
With a mana-infused leap, her tiny form smashed into the massive
creature, toppling it to the ground, bleeding it upon the cave's
stalagmites. It roared and writhed in pain, smashing its claws and
tail against the cavern stones.
Dragan leapt through the air, "Enervating Slash!!" With a

sorcerous slash of darkness, the red-headed behemoth of a man
smashed his axe into the dragon's back, leaving a shadowy
wound that bled black ink.
Korr had dashed to the dragon's exposed belly. "Hurricane of

Blood!!" Slashing her stolen Staghorn sword with unparalleled
speed over and over again, the dragon's underbelly scales
became a mess of torn scale and crimson flow. Her skill came to a
forceful stop, however, as the blade broke under her handling.
Maximus was flapping his great blue wings, hovering in the air. He
pointed his spear forward and was yelling his own name.
"Maximus! Maximus! Maximus!" With each call, lightning emerged
from the man's spear and accurately struck the dragon's body,
causing it to twitch and convulse with each strike.
Tycon had approached Lone and backhanded him across his

scarred face, "Wake up!"
"Bwuhh?!" Lone fell onto his back but seemed to regain his
senses.
He scrambled to sit up, sporting a bleeding lip, "I'm g-good, Boss!

What do I do?!"
Tycon roared in anger, "Assist Korr! NOW!!"
Lone immediately sprinted as Tycon directed.
The dragon roared again in pain, flames of rage spreading out

and blackening the cave ceiling, "(YOU MORTALS DARE!! YOU
DAAAAARE!! TO--)"
Tycon lashed out his whip, entrapping one of the dragon's horns.
Tycon flew up acrobatically, landing on the dragon's face. He
stared into the dragon's unbloodied eye before stabbing his sword
into that one too, "DEATH TO THE ENEMIES OF INVICTUS!!"
[Vexing Gaze activating. Death to the enemies of Invictus.]
Blood poured from the dragon's mouth as it choked.
"Eldritch Blast!!" "Whirling Rend!!" "Rising Storm!!" "Crashing

Thunder!!" --a slew of skills continuously activated, smashing into
the helpless dragon's body.
Blinded, the lizard began to thrash around, swinging wildly with its
claws, wings, and tail.
Barza grinned, "Stupid dragon, behold!! MY!! SKILL!!"

His two swords pointed outward, Barza began spinning his body
like a top.
Tycon stayed mounted on the raging drake's head, holding fast

onto one of its horns, "Korr! Do something before the fool gets
himself killed!"
The drake whipped its body around, sending its tail hurtling
towards Barza.
"On it, Leader!!" The woman dashed in front of Barza and side-
kicked the mana-less spinning man out of the way.
« System, Activate Jumping Knee Counter on Korr!! »
[Activating. Jumping Knee Counter. Reaction ability. Targeted

ally's physical defenses are improved against a single attack.
Target is compelled to make an instantaneous unarmed strike
against an enemy with increased accuracy.]
Leaping forward, Korr's fist collided against the massive dragon

tail, stopping its momentum. With a precise grip, she grabbed with
both hands onto the scales of the lizard's tail and connected a
merciless knee into it, causing the lizard to cry and sob in pain
and lamentation.
"(WWWWHYYYYYYYY?! WHAT HAVE I DONE TO DESERVE

THIIIIIISSS??!)"
Barza sat back on his behind, dumbfounded, "D-did you just break
the dragon's tail?"
Not turning to look at the fallen man, Korr held her hand out
towards Lone, "WEAPON!!"
Lone hurriedly stood up and placed one of his blades into Korr's
outstretched hand.
"Brutal Blade!!" Korr smashed it into the dragon's belly, inflicting a

grievous wound and bathing her in blood, but shattering Lone's
favorite weapon in the process.
Korr held her hand out again, "WEAPON!!"
Lone looked on in horror, suffering deep-seated flashbacks of the

worst night of his life. Unwilling to disobey the woman, he placed
his other sword into Korr's hand.
"Brutal Blade!!" the woman used her monstrous strength to break

the second weapon. She discarded the hilt and grabbed onto the
dragon's torn skin and with inhuman strength, tore the leather skin
apart, blood spilling onto the ground in a flood.
"WEAPON!!" The woman demanded. She was thoroughly soaked

in dragon blood and her eye seemed to glow with frenetic red
mana.
Lone was too horrified to be aggrieved. He carried the most

weapons on his body in Guild Invictus. He could stand to lose one
or two. He unsheathed another one of his weapons and handed it
to the Berserk Knight.
"This is OUR CAVE, you stupid LIZARD!!" Tycon had climbed the
helpless, dying dragon's head, and yelled into its aural cavity,
"How DARE you question me!!"
Chapter 79 Koryu Essence
y the time Elder Kakui was able to stand, he watched on as

B
Guild Invictus (and Kimura Taree) slashed and pummeled the
massive red dragon to a veritable death, even going as far as to
completely sever its head from its body.
Every single combatant was soaked in blood. The blood splatter

had gotten so bad that even Kakui and Young Master Tamaki had
traces of blood on their clothing. The cool, hard-packed earth had
transformed into a mess of hot, soggy mud from the dragon's
spilled life essence.
Tycon let out a loud and contended sigh and he clapped his hands
together.
"Guild Invictus! The integrity of our cave has been protected! Now,
who's ready to soak in the hot springs?"
Guild Invictus and Tamaki cheered. Taree, covered in blood and

dragon offal looked back to Elder Kakui in helplessness. Kakui
took a deep sigh and silently accompanied the grisly group
towards the waters.
...
The hot springs were nice.
Tycon had plenty of towels and extra clothes in his spatial ring, so
everyone was able to relax for a while. It took nearly an entire bell
for the party to clean their bodies and scrub their armors free of
blood and lizardy viscera.
It took another half-bell for Guild Invictus to defeat a Fire Slime

that Wroe "accidentally" summoned from another world. Wroe was
harshly reprimanded.
Though, it could have been worse. Tycon recounted a tale about a
former Irvhir associate named Zing Lee, who undertook a quest to
lay a dragon. At the time, the general consensus was that the
quest posting had a glaring and unfortunate error. In the past, Zing
Lee was most insistent. In the present, Wroe was just as insistent.
Wroe was harshly reprimanded.
Tycon advised Elder Kakui to salvage the large lizard's leather. It

would be supple and naturally resistant to cuts, moreso than
normal animal hide, and could be used for high-quality armor.
After a pleasant afternoon, Tycon and Korr hiked towards Old

Fool's cave, while everyone else returned to the sect.
Tycon was hoping to secure a drop of blood essence from the

aged serpent, hopefully securing a class-change for Korr from
Berserk Knight to Flood Dragon Berserker. It would be the least
he could do. Invictus was instrumental, after all, in resolving Old
Fool's mana issues. And they'd even exterminated an arrogant
red lizard, a potential threat to his sect.
...
Tycon led Korr by hand through the spacious, humid cavern, their
way lit by a paper lantern.
"Hey, Old Fool. It's (Little White). We've come to visit."
With a great roil and toil of bubbles, Old Fool's big, stupid head
emerged from the underground lake.
"(LITTLE WHITE!! IT WARMS MY HEART TO--)"
With a solid smack from Korr's fist, Old Fool's azure-white head
reared back and splashed into the lake, sending large waves
crashing upon the cavern shore. Tycon had to guard the flimsly
lantern in order to keep it lit, but the two were otherwise wholly
drenched.
Tycon grimaced at Korr with narrowed eyes. Her white shirt stuck
to her skin, revealing her athletic figure and her underclothes. She
was likely very pretty. Tycon didn't particularly care.
After enough glowering, she finally responded, "Wh-what? It's a

dragon. I punched it."
"Don't be silly, girl. Dragons don't exist. Old Fool is a Koryu, a

flood dragon."
Korr nodded with her mouth open. Did she really understand?
Old Fool peeked the top of his head out of the lake.
"(Little White, why hath thee arrived?)" The overgrown eel asked
in a pained and piteous voice.
"This is Seldin Korr, and I'm here to--"
Old Fool's head surged out of the waters, "(Oho! Is this your
mate?!)"
"Well... Uh... No," Tycon hesitated.
"(Then thou hast finally brought me a virgin! Is she a virgin?)" the

serpent babbled.
"Will you shut up and let me speak, Old Pervert!!"
Old Fool retreated back into the water, only revealing his eyes, "
(This humble one would prefer the other form of address, Little
White.)"
Korr tugged on Tycon's cloak, "L-leader, what's he saying? Should

I punch him again?"
"Not yet, Korr."
Tycon released the tension in his shoulders with a disgusted sigh,

"Fine. I would have you grant a boon to this young lady."
A white mist enveloped Old Fool's form, too thick to see through.
When the clouds began to clear, a wise old man calmly
approached, his hands hidden by his robed sleeves. His deep-set
wrinkles painted him as a gentle sage, a stark white ponytail and a
long beard that fell down to his waist only added to his mystique.
"A mere boon, you say? 'Tis a simple matter, my child."
The old human fool grasped Korr's hand and placed two fingers
upon her wrist, "Thou art fertile, young lady. My blessing upon
thee! Thou hast permission to join with my son, Little White, in an
Eternal Bond."
Tycon sprang up into the air and smashed both of his boots into
the old man's head.
"NOT WHAT I'M HERE FOR!!" Tycon yelled indignantly.
"It's not good to hit your father," Korr frowned with a reddened
face.
Tycon held his palms out, trying to explain. "He's not my dad!!"
Old fool laid on the floor, holding his cheek, "Little White, when
hast thou been so aggrieved with thy father?"
Tycon drew his sword.
Old Fool had stood up rigidly, his hands sagaciously behind his
back, "Ahem. So, how can this humble one help thee?"
Tycon resheathed his weapon, "Transformation. And you can

speak the common tongue."
Old Fool gave an embarrassed smile, "This Old Fool must remain
mysterious to the White Scale sect."
"Right. I want a drop of your Life Essence to instill into Korr."
Old Fool looked troubled, "That..."
Korr crackled her knuckles, but Tycon motioned for her to wait.
"What's the issue, Old Fool? Have we not done enough for your
sect?"
"This Old Fool is still weakened from the Unsealing Ceremony. If I
were to grant you my Blood Essence, I would weaken further still,
and be unable to protect the sect. I'm sorry, but I must refuse,
Little White."
Tycon crossed his arms. According to the System, Old Fool

trusted Tycon completely. He had no reason to lie, "Is there no
way, then?"
The old man looked up, remembering something, "The Kimura

patriarch has a drop of my blood. How about this Old Fool
accompany thee to reclaim it from him?"
"I'm not in the business of making incompetent losers into useless

ones," Tycon grimaced.
"Perhaps I can interest thee in a treasure?" The elder smiled

hopefully.
Tycon groaned. Sect treasures were valued highly by Martialsts

and their subclasses but tended to have limited use outside of
them.
A protective treasure or an aesthetically pleasing bracelet, even if

Korr could only use a fraction of its potential, it would be a better
gift than nothing. Tycon wanted to appease the woman before he
ordered her to resume her duties in Nice as Sorina Capulet's
bodyguard.
"Fine. What kind of treasure is it? A talisman? A box of spirit

herbs? A 'high ranked' mana rock?"
The old man chuckled as he swept his robes and turned towards
the lake. With a flick of his hands, an ivory-stoned walkway
emerged from the depths. Stairs were revealed leading
downward, while water streamed down the sides of its flanking
white walls.
"Follow me, children," Old Fool smiled as he descended down the

watery steps.
Chapter 80 Black Blade
he vault hidden in the underground lake held rows and rows of

T
treasures, stacked on shelves 3 high. There were weapon racks,
boxes of herbs, cultivation manuals, ornate chests, and various
decrepit items displayed in various states of care. And of course,
there were neatly arranged piles of "spirit stones", the high-density
mana rocks that cultivators enjoyed... to eat?
Tycon glanced back to Old Fool. The flood dragon had adopted a
gloating expression but was at least intelligent enough not to say
anything...
"Ohohoho!! Behold, the treasure vault of the White Scale sect! A

collection of epochs and centuries of artifacts!!" The old fool
cackled.
Tycon glared, but the gesture was lost upon the ignorant creep.
"Little White!! You may take one treasure! Choose wisely!" Old
Fool warned.
After a cursory inspection, Tycon picked up a weighty two-handed

hammer. It was lighter than it looked, but it was still too heavy for
him to wield with any proper amount of skill.
« This looks promising. System, identify. »
[Bloodtree Stump. Second-Circle Magical Warhammer. Greatly

increases the user's strength. Greatly ignores enemy target's
armor and resilience. Soul bind poss--]
« --Ah, right. Disable soul-binding prompts for 30 minutes. »

"Korr, what do you think of this?"
Korr was staring intently at one of the treasures. After another

prodding, she turned and examined the warhammer. She picked it
up easily enough and swung it around, making a worrisome
wooshing sound.
"Don't like it."
Tycon furrowed his brows, "May I ask... why?"
"Looks ugly."
Tycon did not understand the woman's criticism, but he didn't care
to argue as he took back the weapon and set it aside. His eyes
followed Korr's gaze and found the object of her adoration.
It was a very fat, white, snake-looking plush.
« System... Inquiry... Please tell me that thing's enchanted. »
[Stuffed Plush White Flood Dragon Doll, High Quality. If the user
likes snakes or serpents, their enjoyment is greatly increased.]
« System, inquiry: Is it... magical? »
[Negative.]
"Korr... Do you... Want... that thing?"
It was certainly a nice thing. However, Tycon didn't quite deem it

worthwhile as a single pick in a vault literally filled with magical
treasure.
The woman nodded shyly, sweeping her bangs to reveal her good
eye, wide, watery, and pleading.
"Old Fool, I want that," Tycon declared.
"Ohoho! Certainly, Little White, I-- eh? That?" Even the old eel
was surprised.
Tycon crossed his arms, "I'm taking it. And I'll take something
else, too."
The old man was taken aback, "Little White! I told you *one*
treasure!?!"
"Why do you even keep something like that, anyway, you weird
pervert?!!" Tycon snapped, "Stop being so stingy!"
"Bah! You can't take advantage of me! I gave BIRTH to you!!"
"Like hell you did, you old bastard! We're not even the same
species! You can try that crap on your sect, but not on me!"
Old Fool turned to Korr, "Little Korr, don't mind Little White. He's at
a rebellious age."
The woman nodded. She had already embraced the white plush
and claimed it as her own. Tycon thought it looked more like his
snake form than it did Old Fool.
"Tss. Shut it, you rotten, old, miser," Tycon growled.
The old man stroked his luxurious white beard, "This humble one
prefers the term: venerable."
"Treat that one as a gift to Korr, then. I'll choose another item for
myself."
"Hmm," The wrinkled old man took a long moment of

consideration, "Very well. This humble one is most magnanimous.
Thou art the savior of my White Scale sect, after all."
"Right, most magnanimous." Tycon waved flippantly as he went

back to searching the treasure vault.
He needed a magical weapon more attractive than the

warhammer. Korr's powerful attacks greatly wore down the
durability of her weapons, so he was looking for a weapon
enchanted to at least Second-Circle.
...And he was not at all interested in a resulting conversation from
returning the stolen Shatterspike longsword to her.
Tycon quickly glossed over a series of weapons, identifying each

of them with the System. He wanted something weighty,
something vicious-- something that would match Korr's class as a
high-strength Berserk Knight. Finally, Tycon's eye caught a pair of
axes that seemed to emit a dark and icy aura.
« How about these, then? ...System, identify. »
[Wraithbite Hackers. Paired Second-Circle Magical Battleaxes.

Dealing damage to living creatures restores the user's health and
stamina.]
Perfect. Korr's fighting style bordered on reckless, a demeanor

that was probably lent from her class. The paired Hackers would
greatly alleviate the risks and ensured her longevity in drawn-out
combat.
Tycon held the axes in his hands. The weapons looked sharp,
vicious, and quite intimidating. He brought them over to Korr.
"Nope," she flatly rejected them.
Tycon wanted to bash his head against the smoothed vault brick,
"And why not??"
Instead of answering, Korr pointed to an unsheathed dark-metal

single-edged blade about 4 fulms in length, middling between a
full blade and a longsword. A bastard sword.
Upon further scrutiny, Tycon frowned. Red infernal script flashed

on the metal's surface when Korr's held lantern light shone upon it
at a certain angle.
« What a worrisome looking blade. System, identify. »
[Blackblade of Shahram. Third-Circle Magical Bastard Sword.

Warning. The weapon is inhabited by the infernal spirit of
Shahram. The weapon spirit may possess the user.]
Tycon turned, "Hey, Old Fool. Is that sword over there cursed?"
"That blade... Yes. For over two centu-- bwuuuuh?" Old Fool's
mouth hung open, staring behind Tycon.
Tycon frowned. He placed his hand on his sword hilt as he slowly

turned his body to once again face Korr.
She was holding the sword in both hands, staring at its upright
blade only ilms away from her face.
Tycon sighed and began to explain, "Sword's cursed, Korr. If you

lose in a battle of wills to the weapon spirit, I'll have to--"
In a bright flash, a raging flame twice Korr's size erupted in the

vault. A creature emerged from the blaze, with the torso of a nude,
four-armed, red-haired woman and the lower body of a red-scaled
serpent. As the summoning fire died down, flames still coated and
licked the creature's scales. The Salamander woman towered
over Tycon and glowered while crossing her two sets of arms.
"This is Shahram," Korr introduced. Her own dark red hair had
brightened considerably into a fiery orange-red, matching that of
her weapon spirit.
Korr had subdued the sentient weapon spirit in mere seconds.

What a terrifying woman.
"Charmed," Tycon said impassively.
"Is she single?" the old man inquired.
Tycon shook his head in defeat, "I'll be taking the sword as my

chosen treasure, Old Fool."
Chapter 81 Sending Korr Back
ld Fool reassumed his Flood Dragon form to fly Tycon and Korr
O
back to the sect. Korr was silent for most of the return back, but
Tycon heard her whisper to her new dragon plush in a strange
high-pitched voice, as if the plush was speaker.
Tycon invited Old Fool over for a meal at the Kimura household,
but he politely declined. Tycon reasoned that he probably had a
poor reputation in his human form. Old Fool chose silence as his
response and tactically withdrew.
Maximus, Dragan, and Pale requested drake meat for dinner, but
Tycon flatly rejected them. Without dry aging, the meat would
wreak havoc on the poor human stomachs of the Kimura family.
He strongly considered roasting a single portion for the patriarch,

but decided it wasn't worth the effort.
Guild Invictus and company had to subsist on two cauldrons of

bear-meat, stewed until tender with wild onions and other root
vegetables.
The patriarch, Kimura Daigo, declared his unending loyalty to

Guild Invictus during the meal, tears of sincerity in his eyes, meat
juices streaming inelegantly down the corners of his mouth. As
pathetic as he acted, he took the opportunity to apologize
repetitively to his eldest son for doubting his judgment.
What a strange family.
Kagehisa Yumiko and Kimura Tamaki also made sure there were
freshly-caught fish, (Tycon requested river eel,) steamed buns,
and other dishes. Korr was especially enamored with Yumiko's
baked desserts.
After the standard-fare dinner, Tycon escorted Korr to one of the
gardens on the Kimura estate, a near-full moon and Korr's paper
lantern providing them company.
Tycon was ready. He had a potion on his belt, his crossbow was
loaded with a poisoned bolt, and he kept his sword out of its catch
so he could draw it more easily.
If Korr decided to refuse to return to Nice, he gave himself 2:3

odds that he could fight her to a standstill. Or 1:5 odds if she used
the Blackblade of Shahram. Or 1:10 odds if she had the 4-armed
salamander woman assist her.
"Leader," Korr turned, swishing about her orange kimono and

sweeping her long, fluffy orange hair.
Tycon concentrated on calming his heart rate as he drew his

blade. Its metal song rang crisp and clear, "What is it?"
"Thank you for today."
"Uh?" Tycon averted his gaze, rapidly assessing the situation.

Was this some sort of trick?
"I had a good time," she smiled, without an onze of duplicity.
"Oh." Tycon put his sword away, coughing... "I don't suppose I
could ask you to elaborate?"
"It was so fun doing the obstacle course... And the way you played
with the children was so sweet."
Tycon turned his back to Korr, so she wouldn't see his face. Tycon
barely completed the course once. The speed and agility of the
children embarrassed him. The dull ache in the back of his brain
from overexerting his concentration still hadn't completely left him.
Korr continued, "Then how strong you were in the fight against
the... the lizard. It felt so good to be part of a team again."
Tycon covered his mouth with his palm. The lizard took the most
damage from Korr, herself. All he'd done was stab the creature in
the eyes-- disabling only one of its many accurate senses.
"And the hot springs were really nice. It was like I was in heaven."
Dragan had tried to convince Pale to sneak over to the springs

Taree and Korr were using to bathe. Wroe had tried to convince
Tycon not to use the Iron Dragon Rend skill on Dragan's face.
Dragan nakedly ran away to escape Tycon's wrath, the peeping
plan handily thwarted.
"And then you got me this."
Ah, the sword. Tycon couldn't get a drop of Flood Dragon

essence. Or a brutal warhammer. Or vicious paired axes. But at
least the woman got a sword that suited her aesthetics and
wouldn't break so easily.
Tycon turned back to Korr, "We'll, I'm happy to be of ser--."
Korr was holding out the white serpent plush.
"Vvvvwehh?" Tycon's jaw hung agape.
Korr embraced the fat plush, cradling it with a reddening face.
Tycon began to examine his surroundings. Was this a distraction

for a sneak attack? The System displayed the woman as Trusted,
but could the System be wrong?
Tycon felt softness against his cheek, and he turned to see Korr's
blushing face, ilms away from his. He observed her mostly
symmetrical, youthful facial features and took in the natural scent
of her hair. He found the battle-scars on her face more appealing
than repulsive, physical signs that she had suffered and grown
because of it. It was all very pleasant.
"Leader," she hugged the plush tighter and refused to meet

Tycon's eyes, "I'll return to Nice in the morning. I'm sorry for
abandoning my duty, guarding Sorina."
'Okay, good. You should feel sorry,' Tycon thought.

He opened his mouth to speak over the quickening palpitations of
his heart, "Ah."
That was not what he meant to say. Peculiar.
Korr smiled softly, "Good night, Leader."
"Y-yeah."
Tycon watched as the woman departed with cute, hasty steps,

hindered by the wrap of her robes.
When she was out of sight, Tycon nodded. The quest to convince
Korr to return to Nice was complete with every objective met.
Tycon resolved to eat his remaining Gann belly rations as a

celebratory snack.
...
The rest of the evening passed mostly uneventfully. Tycon had

found Korr sleeping in his bed, so he had to relocate to one of the
empty rooms.
In the morning, he gathered Guild Invictus for a brief.
Seldin Korr was to take Corporal Horse and Jeremy back to Nice.
Invictus no longer needed a supply cart-- Tycon's spatial ring was
far more efficient.
"(Corporal Horse, Private Jeremy, you have your orders.)" Tycon

pat Horse's neck. The senior horse, Horse, had been a stalwart
traveling companion.
Horse stood proud and tall, "(We will protect the female, Snake!)"
Jeremy neighed and stepped about anxiously, staring at his

superior, "(Reporting! Reporting! Sirrrrrrr!! I have discovered a
suspicious talking horse!!)"
Tarquin Wroe was to travel with the party to Merylsward. There,

he'd temporarily separate from the company to travel to Port City
Caractere. He would have 1 or 2 weeks of time to charter a ship
willing to brave the treacherous journey westward. Wroe was
explicitly ordered to avoid contracting the Windwright's guild, the
largest merchant fleet among the 5 Nations. Discretion, in this
case, was more important than cost.
...Though Tycon insisted that if Wroe went over budget, he'd be

paying out of his own pocket.
Maximus of Ezyria and Kimura Taree joined Guild Invictus as

combatants. Kimura Tamaki was signed as a scout and tracker.
Their contracts were drafted that morning, the latter two's
contracts being signed by their legal guardians, Kagehisa Yumiko
and her less-useful mate.
Tamaki was being paid more. It was not a gender inequality issue.
The highest paid member of Guild Invictus was likely Sorina
Capulet; her base pay was largely augmented by bonuses based
on her business dealings and acquisitions.
Tamaki was a useful Bronze-Rank Fisherman with moderate skill

as a ranger. Taree was useless baggage that Kagehisa Yumiko
insisted come along.
...Tycon privately reminded Tamaki not to reveal his higher pay to

his sister. The boy amicably agreed.
And thus, the group of 8 traveled east towards the Kingdom's city
of Merylsward.
Tycondrius of House Charm. Dragan Ashlord.
Tarquin Wroe. Pale, son of Quay.
Lone Shadowdark. Maximus of Ezyria.
Kimura Tamaki. And that dumb silver-haired whelp.
Tycon had gathered a force of elite adventurers and was finally

confident in completing the mission he was assigned.
Chapter 82 Guild Contest
" Now, ya need a straight stick. A curved stick won't do ya any

good," Tamaki was trying to teach Barza something about nature,
speaking in his calming drawl.
"Can't I find true north by looking at the moss on the trees?" Barza
asked hopefully.
"Well, y'can. But that only works 'cos moss grows on the side of
the trees where there's sun. An' spiderwebs are always on the
side where the sun don't shine! The stick an' shadow method's a
bit more reliable, so listen up," Tamaki patiently explained.
Tamaki was an excellent pathfinder. Tycon congratulated himself

for petitioning for the youth's assistance.
He was feeling rather proud overall for the work done at the sect,
especially at his diplomatic handling of the catastrophe that was
Seldin Korr. He was especially proud that he did not die.
Tycon decided that the guild no longer needed to stop at Aviard,

as he had originally intended. He was able to stockpile rations
from the Ivory Judge sect and his spatial ring kept food fresh for
longer. It also largely protected their mundane equipment from the
erosion of the elements.
Guild Invictus' elite forces had grown. Tycon would be able to

liquidate the assets he gained from looting House Muto in
Merylsward, a far larger city than Aviard. With that and whatever
monetary power Sorina Capulet was able to consolidate, the guild
would be well on their way to recruiting adventurers, mercenaries,
professional soldiers, and other logistics operators.
What else could he do? Deep in thought, the image of Korr

suddenly arose in his mind. How strange. Oh! But there was an
idea!
Wroe sidled up to Tycon-- thankfully, without bursting from the

shadows like a fool wandering into a pit trap.
"What's on your mind, Boss?" The blue-haired man man tilted his
head in curiosity.
"Eggs," Tycon declared, overly proud.
"Wh-what kind of eggs? Scrambled? Sunny side up? Fertilized?"

Wroe offered, trying to be helpful.
"The last kind, actually. I was thinking that we should expand the
clutch... err, so to speak. We've contracted Maximus and Young
Master Tamaki, but Guild Invictus should always be on the lookout
for more talent."
Wroe pointed with his thumb at Maximus, "Boss, I don't think

we're getting any better than Maximus."
"I thought I told you to stop flirting within the guild," Tycon glared.
"No fertilizing eggs for me," Barza's gaze drifted to stare through
the forest canopy at the cloudless blue sky, "I have someone I
like."
Tycon thought back to Sorina's night visit and how much the
woman probably hated Barza for something that was neither his,
nor Tycon's fault, "Mister Dragan."
"Yyyyyyeah, Boss?"
"Find Mister Barza a mate in Merylsward."
"Aye aye, Boss!" Dragan gave a lazy salute and wrapped a heavy
arm around Barza's shoulders.
"Don't I get a say in this??" Barza yawped, unable to escape.
"Soooo what's in Merylsward, Boss?" Dragan asked.

"Heretics to be purged by bolt and flame," Maximus clenched a
sparking fist.
"A red lamp district," Wroe offered generously.
"I said it first," Maximus averted his gaze.
"Tss. Right." Tycon raised his voice, "Guild Invictus, bring it in."
Gathering Guild Invictus around him, he began to explain, "Mister

Dragan, I've told you and Mister Wroe that we were heading to
Merylsward."
"Uhhhh huh. Yeap!" "Right, but you didn't tell us why?"
"That has something to do with a ah..." Tycon struggled to

remember what the letter in his pack had said, "--Duke Tavor, if
memory serves."
Barza raised his hand, "Don't you mean Baron Tavor... Sir Tycon?"
"Negative. Baron Zindo Tavor attained his wealth and status

through his brother, a Duke residing in Merylsward."
Dragan whistled, "A Duke, huh? Should be more interesting than

taking care of a Baron."
Wroe raised his hand, "What about Wolfbanger and Lulu? Should
we be looking for them, too?"
"No. Stop asking."
Maximus raised his hand, "What about guild leader Quay?"
"Also no. Let's assume he's dead."
Pale raised his hand.
"What is it, Bucket?"
"Dad's just missing," Pale frowned.

"Right. That's what I said. Missing."
Pale pouted but put his hand back down.
Taree raised her hand, "Boss Tycon, what's a red lamp district?"
Tycon ignored the last question.
"Anyroad, we've a contract to expose the Duke-- shouldn't be

difficult. There should be evidence abound of his corruption."
Dragan snickered, "Or we could sabotage him."
"We could challenge him and his men to single combat." Maximus
flexed his blue-scaled arms, electricity sparking from his eyes, "I
volunteer as the single combatant."
Tycon waved his hand to stop the speculation, "We'll identify a

plan of action after observing the situation. For now, we'll get a
few suns of training to better facilitate team plays. We'll split up
into two teams..."
Tycon observed Guild Invictus' reactions. Everyone in the guild

had a healthy competition-craving spirit. Taree and Barza,
especially, showed a burning resolve to prove themselves. If the
girl performed better, he might consider acknowledging her. As for
the dual-wielding warrior... He was conscripted for life without pay,
so Tycon didn't keep high expectations for him. But if he
performed well, Tycon would welcome the pleasant surprise.
"I'll take Pale, and... what was your name, again? Lone?"
Barza coughed, "The Lone Shadowdark, Sir Tycon."
Tycon stared blankly at Barza. Odd. If one of Guild Invictus'

members offered something outrageous, it was usually in jest.
When Tycon would stare after such a suggestion, the offending
member would assure him that the statement was only made in
jest.
Tycon grew worried. He was not gaining the assurance he was

hoping for, "You serious?"
"Boss, he had mentioned he was um... Lonely," Wroe offered
politely.
"H'yeah, Boss, can we get some guild funds for getting Lone laid
in Merylsward?"
Tycon sighed, "I'll set aside some of the funds... But I want a
receipt!"
"You got it, Boss!" Dragan pointed with a wink and clicked his
tongue.
"Mister Dragan's team will be Tamaki and Maximus."
Taree stood atop a nearby rock, to elevate her height, "Wait a

second!"
Tycon raised his eyebrows, "What is it, young lady?"
"What about me?!?" She demanded.
Tycon inwardly groaned. It was growing more difficult each

passing sun to hide his disdain for the silver-haired brat, "Go with
your brother."
"But you have less people!!" the girl puffed her cheeks.
When Korr did such a thing, Tycon accepted it as a childish quirk

that accentuated her charm. How did this brat look so irritable
when she did it?
"False. Mister Wroe will be a part of my team until we reach

Merylsward."
The pouting Taree turned to her brother for assistance. Tamaki

promptly came to her aid, "Can we hold on for just a minute, Boss
Tycon?"
"Speak your mind, Young Master," Tycon gave a quick upward

nod. Unlike his sister, Tamaki operated on logic and reason. It was
natural that his suggestions would be exponentially more credible
and constructive.
"How 'bout ya treat it like a friendly competition. Like if Coach
does real good, she can join the team of her choice."
Tycon chuckled in amusement, "You propose a contest within the

guild?"
"Yeah! That sounds just about right," Tamaki crossed his arms and
nodded, congratulating his own cleverness.
Taree grabbed her brother's arm and jumped up excitedly.
Tycon looked to the side.
Dragan Ashlord raised his dark-metal greataxe in both hands over

his head, shrouded in flames. Maximus of Ezyria posed with his
shield and spear, flexing his muscles while surrounded in an arc of
electrical energy. Tarquin Wroe floated, black ink spilling from his
eye sockets, shrouded entirely in a shadowy aura.
"Yeah, not you guys. The contest will be between Pale, Taree, and
uh... Lone."
The three show-offs collapsed in a clumsy heap, like stringed

puppets suddenly told that they would no longer get to fight each
other.
Tamaki swung his arm, "Oh, boy. I can't wait!"

Chapter 83 Movement
Technique
Taree hadn't slept for 3 suns.
While Pale and Lone slept, she studied the shadows. While they
enjoyed their delicious meals, she became one with the darkness.
While they wasted their time bathing in pursuit of comfort, she
cultivated inner strength. And now that the 3rd sun had passed
and Guild Invictus was in sight of the city of Merylsward... She still
hadn't mastered a movement technique!!
She collapsed, face-down on a pillow of moss, her fatigue

apparent.
"Tss." Tycon scoffed, "I gave you ample time to sleep, girl. Did I
not?"
With the rapid training schedule, Tycon had scheduled a 4-bell

period of sleep, and plenty of rest breaks throughout the sun,
reserved for napping or learning nonverbal tactics and other
knowledge. Taree spent her free time trying to master a
movement technique. Now she was too tired to stay awake, much
less comprehend a Skill.
She felt gentle arms lift her to sit up.
"Taree, are you okay?" The lovely Pale asked with a genuine
smile.
Taree's heart pounded and she snuggled her face into Pale's
chest, selfishly taking in his scent.
"I'm okay now," she mumbled.

Dragan wound up a throw, rotating his arm in its socket like a
spinning toy. Tycon loaded his crossbow. The clunk sound its
loading arm made sent a chill down Taree's spine.
"Target!" Tycon yelled.
With a powerful wooshing sound, Dragan threw the hard fruit

towards Tycon.
Pale grinned, "I'll be right back." Taree's heart was left aflutter.
In a blur of vision, Pale blinked out of existence, leaving behind a

silvery mist. In the next instant, he had reappeared in front of
Tycon, reaching out his right hand and locking his elbow. The
series of motions like smooth clockwork, he caught the hard fruit
with a loud PAP noise. It was an accurate throw and a perfect
catch.
Tycon smacked the back of Pale's head, causing him to drop the
fruit, "Where's your SPEAR?!"
Pale looked back at Taree and spotted the crimson Lifedrinker

spear, watching it tilt and fall to the ground. When he teleported,
he had left it there.
Pale grinned innocently, "But I protected you!"
"Which is why I didn't *shoot* you with my crossbow." Tycon

reprimanded, "But you're still WRONG!!"
Tycon shoved Pale's back with his boot and Pale ran happily back
towards Taree.
Taree stood up and handed Pale back his spear. She couldn't
meet his gaze. But it wasn't the whirling butterflies in her stomach,
it was her feelings of inferiority.
Tycon didn't berate her like he did Pale and Lone, but over the
past several suns she was undeniably and oppressively
pressured.
She grew up the genius of the Ivory Judge sect. She was always
afforded pills for her injuries and to help her comprehension. She
was always celebrated as the fastest, the quickest learning, and
the most powerful cultivator in her generation.
But in Guild Invictus, she was fast but not as fast as Pale. She
was strong but not as strong as Lone. She was practiced in all
sorts of weapons: swords, spears, archery-- but Tarquin Wroe,
Dragan, Maximus, and even Tycon outclassed her in skill. And her
brother was contracted as a tracker, so she couldn't even
compare herself to him!
They trained their endurance and various feats of athleticism for

bells on end. And then they were expected to learn complex
strategies. She thought Dragan was only good for drinking and
being loud, but when he shared his knowledge about the arcane,
curses, and various creatures they had encountered, her head
swam.
Not a single sun of training had passed where she hadn't cried in
frustration.
Pale had reassured her, saying they had spent weeks learning the
material and getting acclimated to the training schedule. But the
worst defeat came from a practical class taught on the first sun.
Tycon had arranged for himself, Wroe, and Dragan to

demonstrate movement techniques. (Maximus was exempt
because his movement techniques made use of his wings.)
Dragan had demonstrated the Lava Leap Skill, in which he leapt a

great distance without a running start. His instructions on how to
collect ki-- oh, the outsiders call it mana? Dragan's in-depth
instructions on how to gather explosive mana in the legs were
entirely lost on Taree.
Tycon demonstrated a Skill called Fleeting Ghost. He ran across

the forest floor in complete silence, not even kicking up the
leaves. He explained it, but no one else could easily grasp the
concept. Taree had only heard of the highest level of clan ninja
able to perform such a feat so she didn't even try.
Wroe was able to summon strange shadowy portals, used in
conjunction with a burst of mana, he was able to transform into a
silvery mist and reappear a short distance away.
By the second sun, Pale was able to perform all 3 skills to minor
completion... An absolutely impossible feat for anyone in the Ivory
Judge sect. Even more terrifying, after only 3 suns, Pale was able
to exhibit Wroe's Misty Step Skill somewhere in the realm of major
completion, though not without its flaws.
Taree's only consolation was that Lone wasn't able to comprehend

any of the movement techniques either.
She smiled at Lone with shining teeth. They were both losers
TOGETHER.
"What have you learned in the last 3 suns, Mister Lone?" Tycon
asked.
"Oh, Young Master Tamaki has been teaching me a lot about the
woods and stuff."
Tycon nodded, "I've noticed. I'm impressed with your initiative, as

pathfinding and its related studies are often helpful in our line of
work as a traveling company."
"Does that mean I pass, Sir Tycon?" Lone asked excitedly.
"Tss. It means you don't fail." Tycon narrowed his eyes, "But since
you are able to exhibit some kind of improvement, in this contest,
you are outperforming one other person."
Taree fell to her knees in despair, her forehead squishing against

the mossy ground. TRAITOR!!
"SIR TYCON!!" she yelled.
Tycon walked over, "Stand!"
Taree shot up, her body as rigid as an arrow. Over the past few
suns, Tycon's voice had been drilled so hard into her, that when
he spoke a certain way, her body moved before she understood
what was going on.
Tycon crossed his arms, "Have some self-respect, young lady.

Now, speak before I change my mind."
"I-- I know I'm not as strong or as brave or as skilled as Pale,"

Taree admitted, her voice quavering and her eyes blurry.
Tycon opened his mouth to speak, to shut her down, to tell her
how useless she was... To point out every insecurity she had, that
Tycon knew, but refused to say out loud. Her tiny fists shook and
tears ran hot down her cheek.
Tycon hesitated. He motioned for her to continue.
"But I-- but I..."
Tycon placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Breathe, child. Hesitation does not beget a leader, especially the

future leader of the Ivory Judge sect."
Tycon spoke firmly, without judgment, and without lies... A much

different admonishing than Taree had expected.
"I... I request a duel to prove what I've learned."
"Ohhhh?" Tycon smirked, "So the little Kimura Taree thinks she
has learned bravery? Very well. Let's see what you can do."
Chapter 84 Monkey Steals
Peaches
ycon cracked his neck left and right and began stretching his
T
back, "Young Lady, this will be the last event in the contest. As I'm
sure you are aware, the young Pale has improved the most
amongst the 3 of you."
Taree clenched her tiny fist, "Yes, Boss. I'm aware."
"And thusly, you have decided to challenge one of Guild Invictus'

members to a duel, in order to show your skills. To prevent a
conflict of interest, I will disallow you from choosing your brother
for this contest."
"O-okay, that's fair," Taree's plan had been seen through by

Tycon. She gazed at Tamaki longingly and in response, he flashed
her a clueless smile and an upward thumb of approval.
When she looked back, Tycon had ratcheted back his hand-
crossbow's lever, loading a bolt, "I advise you to choose your
opponent wisely. I won't tell you there's a correct answer..."
Tycon grinned, "But there are wrong answers."
Taree grit her teeth as an icy chill ran down her spine. She was so
worried, she was sweating. She looked over to Pale for support,
who was making an X with his hands while pointing at Tycon.
Taree's decided to scrap her second plan on challenging Tycon in

order to impress him. She glanced over at the rest of Guild
Invictus.
Dragan? Nope. He'd crush her.

Maximus? Nope. He'd zap her into oblivion.
Wroe? Nope. She saw him die! Even looking at him gave her the
creeps.
Pale? Oh, Pale... Gah! She would be too distracted to fight him!
"I choose... the Chosen One!!"
Lone pointed to himself, "You choose me?"
Tycon chuckled as he unloaded his crossbow. In a flash, he

removed two wooden swords from his spatial ring.
"Don't hold back," He advised Lone. "Treat her as she's wearing

armor around her whole body-- I'm certain you've experienced it
before."
Lone stepped forward, spinning the two weapons in a comfortable

flourish, testing their weight, "Oh, you don't have to tell me that,
Boss."
Tycon revealed a worried look, "I'm... pretty sure I did."
"Okay. That's fair." Lone smiled weakly.
"Pale!" Tycon called out as he began walking back, "Stop the fight
when there's a clear winner."
...
"WHIRLWIIINND ATTTAAAAACK!!"
Lone jumped up, spinning in a 720-degree circle. He thrashed his

swords about nonsensically, their randomness managing to catch
Taree off guard, smashing her nose in for her trouble.
Taree leapt back and wiped her bloodied nose.
"Taree's not doing so great. Should we stop the fight?" Wroe

observed with a concerned face.
Maximus shook his head, "Neither has landed a decisive blow. It's
still anyone's match."
"What'cha think, Boss?" Dragan was paying more attention to

doing sit-ups than the fight.
Tycon was sharpening and oiling some of the extra weapons in

storage, "Lone's controlled the fight, thus far. He's attacking
quickly, but safely-- I see a bit of your sword technique in his
defensive assault. Also, the large windows he leaves with his
wider attacks have been considerably reduced."
Dragan snickered, "Yeah. He musta got tired of gettin' hit."
"However he's learned it, he's improved since Nice," Tycon

nodded in approval.
"What about Taree?" Wroe asked.
Tycon frowned, "The girl's scared of something. She won't commit

to her attacks like something's holding her back. I think she's
realized it."
Dragan flopped his body around into a stretch, "Realized what,

Boss?"
"That the defensive style of her Stone Body art doesn't fit her
personality. One of the biggest flaws of the martialist sects is that
they only tend to teach one main style. She may have talent, but
her Completion Rate is utter trash."
Maximus rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "I have spoken to some of

the Ivory Judge sect. They begin training from an even younger
age. The girl has a few years of formal training."
Tycon rolled his eyes, "No different from in the Holy Country, you
humble braggart. Whatever factors, be it the amount of functional
training, knowledge, or talent, the end result is lacking."
Maximus smiled but remained silent.

"If all that's true, why are we still letting them fight?" Wroe asked,
genuinely curious.
"To see if she can realize something else she's missing."
"What would you do, Boss? To win?" Dragan asked.
"Same as you, Mister Dragan. Break the status quo. If the enemy
doesn't make mistakes, then we must force the enemy to make
them. Unbalance. Disorient. Confuse. Intimidate. Feint. If Taree
remains passive, she will lose."
Dragan chortled at Tycon's judgment while the others watched the

fight in silence.
...
Taree grabbed onto the sides of Lone's head.
"RIISIIING--"
Lone grabbed her with his arm and slammed her hard against a
tree, disrupting her skill. He reached back and slammed her again
before tossing her. She tumbled on the ground and regained her
balance, combat-rolling back to a standing position.
It was the first time she'd fought such a heavy opponent. With
Lone's muscle and armored weight, each time she grappled him,
he'd pull her off with brute force and would take a gravity-assisted
slam. She had taken 3 thus far and she felt her consciousness
threatening to fade.
Her fight with Lone had been pathetic and cowardly. Scared of
losing, she relied on the defensive orthodoxy that her father taught
her. She had never lost before, relying on those defensive stances
and techniques. But she had never dueled a single opponent that
wasn't scared of her fists.
She was beginning to grow desperate. She would lose at the rate
she was going.
But there was one thing she hadn't tried.

Her mother had passed her a forbidden technique, its origin lost to
the ages.
She was told never to unseal it. As for when she could, her
mother told her she'd know in her heart.
She hated losing. Seeing how fast Pale and Lone grew stronger
and how she couldn't even learn a movement technique pissed
her off more than anything in the world.
She would unseal it.
If Guild Invictus hated her for it, she'd fight them.
If the world hated her, she'd fight the world.
If the heavens themselves cursed her, she'd fight against heaven

until her bones turned to dust.
She screamed in a final burst of power, rushing forward. Lone,

seeing her low dash, began sweeping his blades down in a
vicious cross. The damage would be immense if she were even a
millisecond too slow.
Unsealing the technique, she reached out with eagle-claw hands.
And she tightly gripped Lone's crotch.
Lone's blades stopped a hair's edge away from smashing into

Taree's skull.
"Choose your fate, Chosen One!!" Taree screamed so hard, her

throat hurt.
"Whoa whoa whoa. Let's just calm down," Lone dropped his
weapons and reached his palms forward slowly.
Taree readjusted her grip, making Lone squeal, "Hiiiieee!"
"Do what I want or I squeeze!!" Taree threatened.
"Don't squeeze! Don't squee-hee-hee-heeeeeze!!" Lone begged.

Tycon called out from amongst the observers, "Pale!"
With a gentle touch, Pale placed his hand on Taree's.
"That's enough, Taree." He smiled, "You've won."

Chapter 85 Tiny Little Cakes
" So it's a smiling chicken," Dragan tapped a heavy forefinger onto

the dining table.
Maximus placed his hand on the table and leaned forward, "Right.
And it's eating a worm out of an apple."
"Happy chicken?" Lone offered.
"Couldn't be," Maximus sat back and stroked his chin.
Guild Invictus had reached Merylsward and were staying at the...

inn with a chicken on its sign. Tycon had taken Pale and Taree
out, while Dragan's team were carousing at the inn's first floor, a
dining hall and tavern.
Dragan scratched his fiery red mane in frustration and downed his
flagon of ale, "Bah. I wish Tarquin stayed for a bit. He would've
gotten it."
"He didn't even stay to check out the girls," Maximus complained.
Lone and Dragan shot him a look.
"...Such evils in this world." Holy Warrior Maximus stared back

with pride, "When the meek are possessed by sin, it is my solemn
duty to exorcise the demon."
Dragan snickered, "Yeah, man. And you can take 'em to the
heavens."
A pink-haired elven serving girl approached and took a

comfortable seat on Maximus' lap, "Oh, Paladin Maximus, I would
love to help you exercise the demon."
He took a grave expression, "That-- I promised my friends that I
would accompany them in their noble quest."
The elf fawned, "Oh wowww~ Official business?" Her voice

dropped in octave, sweet and sultry, "That's so hot."
Dragan reached across the table and took Maximus' half-filled ale
flagon, "Tell ya what, bud. We'll finish up here and you can
gooOOoo... show your new lady-friend your uh... spear?"
Maximus stood up, "Milady, perhaps a... private consultation is in

order?"
The giggling elf followed Maximus back to the privacy of their inn
room.
"F*cking dragonborn," Dragan complained when they were out of

earshot, downing the rest of Maximus' ale.
Lone nodded, "Y-yeah."
Young Master Tamaki returned to the table, "Jolly Pecker!"
"Wh-what?" Lone looked confused.
Tamaki sat down, a smug look on his youthful face. "The sign on
the inn. It's a Jolly Pecker!"
Understanding dawned on Lone's and Dragan's faces, "Jolly

Pecker~!!"
"Well!" Dragan stood up and clapped his hands together, "Let's

get going, you two."
"Ooh, are we goin' to see the ladies, Mister Dragan?" Tamaki

smiled.
"Ayep! Boss assigned me a mission! To find Lone a mate."
"Wait, wait, hold on." Lone held his palms out, "Why was I not
informed of this mission?"
"We decided it while an 11-year-old girl had your balls in a crush-
grip," Dragan explained.
Tamaki followed up, "Yeap. You lost, Chosen One. So ya gotta

pay the piper."
...
Tycon held the written letter he'd received at the Courier's Guild
building.
"Who's it from, Boss?" Pale asked. He kept his eyes outward,

constantly scanning the people in the crowd for potential threats.
Taree was bouncing around like a pigeon, largely ignoring her

surroundings, "What type of person was that? They were shorter
than me but they looked so old!"
Tycon turned to Pale, "It's an update from Sorina Capulet back in

Nice. She's doing well, but she's requested more funds for
investment. We'll need to find a fence in the lower district."
Tycon turned to Taree, "That's a gnome. Don't stare, it's rude.

Gnome culture values curiosity, so most gnomes will gladly
answer your questions."
"And don't hold up the line by asking a gnome that's working,"

Pale added.
Taree nodded obediently to Pale. Even though the girl was taller
than Pale and a few years older, she always acted like the
younger between the two... Those two were awful close, though.
Tycon tucked the letter away, masking his feelings in front of his
young companions. There was an unwelcome development in the
Merylsward mission. He needed to discuss it with Guild Invictus'
contractor.
After a short walk, Pale was growing anxious.
After a short walk through the city streets, Tycon noticed Pale's
fidgeting. He nudged the young spearman, "Whaaaat is it?"
Pale looked up with hopeful eyes, "Can I have some coin, Sir
Tycon? I'd like to take Taree to go buy some snacks."
Tycon activated his spatial ring and handed him a small pouch of
coin, "That's your month's pay. Spend it as you like, but don't
forget to save some money for essentials: rope, rations, repair,
clothing, SOAP."
"Yes, sir!" Pale saluted.
"I'll be going into that building over there. If we get separated for
too long, go back to the inn."
The two children agreed and ran off. Tycon yelled after them,
"You'd best not forget the soap!"
Tycon watched the two whelplings race away and turn a corner.
"Tss. Maybe I don't want eggs, after all," Tycon grumbled as he

pulled his dark hood low and entered the nearby building.
...
"--And this last one is an Eclair la Chocolat," Pale introduced,

smiling proudly.
He had brought Taree to a small, but friendly-looking corner shop.

Through the window, the smell of fresh baked goods in the style of
the Kingdom led his sharp nose straight to it. Taree's eyes were as
wide as dessert plates. She'd grown up with her mother's
delicious baking, but the variety of the Kingdom's sweetbreads,
cookies, chilled desserts as Pale introduced them all, blew her
mind.
"But-- but this looks so expensive! How many spirit stones does
this cost?" Taree looked worried.
"Don't worry," Pale smiled, "I can probably afford all the bread in
this shop!"
Taree made a squee-like noise as she shook in excitement, "Oh!

In that case, I want that and that... and that..."
The cafe's other clientele were comprised of older folks and young
couples. All of them watched the children's little date with warmed
hearts.
A well-dressed businessman with deep wrinkles etched into his

face smiled at the baker's daughter, "Heloise! Your mother will
scold you if you give those two lovers run of the bakery!"
Heloise smiled with the tilt of her head, her long light hair styled
with a bandana, "Oh, don't worry, sir, they're paying customers.
The young master might be a nobleman's son."
The girl handed the older gentleman a bag packed with fragrant,
freshly baked bread rolls as he laughed, "Aha! I wish I had the
coin when I was younger! Ah, did I tell you how beautiful your
mother was when she was younger? You look just like her,
Heloise."
"You tell me this every day, Monsieur," Heloise placed her hand on
her mouth, stifling an embarrassed laugh, "And Mother is always
complaining about your coquetry at the market!"
The crowd behind the older man grew eerily silent. Heloise looked
over in worry as she felt the goosebumps rising on her arms.
8 rough-looking men, armed and armored in mismatched uniforms

had approached the corner bakery. Reynard's men had come to
cause trouble.
The older man had quickly excused himself, hurrying away, just
like all the other clientele. Only Heloise, the young boy that
introduced himself as Pale, and his young girlfriend, Taree,
remained.
She gathered her courage and managed to eke out a tiny voice,
"Messieurs! C-can I help you...?"
One of the men, Armand, turned back to her, "We're not here for
you, Heloise. Mind your business."
Another of them, an ex-soldier named Marceau, spoke harshly to
Pale, "I hear you've got coin, boy. How about you come with us for
an outing?"
Chapter 86 Equivalent
Exchange
aree shrank in fear. They had been surrounded and were greatly
T
outnumbered, 2 to 8.
Pale looked up with a dumbfounded expression like he couldn't

believe what was happening.
The men began to laugh.
"Hey, hey, stop it Marceau. You've scared the boy." "Haha. Look
how big the girl's eyes are!! She looks like she's 'bout to piss
herself." "Oyyyy, quit it, lads. Come on, little boy, how about you
hand me that spear and you come on with us? We'll take you two
someplace fun."
"M-m-messieurs! Please!" the bakery girl ran up, latching onto

Marceau's arm. "They're just children!"
Pale's eyes gained clarity and focus. He placed his hand on

Taree's to stop her from shaking him.
"I get it!" He said with a wide grin, his eyes slightly closing.
The thugs looked to each other and back to Pale.
Marceau shook off the baker girl's arm, "What do you get, little
boy?"
"You guys are kidnappers!" Pale turned to Taree to explain, "I've

been kidnapped before. It was a little embarrassing."
One of the men guffawed, "Gahaha, then you know the deal, kid!"
"Yep!" Pale thrust his spearblade through the man's chest as
easily as a fork through a slice of pie.
Pulling the spear back twice as fast, he slashed through another

man's throat.
And he stabbed again into another man's heart.
He slashed a man's belly open, spilling out his guts.
...Within several seconds, Pale had used his Lifedrinker spear to

kill all 8 men with lethal slashes and stabs.
"Oh, was that it?" Taree complained. She was covered in blood
and a little bit of viscera. She pushed her plate of soggy bread
away... "I'm not hungry anymore."
Pale smiled weakly, "Y-yeah. Me neither. Wanna ask for a bag of

bread to take back to the inn?"
"Oh, we can do that?" Taree's face lit up.
The baker girl stood and gawked. Blood splatter had stained the
bottom of her apron.
"Excuse me, um... Mademoiselle?" Pale waved.
The woman promptly fainted, falling dramatically to the floor away

(thankfully, away from the pooling blood.)
Taree tilted her head, "Does that mean we don't have to pay?"
Pale shook his head, "No. We still have to pay. It's the law of
equivalent exchange."
...
Pale left enough silver coins to cover their bill on the nearby table.
As he turned to leave, he spotted Boss Tycon, who was leisurely
approaching.
Tycon narrowed his eyes at the scene of carnage in the little
bakery.
"Empty night!" He cursed. "I leave for half-a-bell and you've killed
half-a-dozen men and left them to rot!?"
"Um, am I in trouble?" Pale asked.
Taree hurried in front of Pale and bowed deeply at the waist, "I'm
sorry! This is all my fault, Boss Tycon!"
Tycon raised an eyebrow. He was beginning to find this Taree far

more tolerable than the brat from only half a week prior.
"Stand at ease, Kimura." Tycon sighed, "Pale, Son of Quay."
Pale saluted, "Yes, sir!"
"Report."
"8 kidnappers, sir!"
"And I see 8 corpses. Good, so far. Their affiliation?"
Pale rubbed the back of his head, "Um, I didn't have time to ask,
Sir."
Tycon shrugged, "I'm assuming you struck as soon as you

recognized the threat in order to protect yourself and your charge.
You were outnumbered, so you couldn't afford to prolong the
situation. Kimura Taree."
Taree saluted sharply, "Yes, sir!"
Tycon hesitated. The crispness of her salute spoke to his soul, "Y-
yes. Can you verify everything that young master Pale has said?"
"Yessir!" She smiled. "Everyone was super weak and Pale

wrecked their faaaaaces!"
There it was. That's what he was used to. That smile. That stupid
smile. Tycon's fever dream of getting a polite, proper Taree was
dashed with the girl saying the word 'faces' as low in pitch as her
vocal cords allowed.
It was fine, though. Tycon could continue discounting the girl as

mediocre garbage in his heart, just as he was used to.
Tycon clicked his tongue, "Let's wake up that baker girl. We need
to collect some information."
"Shall I wake her up now, Sir?" Pale offered.
"Not yet," Tycon pointed to an empty burlap sack underneath a

table. "Pale, grab that. Taree."
"Y-yes, Boss?" Taree tilted her head with her forefinger touching
her chin.
A sharpened hacking-blade appeared in Tycon's hand, out of his

spatial ring. He spun the blade and offered Taree the hilt, which
she took gingerly, "Have you ever cut off a man's head?"
...
"We shouldn't be doing this," Lone mumbled under his breath. His
companions wouldn't listen to his gripes and worries. He had
joined Guild Invictus a few moons prior but still had yet to earn
enough respect necessary to have literally anyone listen to his
reasoning.
Against his better judgment, words of complaint again drifted from

his lips, "I mean this place looks dangerous! What if we get
mugged? And besides--"
Before he could finish, Lone was shoved. He banged his elbow

awkwardly against a wall, "Ow! Hey!"
Dragan laughed, "Hey, man! You worry too much!"
Tamaki looked over, "You okay, Chosen One?"
"Yeah, I'm good."

Dragan patted Lone on the back, "Didn't mean to push you so
hard, man. My bad."
"No, I'm fine. I should have been paying attention," Lone tried to
return the favor, shoving Dragan with one arm. The action had
zero push-effect on the 8-fulm-tall man. Instead, Lone appeared to
awkwardly place his hand on Dragan's oblique muscles for
several seconds.
"Aaaaaanyroad," Dragan continued, "Thugs don't screw with other

thugs. You've got two swords and a bunch of other weapons,
dude. No one's gonna mess with you! Just don't look like an easy
mark and you'll get left alone."
"Yeap. As long as you look like a bad sonuvabitch, ain't no one'll

mess wit'cha," Tamaki added confidently.
Dragan snickered, "Yeah, you're comin' with me, blondie."
"Oh! You got it, Mister Dragan."
Dragan and Tamaki entered the building while Lone scoped the
surroundings. He had started his adventuring career long ago, in a
big city like Merylsward. He had worked hard, completing low-rank
missions for the adventurer's guild, and finally found employment
with a real guild, the Shadowdark Wolves.
A week later, they were all dead, and he was conscripted into a
new guild as an indentured servant.
He had hoped to live a better life being indebted to a noble. The

training was tough. He was pretty sure he'd died at least twice. He
had soiled himself many times but was only discovered twice. He
thought his boss might actually be a snake, but wasn't quite sure if
it was just a really, weird dream. Hanging out with Mister Wroe, he
had a lot of weird, inexplicable dreams.
He gained a little brother in Pale. And he gained... friends-- people

he'd never have imagined he would associate with. A giant. An
angel. A dra-- err... a lizardborn. A noble. Two martialists from a
hidden sect.
Lone Shadowdark, birth name Barza Keith, was living a pretty
good life.
He turned to enter the building after his friends but in his

carelessness, he shoulder-checked an adventurer who was
leaving, "Oh, I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention."
"What the-- SEVEN HELLS, you sodden trash heap! Watch where
you're going. Don't you know who the BLAZES I am?!" the
leather-armored man began to yell. "Do you know who I WORK
for?!?!"
Chapter 87 Little Bird
" Look, man! I said I was sorry!" Lone held his empty palms
forward. His bumping into this adventurer was purely accidental.
They didn't even know each other.
"Sorry? SORRY?!?" The leather-armored man was screaming. He

slammed his chest with his hand, "I could've been HURT! What
would you do if I tripped and fell? Huh? HUH??"
Lone was getting frustrated. He had already apologized. If this

man wanted more than an apology, then he was purposely trying
to cause trouble.
Lone gulped and gathered his courage, "I'd probably just walk
away."
The man stared at him with furrowed brows, "You'd what?"
Lone repeated himself, raising his voice, "I'd probably walk away!
Because I don't FREAKIN' care!!"
Shocked for a moment, the man scowled, "Why you--"
The man flew forward, tumbling several times before smashing

into a street-barrel full of refuse. Confused Lone looked to the
doorway, seeing Dragan with an outstretched boot, and Tamaki
beside him.
"We got the info. Pretty sure we've got the right place, this time,"
Tamaki explained.
Dragan yawned while picking his ear with his pinky. He pointed at
the guy he had kicked, who was dazed, struggling to get to his
feet, "Who the hell's that? Friend of yours?"
Lone shrugged, "Not really."
"Wanna kick his ass?" Dragan offered.
"Yeah," Lone admitted. "I think I do."
...
Tycon walked into the slaughterhouse with the young Kimura

Taree at his side and a weighted burlap sack over his shoulder.
The walls were lined with mold and wood rot, the floors and
surfaces covered in splatters of dried blood, "Quaint. I like the
decor."
Taree took a deep breath but nearly gagged. She scowled, "It
smells gross, Boss."
"It's the sickly-sweet smell of corruption, young lady. Remember it

well."
"Smells like weak men," the little girl huffed.
"Be polite, young lady," Tycon wagged his finger. "We're here to
talk, not to pick a fight."
"Yes, Boss," Taree obediently fell in behind Tycon, a skip in her

step.
No less than a dozen men walked over to surround the two. They
were armed with butcher's knives, rusted chains, and meat-hooks.
No military weapons? Their equipment was a joke.
"And who in ze seven 'ells are you supposed to be?" A fat,

bearded and aproned butcher demanded. The thick accent of the
Kingdom's Old Language rolled off the butcher's tongue.
"We're looking for a-- how you say..." Tycon squinted his eyes to
think.
"Reynard!" Taree offered.

"Ah, yes. Monsieur Reynard! I don't suppose you... fine young
gentlemen have heard about him?"
The men looked around to each other before bursting out into
raucous laughter.
Tycon smiled calmly, though Taree crossed her short arms in

annoyance.
The butcher's laughter turned to a wicked snarl, "And where did

you 'ear of zat name, little boy?!"
"Oh, dear. Oh, dear... How rude!" Tycon appeared shocked,

"Namecalling! In this day and age?"
"I know, right?" Taree placed her hand over her chest with her
mouth in a tiny o.
Some of the men started to edge forward. A hairy man in a long

leather coat leered at Taree with lascivious eyes, "How about you
give us ze girl and--"
Tycon snapped his fingers.
Taree punched the man's left knee, forcing it to bend inward at a

broken angle. As he struck the floor, Taree slammed her left fist
into the man's solar plexus. He stopped moving.
Tycon snapped again, mana surging through Taree's lithe body.

She smashed a flying kick against another man's ribs, spinning in
mid-air to smash her heel into the man's temple.
She springboarded off of the man's chest to grab the head of a

third man.
"Rising STORM!!" she drove her knee into the man's jaw. His
teeth crunched, some of them flying loose.
"Rising STOOOORM!!" she drove her opposite knee into the side
of his cheek, breaking his cheekbone and collapsing his face.
She landed and turned around as the man behind her collapsed to
the floor, convulsing, "Why doesn't anyone take me seriously?"
The brutal display of force made the other thugs hesitate. Tycon
directed his golden stare directly at the aproned butcher, smiling
joylessly. He decided to use the Old Language, for emphasis, "(I
learned of Mister Reynard from a little bird.)"
The golden-eyed youth undid the drawstring on the burlap sack

and turned it upside down. The butch and his men watched in
disbelief as 8 severed human heads rolled out onto the blooded
tile. The boy picked up the last head, "(This beautiful little bird,
here. See how he sings.)"
The surrounding thugs began to mumble in the Old Language-- "

(Sacred gods, it's Marceau.)" "(He was one of our strongest
men.)" "(The boy is a monster!)"
Winding up his arm, Tycon hurled the man's severed head on the
wall, splattering blood on the wall like a rancid tomato. Taree
watched the movement with indifference, but everyone else in the
room was shocked. Not a single one of the thugs was Bronze-
Rank or higher.
"I politely asked this... 'Marceau' where I could find Monsieur

Reynard."
Tycon closed the gap between him and the butcher, he grabbed
the fat man's collar and pulled him down, so they could see eye to
eye.
"(Now, will you sing for me, little bird?)"
A door swung open on the opposite side of the large room,

prompting Tycon and the fat man to turn their heads.
"W-were under attack!" The man screamed. "He-- he's already

taken out a dozen men! We need--"
Before the man could continue, the side of his head was bashed
in by a red pole and he collapsed in the doorway. Pale, the 9-year-
old boy appeared in the doorway and waved, "Reporting! I haven't
found Reynard, yet!"
"Very well!" Tycon yelled back, "I'm asking my new friend."
Tycon looked back to the butcher, "I didn't catch your name,
Monsieur?"
The fat man gulped, smiling weakly, "My name is Gilebert, (young
master.)"
"Ah, that's right. A fine name," Tycon released Gilebert's collar and
smoothed the older man's shirt and apron with his bloody hands.
"Got it! I'll keep looking!" Pale yelled. He dragged the unconscious
man out of the doorway and slammed the door shut once more.
Tycon smiled at his new friend, "(Your parents, they were born in
the Kingdom, yes)?"
"(Y-yes, young master.)"
"(You look like a very smart man. Your parents must be very proud
of you, yes?)"
The older man nodded, sweat dripping from his brow, his knees
buckling.
Taree glowered upon smelling the acrid stench of urine spilling

onto the floor down the man's legs, "Gross, Boss."
"Anyroad, Monsieur Gilebert. I'd like to make an appointment with

Monsieur Reynard. (Will that be a problem?)"
"(No, milord. I'll... I'll let him know.)"
The doors behind Tycon burst open, and he half-turned in

annoyance.
Dragan stepped in, greataxe over his right shoulder, a bleeding

barrel over his left, "Alright, which one of you cheese-sucking
pricks is R-- Oh! Hey, Boss!"
"Too slow, Mister Dragan," Tycon waved.
"Ohh."
Dragan looked to his left. He looked to his right. He looked at the

dumbfounded thugs that stood around gawking. He looked at the
3 unconscious thugs downed by Taree's hands. Finally, he looked
down at the array of severed heads on the floor, "Ohhhhhh."
From behind Dragan, Tamaki put away the arrow he nocked and
Lone resheathed his swords.
"Go back," Tycon groaned. Taree waved excitedly at her brother

with blood-covered hands.
Dragan placed the bloody barrel onto the floor, "Well. Boss has
got it from here. Let's head to the whorehouse, boys!"
The three left the way they came in. Tamaki shut the door
because he was raised properly.
Tycon turned back to his new friend, "Anyway, Monsieur Gilebert.

(Where were we?)"
Chapter 88 Parenting
orrowful notes of a violin resonated throughout the study, off the

S
few books Reynard owned, off the torn banners and knickknacks
displayed on the walls and shelves. He looked down at his desk.
Placed upon it was a crystal decanter filled with the best cognac
he could afford. The two cups, made from refined glass, were
more expensive.
He stopped playing.
He couldn't stop his hands from shaking.
A young man, too young, quietly entered the door. Following

closely was a young, silver-haired girl, not even in her teens. And
with a face, pale as a sheet, followed a wide and bearded
gentleman. Reynard had recognized him but did not know his
name.
"Monsieur Reynard, I presume. (Please, don't stop playing

because of me,)" The youth said, motioning for him to continue.
Reynard's mouth twitched as he stared at his shaking hand

holding the violin bow.
The youth spoke the Old Language flawlessly. His skin was white
as if he'd never labored a day in the sun. Wet blood dripped down
his leather armor.
It was as if he were a noble out of a political painting on war.

Beautiful. Untouchable. Covered in the blood of commoners.
"Pardon me, sir. My hands have lost ze melody," Reynard gently

turned, returning his violin and bow to its stand. He could feel the
youth's gaze, heated upon his back.
"A shame, Monsieur Reynard. Truly a shame," the golden-eyed
youth closed his eyes and shook his head.
He pointed, "(Mister Gilebert, fetch me a chair.)"
"(Of course, young master. Right away, young master,)" the older
man hurried out of the room, leaving the door open. A man had
fallen right outside of the door, his eyes were rolled back and wet
blood spilled messily from his mouth.
Reynard gulped.
He mentally reviewed what nobleman he could have possibly

offended. He and his men hadn't arranged any risky scores in
weeks. His mouth twisted in anxiety as he again stared at the two
drinking glasses on the desk.
Hesitantly, Reynard spoke, "(May I know how to address you,

sir?)"
He couldn't refer to the youth as 'young master', as Gilebert did.

He was still the leader of an organization and had to hold onto
whatever little pride he could, so he wouldn't look weak.
"Tycondrius. Monsieur le Baron."
Baron Tycondrius did not offer a hand in greeting. Gilebert

returned with a bloodied chair, draping a cloth over it and placing it
at the desk, and promptly excusing himself afterward.
"(Smart man. His parents are proud of him. You'd do well to

nurture such a talent.)" Tycon sat down without being offered.
Reynard cleared his throat as he tried to calm his painfully

thumping heart, "(May I ask... what business you have with me, sir
baron?)"
The youth smiled but offered no response.
This meeting was not at all going how Reynard was expecting.
The baron had entered his compound without a word of warning
and had savagely beaten and crippled his men. He'd even tossed
around severed heads. The man feared nothing. And now that
he'd entered Reynard's office... there was no yelling. There were
no threats or harsh words. There was only the man's cold
demeanor... and a seething and barely-contained anger hidden
behind a smile. Reynard would have almost preferred naked
violence.
Reynard swallowed hard, his mouth an arid wasteland, "(May I

ask... How I've offended you?")
Baron Tycondrius smiled wider, revealing his teeth, "(I'm so happy

that you've asked the question I've been waiting for.)"
Sweat began to drip down Reynard's forehead, his body hot from
fear, "(I'll punish whoever has offended you, sir baron-- Or their
parents, or their children. I can make anyone in this city
disappear.)"
The young girl leaned over the desk to stare at the Reynard's
miserable, sweating and babbling form, "What's he saying, Boss?
Is he begging for his life?"
Reynard's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Was the baron
here to kill him? To torture him and make him suffer?
"Monsieur Reynard, I apologize for troubling you, but I'd like to

continue this conversation in the common tongue. I am trying to
teach my young associate how to do business."
Reynard looked to the silver-haired girl with a new fear, "Yes, of

course, Monsieur le Baron. There is no trouble, no trouble at all."
"Leadership, Monsieur Reynard..." The baron crossed his legs, "--

is like being a father to many children."
Reynard did not like where the baron was taking the conversation.
Tycon continued, "If the father finds their child is lacking... What
do we do?"
Reynard bowed his head close to the desk, the pressure
overwhelming. He had built his organization with his own hands,
on a mountain of fallen men, allies and enemies. With his work
still unfinished, he did not want to die. "I... I am so... so, sorry,
Monsieur le--"
"Answer. the question. Reynard," Tycon firmly repeated himself,

shocking Reynard into silence.
"...The child... is punished, Monsieur le Baron."
"Ve~ry good, Monsieur," Tycon lightly applauded. Slow. Measured

claps, "And if we were out walking..."
Tycon took a deep breath... and spoke steadily, "(You see a parent
and their many children. They run in the streets. They steal from
the market stalls. They take the gods' names in vain.)"
The youth watched Reynard's eyes for comprehension... "(They

*cry* because they are scolded by other adults. And the parent
does nothing?) What do we do? Who do we blame?"
Reynard stared blankly at the two empty glasses on his desk, "It
is... the fault of the parent."
"It is a harsh truth in this world, Monsieur Reynard. The sins of the
child can be seen as the failure of the parent. And that, Monsieur,
is the issue I have come to address with you, today."
Tycon uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, "And that is why I
cannot, in good faith, merely ask you to reprimand your men."
Reynard slumped over in his chair. He shook his head with

moistened eyes and sat back up to speak, "I'm... sorry, Monsieur.
I--"
Tycon tilted his head and raised his hand to stop the gang boss,
"What do we do, Monsieur Reynard? What. Do. We. Do? When a
parent cannot properly educate their children?"
Reynard's vision blurred and went out of focus as he searched
inwardly for an answer that would not get him killed.
"Young Lady?" The baron looked to the silver-haired girl, "Do you
have an answer?"
The child smiled at Reynard... innocent yet not so... "We break
every fucking bone in his body."
The baron pat the girl on the head, ruffling her short, silvery hair,
"Oh, children. So innocent and straightforward. You and I,
Monsieur Reynard, we are adults. And we cannot give in so easily
to our base desires."
Reynard's heart had stopped. Only with the baron's gentle words,
did his basic functions continue, "What... can I do?"
"Simple, Monsieur. I will teach you." The baron stood, which

prompted Reynard to bolt out of his chair, standing rigidly and
upright. Slowly, the baron took the glass decanter and poured the
dark liquid into the two glasses, "I will contract you, provide you
with funding. You will adopt a higher standard for yourself and for
the men who follow you. They will be loyal to you because you are
just, fair, and generous."
"And they will fear you." The baron lifted a glass, "Because you
fear me."
Chapter 89 House Plants &
Leadership
eynard shook his head. It was difficult for him to believe it. He
R
had offended a baron and he had earned a commission for it?
"But-- why? Monsieur le Baron, why would you risk giving money
to a... (to a lowlife scum like me?)"
Tycon stared at his glass, slowly swirling around his drink, "To be
perfectly honest, Monsieur, I was planning on having my young
associate beat you within inches of your life."
The pair glanced over to the young girl. She was playing with a
broken spinning globe in the corner of the room.
He scoffed, looking up to gaze yellow soul-searching eyes at

Reynard, "I was even going to have someone come in here and
shit on your floor-- that's how angry I was.."
The baron motioned to the girl, "She may not look like much, but
she is a Bronze-Rank Martialist."
Reynard shivered. The terrifying baron a metal ranker in his

employ, and it was a girl not even in her teens. It was no wonder
that his men were so easily incapacitated, "Then... why?"
The baron pointed past him, and his gaze drifted to find his violin,
"Your music saved you... Your books in the Old Language on
strategy and philosophy. Your collections of art. Your houseplant."
He gave off an arrogant smirk, "And even your poison."
He placed his nose near his glass of cognac, "Even with the
strength of your drink, a subtle nutty aroma remains evident... I
recommend you invest in a more expensive poison."
He downed the glass in a swift pull, making a disgusted face.
Reynard's jaw dropped, "Monsieur! What are you DOING?!"
Tycon placed the glass back on the table, "Drinking your cheap
swill. Ugh. It's no wonder you keep poison around if that's what
you drink for pleasure."
"Can I try some, Boss?" the little girl bounded over.
"No, young lady. Both glasses are literally poisoned. You'll die,"
Tycon explained in a single breath.
"Oh," the girl took a few seconds to register what Tycon said. She
took Reynard's cup and poured it onto the floor.
Reynard stared at the spilled drink with his eyes unfocused, "H-
how much money, Monsieur?"
Tycon stated a price. Reynard's eyes widened once more, his

knees buckled, and he steadied himself on his desk.
"Now," Tycon flicked his wrist, a blank sheet of parchment

magically appearing in his hands, "Shall we draft a contract?"
...
Tycondrius invested a great deal of coin after drafting a contract

that linked Reynard to Sorina Capulet and House Charm. The
coin would go towards getting his men healing services, paying
them, and hiring men and women of quality. In the coming years,
he would be responsible for expanding and taking over any illegal
trade in Merylsward. He was given advice for peaceable
takeovers and recommended low moneymaking strategies such
as debt collection and moving contraband. If Reynard needed
financial advice, he would send letters via the Courier's Guild to
Sorina Capulet in Nice or if necessary, Tycon himself.
Reynard was also given strict orders on what kind of people or

persons they absolutely could not touch.
Still somewhat aggrieved, Tycon ordered Pale to go into
Reynard's room and shit in the man's houseplant.
But the trip wasn't an entire waste of time.
"So why did we let him go, Boss?" Taree asked, hopping and
grabbing Tycon's arm.
Tycon continued to walk. A week prior, he would have shaken the

whelpling off of him, but he was growing more partial to her
behavior, "Pale. What do you think?"
Pale was holding Taree's hand with his left, walking with his spear
in the other, "Because Mister Reynard can give us some sort of
benefit?"
"4 out of 5 marks," Tycon congratulated, "The man has the

potential to earn us, Guild Invictus, connections and coin. And the
risk is low."
"But you gave him so much money, Boss?" Taree's eyes sparkled.
Tycon clicked his tongue, "Tss. Unfortunately, young lady, that was
not a lot of money in the business world. It was a reasonable
investment, concerning what Reynard was working with."
Taree pouted, "I just don't understand why we're helping him?"
Tycon gave the girl a gentle smile, kneeling down to face her,
"Because we all deserve to be better, young lady. It's the same
reason I push you and Pale as martial practitioners. And why I'm
trying to impart upon the two of you the knowledge to lead."
The silver-haired girl's gaze fell, pursing her lips and staring down
at the paved road, "I don't think I can lead like you can, Boss."
Tycon laughed and gave a sigh, ruffling Taree's hair, "Learn from
leadership you respect. Learn from leadership you don't. I only
ask you to do the best you can-- for yourself and for those who
rely on you... Do you understand, future Sect Master?"
"Yes, Boss!" Taree blushed and hugged Pale's arm in response.

"And do you understand, future Guild Leader?"
Pale laughed, "Yes, Sir!"
Tycon stood up and stretched, "Now, let's go get cleaned up for

dinner, you two."
"Yes, Sir!" "Yes, Boss!" the two children shouted.
...
After dinner, Taree shared a slice of pie with Pale as the other
patrons of the inn looked in envy. The Jubilant Wormslayer had a
healthy selection of meals, but the pair were glad they had
ordered more sweets from Heloise earlier in the sun.
"So it looks like Sir Tycon likes you better now," Pale smiled.
"Yeah! I dunno why," Taree was stuffing her face like a small pig.
"It sort of changed like a week ago?"
Pale took a cloth napkin and wiped the corner of her cheek,
causing the girl to blush and try to shove him away, "Wh-what are
you doing?"
"Hold still! You have something on your face!" Pale ordered. The
girl stopped resisting, but the redness on her cheeks wouldn't go
away so easily. "Sir Tycon doesn't like rude people. So as soon as
you started listening to him instead of arguing or being silly, you
started to see his normal personality-- there, I got it."
Taree's gaze lingered on the cloth napkin, then at the boy who
made butterflies dance in her stomach whenever he was around...
"How did you get so brave, Pale?"
Pale stared up at the ceiling chandelier, "I dunno. Maybe because

Dad left. I mean... Dad told me if I really want something-- I have
to try to get it. He said not to ask for it, but to ask how to get it."
Taree tilted her head, "So... what do you want, Pale?" Her heart
thumped painfully, waiting to hear his answer.
"I want my dad to come back," He laughed, smiling widely in
embarrassment. "But more than that... I want him to be proud of
me when he comes back. And for that, I need to be strong-- I
need to be an Invictus he can be proud of."
Taree nodded, deep in thought. It wasn't the answer she was

hoping for, but she couldn't be mad at Pale's smile. He was talking
about someone he loved... and she couldn't imagine how torn he
was that he was gone.
"What do you wish for, Taree?" Pale placed his hand on hers.
As hot as her face grew, Taree didn't pull her hand away, "I want...
I want people to look at me with respect, instead of treating me
like a little girl. Like the way they look at Mister Dragan's big ol'
muscles."
Pale burst out laughing.
Taree was livid, "What? Why are you laughing? Stop! It's not
funny!"
"You'd have to get bigger for that." Pale snickered, "Like a lot
bigger. And a lot more muscled."
"Well! Fine! Maybe I will! I'll be even bigger than Mister Dragan!"
Chapter 90 Snake Proof
" Your coat, Monsieur le Baron," the lightly-armored guard bowed.

Tycon eyed the veteran warrior carefully, an older man with facial
hair and weapon scars and enough sense to be polite to someone
who looked important.
"Well informed, aren't we?" He removed his wet cloak and handed
it to the guard.
Tycon swept back his light green hair. It was nice to be

recognized, for a change, "And whose man are you?"
"(Mister Reynard sends his regards)," the stone-faced guard

responded in the Old Language.
Tycon nodded in approval, "Word does travel fast, then."
He considered tipping the guard with a coin. He didn't.
As he walked from the lobby into the courtesan house proper, his
senses were assaulted by the lights and strong fragrances. His
contractee was discrete but the cost of her discretion was meeting
in a high-class brothel.
He had no issues with independent, educated, beautiful young

people offering their company to the bored and wealthy. He did,
however, have a strong disdain for the musky scents and the
subtle hint of sex that permeated the atmosphere... While
traveling in places that thoroughly offended his senses, he was
accustomed to murdering as he pleased.
The killing tended to offset his discomfort.
Tycon provided the name of a room to his guide, a walking

advertisement for the brothel's myriad of provided pleasures. The
young boy wore revealing attire of questionable aesthetics and a
fake slaver's collar on his neck.
The meeting room was on the second floor, furthest away and
largely muting the overpowering scents of the rest of the building.
As he entered, Tycon was quite pleased to see that the room was
dimly lit, perhaps to set a sensual mood, but ultimately better for
his predatory night vision.
"This better be good, sir Baron," a young blonde girl said. Her
voice practically dripped with her annoyance.
The woman wore a royal blue dress and an assortment of golden

baubles, also unapologetically royal. She sat at a small table,
surrounded by luxurious pillows in the style of the far western
kingdoms. An equally luxurious bed was draped in silks at the
room's corner, a constant reminder of the building's main purpose.
Tycon scoffed and seated himself on a pillow opposite her,

observing the three in front of him. He must have met them prior,
as the System revealed their names. Two names were tagged
green... but a scowling elven woman was tagged yellow-- a
possible hostile.
« System, inquiry: Basic information on these three. »
[System response: Levi Wolfrider, Bronze-Rank Weretouched

Warden; Aurala Wyndham, Human, Unknown Rank, Unknown
Class; Naedrielle, Iron-Rank Elf Sentinel.]
Unknown? Whatever Aurala was hiding would make this

conversation far more interesting.
Tycon adopted a genial smile, "Don't be such a nag, Aurala. Can't

I drop by just to say hello to my friends?"
Aurala tilted her head, smiling with closed eyes, "Are we really
friends, though?"
The elf stood up, her fist clenched around the hilt of the sword on
her waist, "You will address her with respect as 'Princess Aurala',
you--"
With a raise of her hand, Aurala silenced her retainer, her face
impassive, "Naedrielle. Tycondrius is my guest."
"--But Princess Aurala?" The elf's face twisted several times,

cycling through frustration, bewilderment, and general
speechlessness.
"Aurala..." Tycon chided in a sing-song voice, "You haven't told

your 'trusted' retainers who I am. I'm. Devastated."
"How. Daaaare. You," the elf's blade was clattering in its scabbard
as she held it.
"Naedrielle, that is enough," Aurala glared. Naedrille could only

release her grip, clenching her trembling fist, instead.
Tycon nodded, "Mister Levi."
"O-ohhh, heeey, Boss," The young white-furred gentleman waved,

smiling nervously.
Weretouched. The young Levi looked like a hybrid man and...

dog-person. Indeed, the youth would be a Wolfbanger, if he were
to mate with another... wolf-person. The nickname didn't seem so
offensive anymore. But knowing Dragan, the nickname's intent
was to be as such.
Urged by the atmosphere and Tycon's acknowledgment, Levi

cleared his throat, "Naedrielle, what's your problem with Sir Tycon,
anyway?"
The elf scowled with transparent hatred in her eyes, "This man
reeks of deception! He can't be trusted!"
She turned to Aurala with pleading eyes, "I still can't believe you
agreed to work with him, Princess!"
Aurala looked to Levi, her emotionless face now holding a tinge of

concern, "Sir Wolfrider, what do you think?"
The young dog-wolf-boy scratched his head, "Well, I'm still under
contract to Sir Tycon. And Sir Tycon is contracted to complete
your quest, Princess... Regardless of trust, no one can break a
magical contract."
Aurala looked confused, "You can't break magical contracts?"
Her gaze was wary as if she was unsure of the words she had
spoken. There was a familiar sense of unfamiliarity in her eyes
that Tycon was struggling to place.
But he could capitalize on her uncertainty.
Tycon winked at the princess, "Of course not, Aurala. The magical
power required to break a contract is immense. And the contents
of which aren't worth questing for an artifact in order to break...
And besides, don't you remember the favor I owe you?"
Naedrielle trembled with anger, "I can tell by the way he smells--
this man is a snake and I can prove it to you, Princess!!"
Tycon and Levi shared a look of helplessness.
Aurala turned with curious eyes, "And how do you propose you do
that, Naedrielle?"
"Like this," the elf drew her blade.
Tycon crossed his arms. Aurala reached out her hand,

"Naedrielle!! Wait--"
The elven Sentinel sliced her rapier through the air, "Dispel
Magic!!"
The magical lights extinguished for a moment, relighting

themselves after the elf's short spell duration.
"Satisfied?" Tycon let out a sigh, unimpressed.
"But-- but that's impossible..." Naedrielle looked at her blade in

confusion, "I... He... There's some kind of glamour! There must
be! My spell must not have worked-- Princess!!"
Naedrielle turned to Princess Aurala and nearly dropped her
sword. Levi was staring. Tycon raised an eyebrow.
Princess Aurala's gorgeous, full blonde hair and crystalline blue

eyes, along with her magical makeup and eye shadow had
disappeared. Left behind was still a beauty, but her hair had
turned ink-black, her pupils were the darkest brown, and her eye
shape even without the eyeliner was slightly slanted as if she
were from the southern coast.
"Out," Aurala ordered.
Levi and Naedrielle gawked at their princess as if they didn't hear

her.
"I said OUT!!" Aurala stood up and yelled.
Hurriedly, Naedrielle and Levi left the room, the door secured
behind them. Tycon locked the door as they left and affixed a
paper talisman on the door, as an additional measure.
"And why are you still here, Tycon?" she scowled. "Leave, so I
can fix my makeup."
"Why? I'm not a courtesan hired to pleasure you, Aurala. I'm here
to discuss business." Tycon reseated himself on a pillow, far more
relaxed with just the two of them.
"So now you know my big secret," Aurala complained. "Laugh it

up. Tell your friends."
"Do my friends know you?" Tycon asked smugly.
Aurala hesitated, "Y-yeah. I mean, probably. I am the princess,

after all."
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "But you're only one of many in the
Kingdom."
A trace of panic began to show on the princess's face, "Oh, right! I

forgot!! --Err... I mean to say..."
Tycon took a deep breath and sighed. He flipped through the
fleeting memories in his brain and formed a hypothesis, "Let me
guess. Memory problems?"
The dark-haired Aurala hid behind a pillow, "How did you know?
Are you reading my mind?"
Tycon stared blankly, "No~ I've had similar issues myself."
Her eyes widened as she reached across the table and grabbed
Tycon's shoulders, "Wait, what? Really? You too?"
"Aurala, if you're trying to push me down and have your way with
me, I'd really prefer to relocate to the bed."
As if shocked by lightning magic, the woman threw her hands up,

retreating and shrinking away in embarrassment.
Oh? The princess has shown weakness. He mentally filed away

the knowledge for use at a later time-- perhaps sooner rather than
later.
Tycon took a deep breath and spoke in a gentler tone, "Tell me

what you remember, Aurala."
"Why should I trust you when even my retainer doesn't?" Aurala

whispered in disbelief.
Tycon smirked, "Because I'm from another world. Just like you."
Chapter 91 Otherworlder
The princess had been acting suspiciously...
The girl acted as if she were unaware of common knowledge.

Tycon highly doubted that the woman had been living in an
underground cave for the past epoch-- her fineries and royal blood
would easily attest to that.
He recalled that he acted in a similar fashion only a few moons

prior-- asking roundabout questions to gain basic information and
making excuses to ward off suspicion. (The complications that
arose were insubstantial, as it wasn't so difficult to make Mister
Dragan lose interest.)
Back then, Tycon had awoken in a tavern with only a scant few
memories. He knew of the world, its creatures, its magic, and its
politics. He knew of his System and how to utilize it. What little
memories he had of himself had only to do with his personality,
what he liked and didn't like; and his learned skills, like cooking
and knowing which end of a blade to direct towards an enemy.
He'd another set of memories that he hadn't considered important

until meeting Aurala: Tycon knew of other worlds. Traveling
between worlds was highly frowned upon-- an entire organization
called the Gatekeepers hunted down anyone fool enough to
forcibly open a rift with extreme prejudice.
If Tycon's hypothesis was correct, Aurala was an unintentional

world traveler, like he was. And if so, a few choice words would
win her to his side. Perhaps he might learn something. Perhaps
he could sway the girl to his cause. Low risk, high reward.
"Why should I trust you when even my retainer doesn't?" Aurala

mumbled, refusing to meet Tycon's gaze. She hugged her knees,
an obvious sign that she needed to be comforted.
Tycon said the magic words.
"Because I'm from another world. Just like you."
Aurala froze as stiff as a statue. Tycon could almost hear the cogs
in the not-blonde woman's head creak and groan as she came to
understand what he'd said.
"Prince... Tycondrius," she said, tears welling up in her eyes.
Tycon smirked and gave her a reassuring wink, "Just call me

'Tycon.' You're not alone anymore, Aurala."
In a crash of movement, Aurala had tackled Tycon, knocking over

the small table between them. She buried her face into his chest
and immediately began bawling her eyes out.
"Oh, my god! I've been so lost! Why did this have to happen to
me?!" The girl was sobbing, complaining about useless things.
Hesitating only briefly, Tycon returned the embrace, gently

stroking the girl's hair. "It's okay. I'm here."
As she looked up with a watery-eyed, sniffling face, Tycon wiped a

tear with his thumb and whispered, "Don't cry."
"I'm... I'm a princess." The girl snorted inelegantly, "You have to

respect me!"
Tycon smiled silently in return. He continued stroking Aurala's

head and enjoyed the silence, only interrupted by the princess'
occasional snorts and sobs.
...
Tycon wondered about the cost of renting the room. It seemed

pricey, but he was sure someone of Aurala's station could afford
its extended use.
It took a long time to coax the snorting princess to stop crying.

She had curled up in his lap as Tycon gently stroked her head.
"Everything is so different than it should be..." Aurala muttered.
"The eastern states shouldn't even exist after the Mourning... And
the Triumvirate should be in power, not the Council! And Aurala
should be queen!"
Like Tycon, the girl had some understanding of the world... but
unfortunately, her knowledge and expectations were... flawed, at
best.
Tycon popped a grape he'd peeled into the girl's mouth, "A
princess wanting to be queen? Did you reincarnate into a
villainess, Aurala?"
Aurala spat out a seed at Tycon's face, which he tilted his head to
dodge, "I reincarnated into Aurala's brother's daughter! And my
stats and level are trash! --not that anyone in this stupid world
uses levels. How am I supposed to be a villainess if I'm stuck at
First-Circle?!"
Tycon raised his eyebrows. She didn't refute him calling her a
villainess.
"Gaining your First Circle at your age is an anomaly reserved for

the top percentile of the Kingdom's magicians." Tycon rolled his
eyes, "I doubt even a dozen others can claim the
accomplishment."
"Ughhh," the snort princess groaned, "I know. It's just, I never
thought that I'd be this weak..."
"There is a way to expedite the process, Aurala," Tycon hid a

smile as he reclined back against the bed.
Aurala turned and looked up, mashing her breasts against Tycon's
leg, "Really, Prince?"
Tycon chuckled softly, "Have you considered a mana transfer?"
"A mana transfer? But what kind of ritual--" The woman's pupils
dilated in realization. Her gaze drifted over to the silk-ridden bed
and then back to her and Tycon's intimidate position. She
scrambled backward, away from him, "S-s-s-stay away!!"
Tycon couldn't help but laugh at the girl's innocence. It was a

welcome change, teasing a Circle Mage who was most certainly a
Bronze-Rank. Most of the other females Tycon had dealt with
were extraordinarily capable of dealing catastrophic physical harm
to him.
And besides that, he found Aurala's over-the-top reactions

amusing.
"As an educated Circle Mage, I'm sure you're aware that the
exchange of mana fluids through copulation is exponentially more
efficient than--"
"I know that!!" Aurala interrupted.
"You've arranged for a private room. You've chased out your

retainers." Tycon pointed to the talisman he placed on the door,
"And I've gone ahead and sealed the room against physical
eavesdropping and magical scrying."
The snorting princess rushed to the door and examined the

talisman, "Oh my god, you've used a Third-Circle consumable...
Aren't those ridiculously expensive in this world?"
"Your protection is of utmost import, Princess," Tycon lied. He

placed the talisman for his own safety.
Aurala placed her back against the door and looked away. Her
face had flushed to a deep, almost-purple against her form-fitting
blue dress.
"Prince Tycon... It'll be my first time."
Eh?
Tycon burst into full-on, unabashed laughter.
"Wh-wh-what?! What's wrong with being a virgin!!" Aurala

screeched.
Tycon wiped his tears, "Oh, shut up. I doubt you can handle me."
"Bull crap! I have 150 HP!" Aurala yelled indignantly.
What in the seven hells did that mean?
Tycon raised a palm, trying to calm himself, "I'd like to discuss

having raw, unprotected, life-altering sex *after* we discuss
business."
"I... Ah... You..." The red-faced woman stuttered horribly.
Tycon furrowed his brows. Had he gone too far?
"Aurala, I've received news that the situation with Duke Tavor may
be more troublesome than I and... the previous you had thought."
Taking a moment to calm herself a bit, Aurala finally sat in front of

Tycon, "Have you found a way to harm Duke Tavor's political
power?"
Tycon nodded, "A majority of the Duke's power comes from his
weapons' trade. He controls an underground forge beneath one of
his holdings here in Merylsward."
"What? That's impossible. Tavor doesn't hold any smitheries in the

city. And the smoke from the forges? How can you hide that?"
"According to a letter I received this morning, the Duke has a way

to access Fernia, the Plane of Fire."
Chapter 92 Nighttime
Diplomacy
**Content Warning: Sexual Activity**
"He WHAT?! How is that possible??" Aurala refused to believe it.

Planar travel was impossible by human standards, only accessible
through artifact-level items or by dealing with a greater power.
Tycon didn't blame her, "I have my suspicions, but Tavor isn't
powerful enough to do this on his own."
"And why have you sought to discuss this with me instead of just
handling it on your own?" Aurala scowled.
Tycon held Aurala at the waist, "Because I wanted you to lure me

into your bed."
Aurala hesitated, "Be serious, Prince Tycon."
"Because I require more resources," he poked at her sides,

causing her to squeak.
"I'll give you two squads of footmen," Aurala slapped his hands
away.
"Not a chance. The old Aurala gave me this contract so it can't be

traced back to you. Give me Guild Trayus. I hear they have a
fireteam of Circle Mages."
"You're insane, Prince Tycondrius. What else do you want? A

dragon?!"
"Don't be ridiculous, dragons don't exist. I want Naedrielle."

"You *can't* be serious."
"She loathes me. I am aware."
"Anyway, she can't! She's on the Council."
"And she'd have to leave the Council to join Guild Invictus. I am

also aware."
"You're doing this because she insulted you," the young princess
glared, scrunching up her face. "I think she doesn't trust you
because she somehow sensed you're an Otherworlder"
"I'm doing this because an Iron-Rank Sentinel would greatly

improve my chances of success."
Aurala punched Tycon in the arm.
Tycon shrugged, "Also, it just so happens that this course of

action greatly inconveniences someone I don't like."
"Do you really expect me to give Naedrielle to you?"
"If you want me to succeed, you will." Tycon firmly pulled the
woman into his embrace, "Besides, we're friends aren't we?"
Aurala crossed her arms, rolling her eyes, "I don't know about
your relationship with the former me, but do you really think I'll let
you do whatever you want?"
Tycon gazed into her eyes and she shuddered involuntarily, "I'm
talking about my relationship with *you.*"
"O-oh," Aurala pursed her lips and gulped.
Tycon placed a finger below Aurala's chin, lifting her head up.
Though she was shocked, she fluttered her eyes closed in
anticipation.
How amusing.
Tycon placed his lips on Aurala's, gauging her reaction.

A blank stare. Eh? Let's try this again.
Tycon kissed her again. And again. She began to return his
affection, slowly reaching her arms around him. Encouraged, he
kissed her deeply, slipping his tongue into her mouth.
Though it surprised her, she eventually dropped her arms and

relaxed her shoulders as she began to enjoy the sensation. Tycon
slowly ended the kiss and drew back, leaving Aurala gasping for
breath, desire still apparent in her eyes.
"Give," Tycon whispered breathily into her ear. He grazed his

teeth on her tender neck and allowed his hands to wander her
body, physically emphasizing his point.
Aurala nodded, whining lustfully. Her body trembled lightly in his

arms. She embraced Tycon and bit his neck, "Mhmm."
Staring intently into the princess's eyes, Tycon deliberately slid his
hand up her inner thigh. Try as she might to close her legs, the
girl's frame betrayed her with a thigh gap that Tycon took full
advantage of. With measured sensuality, Tycon's fingers ran
across the front of the girl's underwear, blazing hot and soaked
through.
"It feels that your body is being more honest than you are,
Aurala," Tycon mused. "Shall I go further?"
The princess smiled weakly but said nothing. Her eyes sparkled,
but uncertainty still remained.
Tycon playfully licked her lips, "I won't go too far, then."
The spoiled princess surprised Tycon by closing her eyes and

responding with a deep, hungering kiss.
How very amusing.
Allowing the princess the protection of her sheer undergarments,

Tycon utilized his fingers with practiced precision to perform a
different kind of diplomacy. Aurala's passionate moans were
distinct guarantees of its effectiveness.
"Give. Me. What. I... Want," he said in a deep voice, softening into
a provocative promise. "You won't regret it."
...
It was late into the night when Tycon re-entered the Happy
Chicken inn.
Dragan immediately greeted him, "Heeyyyyy, Booosssss!

Welcome back, man?"
"Empty night," Tycon cursed, but his heart wasn't in it. "Are you
two still drinking?"
Dragan and Maximus were drunk off of ale, dozens of empty

mugs littering their table. Lone was face down on a table, his
cheek in a puddle of his own drool.
Dragan offered a half-drunk mug, which Tycon drained heartily.
Maximus guzzled down another mug, whispering his name to

himself.
"Yeah, Boss! Where ya been? You're back awful late."
"Night visit with Aurala."
"OooOoh, Adal's youngest, right? Isn't she a total bitch?"
"Yeah. Named the girl after her dead aunt, apparently. And no,
she's changed due to extraordinary circumstances."
Lone woke up, hiccuping. He reeked of alcohol and vomit, "Wait,

are you guys *hic* talking about King Adal?"
Tycon ignored him and faced Dragan, "Head to the Merylsward

adventurer's guild in the morning. We're contracting a guild for
manpower."
"Oh yeah, which one?" Dragan narrowed his eyes, quickly
sobering.
"Guild Trayus. They're a big name here."
"Pssssh!" Dragan broke out into guffaws of laughter, "And it's no

secret that they work for Adal."
"Rank and file or specialists?" Maximus crossed his arms.
"A whole platoon plus some Circle Mages. Can I count on you,
Commander Maximus?"
Maximus' bearing crumbled as he snickered, "Maybe, man. The

witches of the Kingdom are kinda weak."
"Organize a few mock battles to familiarize yourself with their

tactics. The contract explicitly states that you're to be given
command once you arrive."
"You got aaaaanything for me, Boss?" Dragan asked, ever

hopeful.
"What would you say if I told you I got Councilor Naedrielle?"

Tycon smirked.
"The Whore General? I'd say you're full of shite," Dragan

exclaimed.
"Ah, the Witch General?" Maximus snorted. "Short elf? Thinks

she's the Flame's gift to men?"
"Not a popular woman, is she?" Tycon smirked.
"She is not," Maximus chuckled. "She's good, though. Real good."
Tycon placed a scroll tube on the table, "Here's a contract I've

prepared for her. Have her sign it once you meet her at the
guildhall."
"Seven hells." Dragan marveled, "What did you say to Aurala to

get her to agree?"
Lone rubbed his eyes drunkenly. He stared, trying to focus, "Are
you guys talking about *Princess* Aurala?"
"No comment. I'm taking Pale and Taree to make trouble at the
Duke's estate while your team takes care of the forges. Any
questions?"
"Yeaaaah, man! I really wanna know," Dragan flashed an overly

wide grin.
Tycon ignored him, "Any other questions?"
"Nah, we're good, Boss," Maximus replied, pumping his fist.
"I guess not," Dragan relented, straightening his back.
"What are we talking about?" Lone asked.
...
With only bells before the operation, the morning was more
eventful than Tycon had hoped. Young Master Tamaki brought
Tycon up to their room, where he found Barza Keith, the Lone
Shadowdark, lying in bed, sobbing pitifully.
Tycon crossed his arms, standing over the fully grown man,
"What's your issue and why should I care?"
"I wanted a sacred moment" Lone cried. "I wanted it to be special!!

Why did the gods punish me?! What did I do to deserve this?"
"What did you guys do last night?" Tycon asked.
Tamaki gladly explained, "Well, Boss, we went out to court the

ladies. We all had a purty great time, but the Chosen One had it
best!"
"You deserve this because you trusted Dragan," Tycon explained

flatly.
"It's not my fault," Dragan defended himself, trying his best to

pretend he was insulted.
Tycon buried his face in his palms, "I don't care whose fault it was,
just tell me what in the seven hells is wrong with him."
"He's got crabs, Boss. Sexually contracted crabs." Dragan twisted

his mouth, poorly hiding a smile, "And for the record, it was
definitely my fault."
Chapter 93 Robe & Wizard Hat
" Wow, Taree. Boss never buys me things when I ask for it!" Pale
was impressed.
"Yeah, I wasn't sure before, but after you said that he's nice to me
now, I started noticing it too." Taree poked at pale, grinning widely,
"Why? Are you jealous?"
"Psh, nooo," Pale laughed. He couldn't be mad at her. It felt like

only a few days ago she was crying like a baby in his arms. "I'm
just glad. I'm your senior in Guild Invictus, after all."
Taree puffed up her cheeks, "I'm older than you, you know."
The two were eating breakfast at the corner cafe they had visited
a couple of days prior. They enjoyed crepes with whipped cream,
sweet syrup, and fresh berries.
All the blood had been cleaned up from when he killed all those
people and Tycon had them cut off their heads. The bakery girl
seemed a bit wary of him and Taree, but when Tycon started to
discuss cooking with her, she seemed to relax.
If Pale was envious of anything, it was how Boss Tycon, Mister

Wroe, and even Mister Dragan could just talk to anyone without
being nervous. The only person that he could talk to outside of the
guild like that was Taree. And now that she was part of Guild
Invictus, she didn't count.
Tycon returned just as Pale took a bite out of his crepe, "Just to be
clear, I don't like either of you. This is a reward for not
embarrassing me the other day."
Taree radiated a big smile, "Ehehe, thanks, Boss!"

Tycon softly flicked the girl's forehead, "Finish your food before
you speak, young lady."
Pale smiled, watching the two of them. Taree had subconsciously

learned to be obedient to Boss. With Boss not constantly
criticizing her rudeness, he became far more forgiving, even if he
didn't realize it, himself.
The baker lady came by, carrying a large omelet plate. Boss didn't
like breads or desserts. Pale was suspicious that Boss couldn't
eat them at all.
She placed the meal in front of Tycon, "Monsieur le Baron, your

breakfast."
Tycon split the omelette with a knife, marveling at its golden

deliciousness, "Heloise, this looks absolutely wonderful! I can
smell the fragrance of the fresh, earthy herbs. Have you
considered working for a baron?"
The woman reddened slightly, "No, Monsieur Tycon, I couldn't.

Monsieur Reynard treats me very well."
Tycon smirked, "Ah, so you're Reynard's. That means you already

work for me. Very well. Tell him that I gave the highest of
compliments concerning your cooking and hospitality."
The two spoke for a bit longer in a language that Pale didn't
understand, so he turned his attention to talk to Taree. It seemed
that all the work the two of them did, beating people up the other
day, gave way to a happy ending.
...
After their breakfast, Tycon asked Heloise about shopping to outfit

a young wizard-in-training. As magic was ingrained into the
Kingdom's society, basic utilitarian spells were part of the
curriculum offered by public education. Thus, unlike in other
nations, shops of magical curios and magery augments were
common in the Kingdom's cities.
Trying her best to be helpful, Heloise detailed the nearby Craft's
Wands. The repair and bargain shop was run mostly by local
mage students as part of their studies. She, herself had
purchased a used wand from the student-run shop to help her
with daily chores-- cleaning and igniting firewood, in particular.
Ultimately, Heloise suggested that Tycon shop at the Royal Robe,

a high-end arcanum shop frequented by wealthy nobles and
upper-middle class. Tycon thanked her for the information and
again for the food. Pale and Taree even carried out a paper bag of
sweetbreads they had purchased for later consumption.
Tycon mentally reminded himself to ensure the children were

brushing their teeth at regular intervals.
"So where are we going, Boss?" Taree happily skipped along,

going as far as running up a nearby wall and backflipping
acrobatically.
"We're heading to Craft's Wands. There, we'll see if Pale has any
aptitude for magic. And you, young lady, can see the kinds of
magic items people outside of your sect use-- mind what you
touch, of course."
Both Pale and the Kimura girl were excited to go. Tycon couldn't
tell them the real reason they were going out... to cure or alleviate
the Lone Shadowdark's unfortunate affliction.
The day trip to the shop proved a pleasant event. Kimura Taree
didn't touch anything in the shop without asking, so none of the
trio incurred any magical curses. (Tycon was very thankful he'd
sent Wroe ahead to Caractere.) Tycon had even found a student-
made potion of Cure Disease that he bargained down to 30% of
the standard market price. He ordered it delivered to the
adventurer's guild, so Lone could be healthy and hale for combat.
With Pale's complexion and half-elven ears, he could best pass

for a magical initiate. The fact that his crimson spear could pass
for a magical staff added to his allure. With the help of Taree's
aesthetic sense, Pale was dressed in the finest magician's effects
they could (cheaply) afford.
In less than a bell, Pale was fully decked out in wizard hat, robe,
and a leather wand pouch along with half a dozen wands and
rolled-up scrolls.
After another stop, Tycon eschewed his dark cloak and banded
armor for a shining set of mage knight's breastplate, complete with
a cloth tabard colored the bright blue of the Kingdom's flag. A
silvery full helmet that hid his face and hair completed his look.
Taree remarked that it looked boring. That was the point. The
concept blew her mind.
Taree sported a petite black maid outfit, also in the Kingdom's

style. The outfit was slightly more expensive, as Taree wouldn't
wear anything lacking in movement-functionality and durability.
Tycon saved the receipt. 50% of its expense would be stealthily
removed from her pay.
...
"Why is there only one of them?" Taree couldn't help but ask. "It'd
be so easy to pick them off one by one, right, Boss?"
"Manpower issue. There's a minimum of two on duty, one to

patrol, another ready to request reinforcements, if necessary.
Larger patrols would be sensible if there were cause for concern."
Pale placed his offhand on one of the scrolls on his belt, "Can I
cast the spell, Boss?"
Tycon nodded, "If you cast after his back is turned, he won't have
an opportunity to react."
The half-elven wizard boy smiled radiantly and he walked out from
the alleyway into the street.
Chapter 94 Sponsorship
Tycon, dressed in a full helmet and silvery knight regalia, dragged

the patrolling guard's body into the alleyway. Taree in her maid
outfit hurried closely behind, carefully carrying the guard's
crossbow. Pale followed more slowly. He repeatedly grasped his
right hand, playing with the wisps of magic left behind from his
Sleep spell scroll.
"Why couldn't we just knock 'em out, Boss?" Taree excitedly

punched a blur of fists at the air.
Tycon sat the unconscious guard up against a wall. With a flash of

magic from his spatial ring, he summoned a bundle of rope and
some cloth, "Pale."
Pale nodded, grabbing the rope, "If you try to knock someone out,
there might be a lot of noise. And it's not for sure that they get
knocked out for a long time."
Taree tilted her head, "What if we... hit them *really* hard?"
Tycon began binding the man's mouth with cloth, "Humans have
an unfortunate weakness that you may not be aware of. Enough
blunt force trauma dealt to a vulnerable area may result in an
incurable condition called 'death."
Tycon had trouble hiding his smirk, "Not all people have the
hardiness of your sect's Stone Body art, young lady."
Taree humphed, "Humans are pretty weak."
"Humans... vary in strength." Tycon grit his teeth, trying to explain,

"In the normal world, a frighteningly small percentage of people
are full-time combatants: law enforcement, military men and
women. And a smaller percentage of those are capable
monsters."
Tycon had finished removing the man's armor and colored tabard,
storing the effects in his spatial ring, "Always be wary of your
opponents, do you understand me?"
Taree saluted with her palm to her chest, "Yes, Boss."
"*That* is why we're using magic. It's more reliable than force,
trying to infiltrate the Duke's estate. Young lady, I pray you've
been practicing those rope-tying knots-- Hands. Ankles. Pale,
ensure the work."
Taree grinned in embarrassment, but the boy in the wizard hat

began to instruct her calmly. Tycon walked out of the alleyway, to
watch for signs of trouble.
...
Duke Xander Tavor smashed a mana-charged fist onto his desk,

spiderwebbing cracks all over its surface, "That BITCH Aurala has
embarrassed me for the LAST time!!"
Nagini crossed his arms, rubbing the smoothness of his snake-

scale bracers. The Duke's anger had nothing to do with him. The
several Tavor Guardsmen beside him, however, fidgeted in
nervousness at the Duke's powerful display.
"Yet ANOTHER of her sponsored has become a Circle Mage at

the University of Arcanix!! How in the ELEVEN heavens and
SEVEN HELLS is she able to find talent like it's festering beneath
rotting logs?!" Tavor raged.
He rubbed his dark greasy hair with his grubby hands in

frustration. The bread crumbs in his mustache and beard greatly
diminished his majesty, but the others wouldn't dare offend their
employer. With his station as a Duke and his talent as a Second-
Circle Mage, an impolite word was as good as a death sentence.
"There isss another applicant-- a mosssssst promisssing one,"
Nagini offered.
"Aha!! I knew it! The gods favor Xander Tavor, after all!!" Tavor's
face twisted into a leering smile, his previous anger nonexistent,
"Tell me, Nagini!! Who is it? What are they??"
Everyone in the room looked to Nagini with expectation. This was

how Nagini was able to stay employed to the Duke for so many
years. He only delivered good news, taking all credit as his own,
"A group of three, Duke: a half-elf not even in his teens, his maid,
and his bodyguard."
The Duke laughed giddily, "Ohohoho! A half-elf! Won~derful,

WONDERFUL!! How is she, then? Is she strong??"
"Hisss name is Pall Reynard. Perhapsss a lowborne, from the way

he isss dresssed. But ssssupremely talented in wizzzardry."
The Duke stood up, "Very good! Good!"
Suddenly, the Duke's face twisted into anger, "The rest of you!
TERRIBLE!! USELESS!! Why do I even bother with you lot! OUT!!
OUUUUTTTT!!"
With a hurried clanking of light armor and rubbing leather, the

guardsmen swiftly left the room.
The Duke faced Nagini with a wide smile on his broad face,
"Nagini! My most loyal retainer! Let us meet our newest ally!"
...
"Why've they made us wait for so long?" A maid with short-silver

hair complained to a knight in full helm and armor. "D'ya think...
They know?"
Pale adjusted his oversized wizard hat. He was trying to

concentrate on a book of elementary magic that they purchased
for cheap.
The armored knight pat the girl on the head, "Patience is a virtue,
young lady. We are a commodity. They will see to us."
The helmet that Tycon wore made his voice boom and resonate.
His words of reassurance almost sounded ominous. Taree bit her
upper lip and nestled herself beside Pale to wait.
The trio were seated in the lobby area of the manor, every fulm of
it covered in paintings, display cases of trinkets, works of art--
Taree felt her own estate looked poor in comparison. When she
was in Reynard's office, she was excited and curious about
everything. But being in the den of the enemy, Taree's stomach
spun in nervousness, constantly worrying about figurative
crouching tigers and hidden lizards.
The double-doors connected to the rest of the manor opened and

two very different figures entered the room. The first was a tall,
dark-skinned man in green snake-scale leathers. He wore a
fanged snake's skull on his head and a curved hacking-blade on
his waist. The second was a thick, slovenly, bearded man with
dark messy hair and an extra-thick stained military coat.
The noble hobbled forward with a strange gait towards the book-
holding Pale, "Hard at work! HARD at WORK!! Hello, hello, young
wizard!! I am Duke Tavor! It is a PLEASURE to meet you!!"
Pale hopped out of his seat, shaking the Duke's enthusiastic and
somehow greasy hand, "Hello, my name is Pall Reynard, and
these are--"
The Duke pumped Pale's hand up and down, the force nearly
lifting the boy off of his feet, "Your most loyal retainers! What a
lovely young maid you have!! And--"
The Duke eyed Tycon. Full armor. Average to below average

height. Cheap weapon. His face turned to a sneer of disdain, "--
have you met my personal retainer?"
The snake-helmeted man lightly bowed.

The Duke placed his hands on his waist, fidgeting arrogantly, "His
name is Nagini, a shamanistic warrior from the Eastern States!
His armor is made up of trophies from creatures he killed
HIMSELF, from his life in the dee~eep jungles!!"
A low rattling of metal armor broke the calm. Taree placed her
hand on Tycon's arm. Was he upset?
The Duke tilted his head up, twisting his mustache, "Is there
something the matter, soldier?"
Hushed, measured laughter resonated from Tycon's helmet, "Ha

ha haha. Nagini? Isn't that a girl's name?"
Chapter 95 Dragon Manor
he snake-armored Nagini and the silver knight Tycon stared

T
each other down in the lobby of the Tavor estate.
"You dare inssssult Nagini, sssssoldier?" The dark-skinned man

hissed. He was incensed. His form and demeanor struck fear in
the hearts of men. And a weak-looking knight had insulted him?
The knight stood tall, undeterred. His full helmet hid his
expression, but his words dripped with sarcasm, "It's a fine name.
I would use *different* words to insult you."
Pale stepped forward, "Forgive my retainer, sir Duke. He means

no offense-- Can we talk how you're recruiting wizards? That's
what I'm here for."
Taree tugged on the silver knight's tabard, "Patience is a virtue,

sir."
Her words earned the knight's hard stare... but the armored man
crossed his arms and held his peace.
The Duke shrugged, placated by Pale's words, "Ah, of course.

How RUDE of me! Forgive me, young master Reynard. Hm. I
know a Reynard-- you look nothing like him! Ohoho!"
...
The mission was for Pale to obtain the Duke's sponsorship.

Gaining access to the estate, the trio might be able to uncover a
clue about Tavor's corruption. Failing that, using the sponsorship,
they could inquire about the Duke's business dealings in
Merylsward.
Boss Tycon had insisted that they were to act with absolute
discretion and care. This was purely a reconnaissance mission.
They were not here to fight or sabotage or destroy or assassinate.
Boss was very, very clear on those points.
As the members of Guild Invictus were led further into the Duke's
estate, Taree could feel Tycon's crescendoing anger from his
subtle movements, even fully shrouded in armor as he was.
The halls were lined with statues of dragons, each as tall as

Mister Dragan. Paintings and scrolls of the fire-breathing beasts
were hung on the walls. The carpeted floors were woven with
dragons in flight. Tycon's breathing was labored with rage as he
walked.
As miserable as Boss Tycon was, Taree kept a grip on his

gauntleted hand. Taree felt that if she let go, he'd do something
rash.
They were brought to a large meeting room. The couches were

leathered in painted reptilian scale. The tables had their legs
carved into subservient dragonkin, holding up the flat. A fantastic
chandelier suspended a circle of flat wooden dragon-shapes, so
when lit, shadows of the winged beasts would slowly fly across
the walls.
All throughout the discussion of the sponsorship contract, Tycon

was able to remain silent, a feat that neither Pale nor Taree had
imagined him able to do. However, the final clause in the contract
proved to be problematic.
"Young master Reynard, I hold great value in you." The Duke

pounded a cup of sugar tea. Bits of chocolate wafers were
apparent in his beard, "Admittedly, you are the most talented
young wizard I've seen in years-- able to utilize Circle scrolls and
EVEN having your own movement technique!!"
Pale nodded politely, "Thank you, sir Duke."
The Duke raised both of his arms to the ceiling, "And because of
this, I must insist on sending my own retainer with you to Arcanix.
I am unwilling to allow my future archmage to be threatened by
the CUNNING, deeeee~vious dark wizards of Princess Aurala
Wyndham!! NAGINI!!"
"I am yoursssss to command," the snake-helmeted man clenched

his gloved fist, the leathers audibly straining.
"Of course you are, OF COURSE!!" The Duke laughed, "You are
now young master Reynard's sole bodyguard!"
Taree looked to Tycon, a tinge of panic in her eyes, "But... that

doesn't make any sense! Silver-Knight has been traveling with
Master Pall for years! They are the best possible wizard-knight
combo!"
The Duke leaned over, his face a deep scowl, "And who gave
YOU permission to speak?? YOU?? Furniture is best placed on
DISPLAY!! You can't possibly offer anything but uneducated
drivel!!"
Pale narrowed his eyes, the 9-year-old boy's voice steeled as

hard as he could, "Sir Duke, I also have to object. Taree is a dear
friend of mine. And Silver-Knight is very capable."
The Duke laughed, loosing deep, stomach-clutching, wheezing

guffaws, "Nagini is a warrior that has killed hundreds, nay
THOUSANDS of man, woman, child, and snake! He has risen to
the top on mountains of corpses! There IS NO GREATER
warrior!!"
The silver-armored knight, sitting quietly throughout the

negotiations, sat up, "I'll beat the gods-damned shite out of him."
The room became deathly quiet.
"Empty night, I'll fight your weak-bodied, walking speech

impediment, right here," Tycon's resonant voice left the Duke
frowning and Nagini furious.
"Watch your ttttttongue, sssssoldier!!!" Nagini yelled, drawing his

curved blade.
Tycon stood, his arms crossed, "Master Reynard, requesting
permission to break Nagini's teeth."
Pale sighed. As immature as Tycon was being, at least he still

held a bit of proper decorum to ask for permission from his
"master". Pale stood and tapped his crimson staff twice on the
floor, "Sir Duke, I request a duel between your warrior and Silver-
Knight for the right to represent me."
The Duke wrinkled his face and mustache in thought before

leering with a toothy grin, "Very well, very well!! I suppose it
doesn't matter who accompanies you. NAGINI!! Escort Master
Reynard and his companions to the training ground!!"
"At onessssss, Duke," Nagini saluted with his sword, his muscled
biceps still shaking in anger.
"Will you grow a spine between here and the training ground, you
dickless whoreson?" A distinctive resonant voice asked.
"You have CROSSSSED THE LINE, SSSSOLDIER!!!!" Nagini

leapt forward, two-handing his curved blade above his head.
Tycon's cheap sword in-hand, he deflected the straight-forward

slash away from him, cutting apart an expensive couch.
"MY COUCH!!!" The Duke screeched with his hands atop his
greasy hair.
Instead of taking the opportunity to counter-attack, Tycon hurdled

over the severed couch to create some space between them.
Enraged, Nagini followed, swinging his blade. Tycon reverse-
gripped his sword and concentrated on dodging and deflecting
Nagini's blows, the mana-filled slashes tearing apart the room's
priceless paintings, exotic works of art, and even damaging the
elaborate weaved rugs.
"NO! STOP! STOOOOP STOP STOOOOOOPP!! YOU'RE

RUINING EVVVVERRYTHINNNNNNG!!" The Duke leaned back
in his couch, kicking at the air, wailing and screaming.
Tycon spun around Nagini, but the snake-warrior slashed at his
blind spot, pulverizing a painted ivory statue of a climbing silver
dragon but trapping the silver-armored knight.
Pale's loyal retainer was backed into a corner under a large, very
detailed 15-fulm carved wooden statue of a sagacious-looking
drake.
"Noooo!!! Not my DRAGON STATUE!! I just had that

commissioned LAST YEARRRRRR!!" The Duke was sobbing and
literally tearing his hair out, "NAGINIIIIIIIIIII!!!"
Tycon tilted his head and lowered his body to dodge Nagini's
blade work. The statue fell apart into 5 roughly-cut pieces.
Pale, noticing that the Duke was at his wit's end stood up and
yelled, "Silver-Knight, defeat the enemy!"
Chapter 96 The Duke’s Sorrow
ycon danced out of the way of Nagini's melee range. He had just
T
been ordered to defeat Nagini, but it wasn't as simple as it
appeared.
"HOLD SSSSSTILL, WEAKLING!!" Nagini charged.
The enraged snake warrior's attacks were painfully honest.

Conversely, Tycon entirely focused on defense and evasion,
remaining undamaged, unlike the Duke's waiting room. Nagini
was strong and fast-- Tycon couldn't safely engage the dark-
skinned warrior without utilizing lethal force.
He glanced over at his surroundings. He specifically avoided

being directly responsible for destroying the Duke's beloved lizard-
art. Openly opposing the Duke would affect his short-term plans.
Had Nagini not been so short-tempered, Tycon could have only bit
his tongue and swallowed his pride for the sake of an
unchallenged revenge.
Deflecting a sword slash, Tycon combat-rolled to the side, near

Pale and Taree. He raised his blade horizontally, blocking a
downward slash, then turned his blade to pierce Nagini in the leg.
Blood spilled hot onto the dragon carpet as Duke Tavor continued
to scream.
Tycon raised his opposite forearm, just as Nagini's blade bit the
metal. Nagini leaned his body weight into his sword, cutting
deeper, causing the silver knight to fall to a knee
"Fool!" Nagini grinned wickedly, "My blaaaade hassss the

POIISSSSSSON of a Kaa Ssssnake!! You will DIE in PAIN and
SSSSSSUFFERING!!"
« System, inquiry: Am I... poisoned? And when will its effects
begin? »
[The Host is afflicted with a Bronze-Rank poison. The Host's

natural poison resistance nullifies all its ill effects.]
« ...How convenient. Thank you, System. »
Tycon reached over to grab Taree's ankle. She looked down

quickly enough to let out a surprised, "Eh?"
With an unkind swing, Tycon one-handed the little girl, smashing

her Stone Body art-strengthened elbow into Nagini's temple.
Nagini collapsed to the ground like a sack of severed heads.
Tycon stood, propping up the dazed little girl. He stood in a room

full of broken furniture and debris from thousands of coin worth of
art and artifacts.
Tycon placed his opposite hand over his bleeding forearm wound,
"Err... Master Pall, the enemy has been defeated."
The duke held his bearded face in his trembling hands, sobbing
into an entire cheesecake, "Please... Just go. Take the contract
and... leave me to my cakes and fried potatoes."
Snot-nosed from his ugly tears, the Duke blew his nose into a
discarded cupcake wrapper. Pale began to walk over to comfort
the old Duke, but Tycon stopped him with an arm and shook his
head.
The Duke pocketed the used wrapper.
As quietly as they could, the trio left the Tavor estate.
...
The three opted for a late lunch, seated at a table by some open
market stalls.
"Boss! You were the one who said patience was a virtue!!" Taree
was standing on a table bench, scolding her superior. "What's
your problem with that Nagini person, anyroad?!"
"Tss. I *was* patient... And I find that person's armor unpleasant."

Tycon had lifted his full helm visor just enough to insert sliced
bites of cured sausage, "Anyroad, we got the sponsorship, didn't
we? Why are you so upset?"
The silver-haired maid pointed accusingly at her boss, "You used

me to hit someone!! And this was after you told me not to hit
people in the head because they might DIE!!"
"But he didn't, did he?" Tycon closed his visor and steepled his
fingers. "Well, mission complete. How about we just enjoy our
meal? Have some bread. Humans like bread, don't they?"
Pale chuckled at the new dynamic between Tycon and Taree.

With this, Pale was confident that Taree was fully integrated into
Guild Invictus. No one was immune to criticism in his family. Even
when his dad was around, he would always get teased by Mister
Dragan and Boss Tycon.
As Taree was about to continue complaining, Pale concentrated

mana into his palm, funneling it through his spear as a focus. A
freshly baked bread roll levitated off of their table and flew into
Taree's mouth. She sat back down with a humph and began
chewing into its buttery, flaky deliciousness.
Pale took a sip of his citrus drink, "Sir Tycon, I was wondering why
we took the uniform from that guy in the early morning?"
Tycon slathered fruit preservatives onto another slice of sausage,

"Per Sorina Capulet's research, Duke Tavor makes the most
money from weapons deals."
Taree tilted her head, "Boss! Boss, are we gonna steal some
weapons!?"
Pale held Taree's hand underneath the table, pleased that the girl
hadn't remained mad at their superior. A little bit of teasing was
okay, but it would be trouble if she pushed her luck.
The full-helmeted Tycon nodded, "Indeed. A sponsored Tavor
mage and a tabarded guardsman should have no problems with
negotiations. And we have the contract with the Duke's writing?"
Taree held up the scroll tube in her hands, "Got it!"
"We'll take a break at Mister Reynard's for me to change and to

get some paperwork. We've still a full sun ahead of us, little ones.
It's your own fault if you go hungry."
Pale and Taree nodded. "Yessir." "Yes, Boss."
...
The sun had passed quickly enough. With the help of Reynard's
people, Tycon had moved 4 shops worth of Tavor's armor and
weaponry. Their haul was easily able to fully arm a mid-sized
guild... or transform Reynard's group of misfits into a respectable
power.
Pale looked up at the darkness settling in the skies above

Merylsward, "Boss, do we really need to do the 5th shop?"
Tycon wore the contrasting blue and red tabard armor of Duke
Tavor's guards, a slight more clunky and far more offensive to the
eyes than his silvery armor. He wore the same full-helmet but kept
it slightly open, so his voice kept its mysterious, echoing quality,
"The final shop on the list is the Royal Robe."
Taree raised her hand, "Oh, I remember! Miss Heloise said that
was a... magic shop?"
"Good memory. They shouldn't have too much metal goods from
the Duke, so it should be a simple task," Tycon placed the hand
on the hilt of his new sword as he walked.
Pale scratched his hair behind one of his long ears, "I mean, now
that we've done so many, won't the Duke's men be on the lookout
for us?"
"Possibly. But once they're out in full force, our opportunities are
lost." Tycon explained, "Anyroad, there's no reason for the shops
to be unhappy. They all have promissory notes that guarantee the
Duke will refund them in full."
"But Boss," Taree had a fit of giggling, "--the Duke's signature is

forged on all our notes."
Tycon chuckled, "I know, right?"
The two touched metal gauntlet to fist.
Pale tried to smile along with his companions, "I sure hope so,
Boss."
Taree leaned close enough to Pale that he could feel her breath,
"It's probably fine!"
Chapter 97 The Royal Robe
ivienne Rocher was writing in the sales at sun's end when she
V
heard a light knocking at the door of the Royal Robe.
'Stars and stones, I should have extinguished the lighting,' she

thought as she moved towards the door. Who could it be this
time? She had treated her entitled noble customers with
professionalism for the entire sun and it made her exhausted.
Young, insistent wizards-in-training claiming a modicum of noble
blood were unfortunately common visitors after-hours. She had
little patience for the notion, though she had far more than her
father did.
She opened the door to find a child, a half-elf like herself. Wisps of
sandy-blonde hair peeked down his oversized wizard hat, framing
the child's large eyes. In the boy's company was a similar-aged
silver-haired maid, and a full-helmeted knight wearing the colors
of Duke Tavor.
Duke Tavor's people had unflappable nerves. His mages were

rude, arrogant, obviously cruel, and always, without a doubt, self-
entitled. If the rumors were true, the Duke only sponsored mages
similar in personality to himself.
Less than a week prior, Vivienne took the liberty of reviewing her
father's books concerning the shop's accounts with the man. What
she found tainted her opinion of the Duke and his subordinates
growing even worse.
Vivienne adjusted her thick glasses and prepared a firm tone, "I'm
sorry, Young Master, the Royal Robe is closed for the evening.
Our opening times are--"
"I'm sorry, Miss Rocher," the boy offered a rolled-up scroll. "We're
here on official business from Sir Duke."
The shop wizard hesitated. The calm, polite voice of the child was
incredibly contrary to what she'd expected. Maybe he was new?
Knowing the group was ultimately from Duke Tavor, Vivienne
remained wary. She took the scroll and examined it for trickery
before opening it...
"There has been an issue with the Duke's last shipment," the
guard said, his voice low and echoing in his helmet. "We wish to
recover what goods we can. We will purchase them back at
market price plus any inconvenience."
Vivienne quickly read over the contract. The boy was a sponsored
magician on the very sun, "And the Duke so kindheartedly offered
to pull his product before its inferiority damaged his reputation?
Forgive me, Sir Knight, for my skepticism."
The guard lifted up his helmet, revealing a youthful face and

strange golden eyes. Vivienne couldn't see his ears or hair, but
she could easily assume the man had an uncommon bloodline.
Her gaze immediately softened. People with rare bloodlines did
not often have kind pasts.
"The Duke would prefer the loss of a bit of coin to rotting in jail,
young miss," the knight smiled. He seemed apologetic for his
actions, even though he was merely doing his duty.
The situation sounded serious. "Come inside out of the cold,"

Vivienne offered.
"My thanks, Lady Rocher. My name is Pall Reynard," the boy

introduced himself as the trio followed her inside. "These are my
retainers."
"Yo," the knight waved. "Tycon."
"H-hello, Miss. My name is Taree." the young maid curtsied. It was

a little unrefined, but Vivienne could feel her sincerity.
In a few minutes, Vivienne had collected several high-end swords

and charms, all boasting at least First-Circle enchantments, "The
Duke's metalworks all sell quite well. They're very popular even
amongst low-level warriors and magicians. What kind of problem
did you say they have?"
"We haven't been told much, Miss Rocher." The golden-eyed

knight swept a hand over the collected items and they
disappeared in a flash of magic.
A magical storage item? Vivienne hadn't discerned the magic's

source, so it must have been uncommon. She furrowed her brows
in suspicion. These people weren't ordinary at all.
The knight produced a note-- a promissory note with Duke Tavor's

unmistakeable handwriting. The terms were very generous and
she couldn't find a hint of deception in the paperwork, so Vivienne
signed.
After Knight Tycon took back a copy, Vivienne gave a deep sigh. "I
must be honest, Sir Tycon. As excellent as the Duke's goods are, I
do not plan on continuing our business relationship. Are you
aware of the rumors surrounding his reputation?"
The knight gave a troubled look, glancing back at Wizard Pall.

Vivienne blushed, realizing her mistake. She had addressed the
young knight instead of his master, the younger wizard. She tilted
her head forward, inwardly cursing, and her glasses fell off.
Her vision returned as the young knight placed her glasses back
on her face. He spoke with a teasing smirk, "We come from far
away, so have no news of the city. My young master only earned a
sponsorship this morning but... is there something amiss?"
BANG BANG BANG.
Vivienne turned towards the door, to the loud, obnoxious

knocking.
"Excuse me, I have to handle--" Vivienne turned to find the trio

missing. She still held the promissory note in her hand. And she'd
gotten a clear look at all three of their faces. If they were thieves,
they were very bad ones.
Vivienne rolled her eyes and groaned. She hoped the three were
real and not just a leftover curse or delayed illusory trap or a
ghost. Working in a magic shop was never boring, but often
troublesome. She decided to answer the door before worrying
further.
"I'm sorry, sirs. The Royal Robe is closed for the--"
"Outta the way," a rough-looking man wearing a fanged reptile

skull on his head pushed his way through.
Vivienne grit her teeth as she watched several more men walk in,
each wearing the distinctive blue and red tabards of Duke Tavor.
Vivienne's serene and slightly curious evening had quickly turned

into a terrible one, "Empty night! What do you want, Nagini?"
"Don'tttt play coy, whore. We're here for the reagentssssss.

Volcanic assssssh, obsssssidian." The skull-helmeted Nagini
grabbed an enchanted knife off of a shelf and spun it in his palm,
"The Duke demandsssss it!!"
Vivienne adjusted her glasses, trying her best to remain calm. She
held an almost instinctual fear of the bone and leather armored
warrior and Nagini was being more pushy than usual. For a
moment, she wished the golden-eyed knight was still around. She
gazed at the other solemn faces of Duke Tavor's other guardsmen
and she knew it was foolish to argue with Nagini's words.
"I am Vivienne Rocher, daughter of Councillor Jean-Philippe

Rocher. How dare you threaten me in my own shop!" As foolish as
her actions were, the Duke had crossed Vivienne's bottom line
and she refused to stand down. Her father would forgive her, as
long as she followed her heart.
Nagini slammed the knife into a wooden pillar, "Pathetic. Bitch.

Why do you ressssissssttt?"
Vivienne gulped, "I know what the Duke is doing, Nagini. He's
trying to open a portal-- trying to break the Gatekeepers' laws!
He'll bring ruin upon the city!"
Some of the guards looked to each other in confusion. Yes! Not all
of Duke Tavor's guards were corrupt. Vivienne held onto a shred
of hope in her fellow humans.
"A sssssshame you know too much." Nagini pointed and drew a
quick line across his neck with his gloved thumb, "You there.
Sssssstrike her down."
Vivienne's heart sunk as she felt a guard grab hold of her neck.
Metal on metal rang in her ears as the guard drew his sword and
raised it to strike her.
She shut her eyes tight. Her father would get revenge.
"Wait!" A familiar voice called out. She opened her eyes to see
Knight Tycon, one of the missing guards, among their number,
"You can't kill her."
Chapter 98 Mind Control
" Wait! You can't kill her!" Tycon yelled. He stood amongst the
enemy, but he wore their uniform.
"Pale! Pale... What do we do?" Taree whispered as quietly as she

could. The pair were crouched down, hiding behind the shop's low
shelves.
"We get into position," Pale narrowed his eyes and concentrated.
"And we wait for a signal..."
"Okay, I got it." Taree nodded... "I sure hope Boss can save that
person."
Pale quietly nodded, "Me too. Go get closer, Taree, I can attack
from here..."
"And WHY in the SSSSSEVEN HELLLSSSSSS NOT?!?" Nagini

shrieked.
Tycon scratched his head, "Well, the girl has symmetrical

features, thick glasses, and large breasts, so I... desire her
romantically?"
One of the guards groaned, "Come on, man. Be serious."
Another guard piped up, "Yeah! Everyone in Merylsward knows

she's dating another woman"
Nagini put his face into his palm, "You tessssst my patienccccce."
Tycon cleared his throat, "Well, I've always supported and

respected her decision, so I've never been able to profess my
*checkerboard* love before."
A female guard raised her crossbow, "Huzzah! A man of quality!"
Another guard offered a closed fist, "I know how you feel, man."
Nagini furrowed his brows beneath his snake helmet, "Checker...

board?"
Pale stood up from his hiding place, in the middle of activating a

scroll, "Checkerboard!!"
Taree emerged from the shadows as she grabbed the back of a

guard's head and drove her knee into the base of his spine,
"Checkerboard!!"
Nagini pointed at Tycon in recognition, screaming, "It'sssss

YOUUUUU!!!"
Pale's spell completed, and the guard holding Vivienne blinked his
eyes heavily, before releasing his grip and succumbing to a
standing, magically-induced sleep. Quickly, she dove behind a
counter for safety.
The snake-helmed warrior hissed in anger, "Kill him! Kill him! KILL
HIMMMM!!!"
Tycon's body convulsed, "Help... I'm... being mind-controlled!!"
The approaching guards hesitated. "Crap! Get the wizard!" "The

wizard can cast mind control!" "Geek the mage!"
Tycon whipped out a crossbow and fired it at a guard, "I'm

SORRY! I can't control myself!!"
Nagini stomped on the floor, "NNNNOOOO!! I wantttttt that one

DEADDDD!"
One of the guards snapped back, "That's why we're dropping the
wizard, you stupid snake!"
The guard struck by Tycon's crossbow bolt fell to the floor, frothing
at the mouth.
"Crap, Pierre is down!" "Someone disarm that guy!" "You'll pay for
this, Wizard!"
Pale adjusted his hat so he could see forward and he began to

wave a cheap-looking wand, "Firebolt! Firebolt! Firebolt!"
One of the guards was unlucky enough to be blasted away by the

magical flame, while the others began to take cover.
...The boy had terrible aim.
Nagini took a heated blast to the back, "Arrrgh!!"
'But at least he hit the leader,' Tycon thought.
"I'm sorry!! I'm mind controlllllled!!" Tycon hooked a crouched

guard's neck with his arm and tucked the back of his head
underneath his elbow. Using his momentum, he lifted the man up,
suplexing him into a hard table. Half of the table cracked, its hard
edge finding the man's ribs as a point of impact.
Taree leaped up, uppercutting a guard in the chin with solid

accuracy. Kicking off of his chest, she grabbed another man's
collar, the momentum taking him down, "Consecutive Stone
Punches!!"
Vivienne shot up from behind a counter, wielding a gnarled staff,

"You'll pay for this, Nagini!! Royaaaaal CRASH!!"
A thunderous explosion of glass and wood debris hammered into

the center of the shop, another two of the guards crashing to the
floor as if crushed by a tonze of bricks.
Out of the dust and debris, an injured Nagini hurdled over a low
shelf towards Tycon, "You!! I will END you, SSSSSOLDIERRR!!"
"Uh oh," Pale grabbed a wand previously protected by a glass

case. He speedily inserted his mana into it, mentally forming a
rudimentary understanding of the spell it held inside.
He used his staff to vault up onto a table and pointed it at Nagini

and the remaining guards, "Chain Lightning, (Lesser)!!"
The boy was launched backward as a jolt of electricity surged
forward.
The remaining guards twitched and convulsed, falling to the

ground. Taree had leapt deftly out of the way and Vivienne had hid
behind cover.
Nagini was hit, but flexed his muscles and continued to step
forward. Tycon had taken a knee to the ground, lamenting Pale's
terrible, horrible, cursed aim.
"Give up, Nagini!" Vivienne yelled from her hiding spot, "I've
already sent a Message spell to the City Watch! They'll be here
any minute now!"
"Then they'll only find a DEAD MAN!!" Nagini smashed a kick at

Tycon's fallen form, sending him sprawling onto the floor.
With a savage running kick, the snake warrior struck at Tycon, but
he turned his body in order, tanking the hit in the gut, "Errgh."
"DIE WITHOUT A FULL CORPSSSSE!!" Nagini raised his wicked

sword up to the ceiling.
"Seven hells," Tycon swiped his sword up in an arc.
Slowly struggling, Tycon stood up and resheathed his sword. He

glanced at the chaotic state of the Royal Robe, "Tss. Plan C!
Fiddle!"
Vivienne was distracted, staring at the standing, motionless

Nagini.
Pale took the opportunity to run to Taree. He grabbed her hand

and the two escaped through a broken window.
Tycon took off his helmet, letting it fall to the ground, as his green
hair flowed from the outside breeze through the broken windows.
He placed his sword and crossbow to the ground and kicked them
away before raising both of his hands into the air.
Vivienne stood up and approached him curiously and cautiously,
"Sir Tycon?"
Blood began to spray in a pink mist from Nagini's throat as the tall
dark-skinned man collapsed to his knees and to the floor.
Tycon smiled in embarrassment at Vivienne, "I surrender?"
...
"Wh-why are we running, Pale?" Taree sprinted alongside her

spearman friend. She was glad Boss bought her the higher-quality
maid outfit. Any of the normal ones would have torn under the
stress of her run.
Pale turned down an alleyway, climbed up a fence, leapt up and

kicked a wall to climb onto the roof. Taree followed with ease.
Pale placed a long ear against the building stone, so Taree held
her breath and remained motionless.
After waiting several moments, he relaxed, taking a deep breath.
"Plan C is to run. So we ran," Pale shrugged.
"But... there was still that snake guy?" Taree shook Pale lightly.
She was winded, as well, but still worried.
Pale shook his head, frowning, "Sir Tycon will be fine. He gave the
order for plan checkerboard-- attack to disable, and not to kill. So
he probably had us escape in case he needed to use lethal force."
Taree pouted, "But do you think he'll be okay even after you hit
him with lightning?"
Pale collapsed, pressing his forehead against the ground. Oh

crap, oh crap, oh crap.
"Pale? Are... are you okay?" Taree pulled at his robe.
"Yeah... Y-yeah, I just... had a bad feeling." Pale sat up, trying not
to cry.
"So what happens now?"
"Well," Pale crossed his legs and held his chin, "Sir Tycon said to
find... the fiddle?"
Taree tilted her head with a smile, "Teehee! I know where to go.
Follow me."
Chapter 99 Arrested!
ice-Captain Thomas Sergeant of the City Watch worked late into

V
the night. He booked a perpetrator for breaking and entering,
vandalism, and even a count of murder. Feeling quite
accomplished, he took it upon himself to take a half-day off,
informing his subordinates of his absence.
Tycondrius of Charm! Thomas Sergeant recognized the perp's

name almost immediately. He was a small-time guild leader that
Duke Tavor wanted dead. Being on the Duke's payroll, it was a
name Thomas had often heard cursed while the Duke consumed
an unhealthy amount of breads and biscuits.
Thomas made certain the kid was thrown into solitary

confinement, likely given a bit of beating and starvation. He even
left special orders to his good friend, the torturer.
It was a welcome surprise that the Tycondrius kid was so

obedient. He'd surrendered and even chose to disarm himself. But
because of the whole debacle, making certain the due process
was properly expedited, Thomas spent an extra two bells not
going home.
Anyroad, as soon as he got to his apartment building, he climbed

the stairs to his room and decided to take a short nap. Afterward,
he'd pay a visit to the Duke to let him know his little guild problem
had been taken care of.
...
Knock knock.
Aughhh. Thomas rubbed his bleary eyes, grabbing his pocket

watch from his writing desk beside the bed. He had barely slept
for half-a-bell and someone was knocking at his door.
Could it be a beautiful woman seeking to sleep with a man in
uniform? Pah. Fat chance. He was nearing 40 after 2 divorces.
His gut and his lack of bathing disgusted all his potential partners,
save the ones he paid for.
Had the neighbors come to bother him with some new gossip? He
didn't give a kobold's arse about their complaints. He was only a
protector of peace when he was in uniform.
Knock knock knock. The knocks were growing more urgent.
"Alright, alright! Seven hells, the whole city can hear you, the way
you're pounding," Thomas groggily shuffled to the door, still
wearing his smallclothes.
Opening the door to the second-floor catwalk, he found a half-elf

in glasses, professional-dressed in a dark coat, holding a
briefcase to make himself feel important.
"And who in the seven hells are you supposed to be?" Thomas
growled.
The man wrinkled his nose at the stench of the Vice-Captain's

breath, "Good morning, Mister Sergeant. My name's Cyrille
Silversand and I'm a solicitor who represents the Royal Robe. I'd
like a moment of your time to ask a few questions."
Thomas squinted his eyes. It was a joke that a lawyer wanted to

speak to him. He was the bleeding Vice-Captain of the Watch,
"Sod off. I'm tryin' to get some sleep."
Thomas began to shut the door, but he spotted a dazzling flash of

blonde hair approaching. To his surprise, the blonde woman
walked over, standing beside the lawyer.
"Hello, Thomas Sergeant? My name is Maeva Leserre and I'm

from the East Charm Trading Company? I was hoping to talk to
you about paying a coin settlement to have my client, Master
Tycondrius, released."
What in the seven hells was happening?

"That won't be necessary, Miss Leserre." The solicitor took off his
glasses, wiping them with a small cloth, "There are legal issues
with the holding of Mister Tycondrius." "Oh! That's wonderful
news."
The half-elf and high-heeled blonde spoke amicably in front of

Thomas' doorstep. He shut the door and placed his back against
it. There were many things from the previous night that he'd found
odd. And the events happening outside his door only added to
them. He began to walk back to his bed when a heavy pounding
on the door made him turn back.
The door shook as if it would break. Cautiously, Thomas opened

it.
Thomas pulled the door wide open, scowling. Standing outside of

Thomas' apartment was a group of armored thugs, led by a fat,
hairy, ugly beast of a man, Gilebert Boulet.
With so many armed and heavy thugs at his doorstep, he was

surprised that the walkway hadn't collapsed. But he was more
surprised at the criminals' uncharacteristic sense of courage.
Thomas pointed, ilms from the man's face, "Gilebert Boulet, I

thought I smelled a rat at my doorstep. You think I wouldn't dare to
arrest you here and now?"
With a meaty fist, Gilebert grabbed Thomas by his undershirt and

smashed his balding forehead into Thomas' nose, "(I will break
every bone in your body, you filthy pig.) Do you know? Do you
know who you fuck with?"
Gilebert threw a musclebound punch at Thomas' chin, sending

him crashing backward, tumbling and skinning his unprotected
arms and legs on his wooden floor. Thomas' entire body ached--
he wasn't young enough to recover so spryly from a fall.
Staggering to a knee he yelled, "Assaulting an officer of the law,
huh? I'll have you arrested!"
Looking up he was surrounded by 6 thugs, but he stood up

defiantly, "I'll have the LOT of you arrested! Thrown into prison!
Tortured! Do you know who in the seven hells I am?!"
Gilebert began to laugh, his arms crossed, his belly vibrating as

he did. Slowly, the other thugs began to laugh as well,
crescendoing into laughter at a terrible comedy that began to
break down the walls of Thomas' confidence.
"(You poor, ignorant pig.)" Gilebert shook his head, sneering in

mockery, "You arrested ze Monsieur le Baron. What hopes do you
have now?"
Thomas took a step back. He arrested a Baron? Worse, he

sentenced a Baron to be tortured? Was he a pawn, set up to take
the fall? No. He had worked for Duke Tavor for years! Thomas
refused to believe he would be thrown away so easily.
"Pah! Who cares if I arrested a noble?!" Thomas yelled, "The

Council has been in power for years, now. Being a noble doesn't
mean shite!"
He was trying his best to make himself believe his own words, "A
noble locked up for criminal charges is nothing new! Worst I'll get
is a slap on a wrist or a few days off without pay!"
"By ze gods, what is zis commotion!?"
Thomas and the thugs turned to the door to see the voice's owner.
Standing in front of the lawyer and the tradeswoman was a

gorgeous pink-haired woman with a braided bun, wearing the
cloth dress uniform of the City Watch. She was Knight-Captain
Daniela Lacroix, Thomas' superior.
Besides her was a mysterious figure in a dark hood and cloak.

Where the light struck, magical lines and runes briefly illuminated
brightly against the dark cloth. He was the leader of the largest
guild in Merylsward, High Wizard Trayus. The two of them
together made an unstoppable team against Metal Rank threats in
the city.
Thomas shrieked in celebration, "Gahahaha! You lowlives are in
for it now that the Knight-Captain Lacroix is here!!"
The pink-haired woman narrowed her eyes, sharing a glance with

High Wizard Trayus, "We are here for answers, Vice-Capitaine.
And we suggest you are forthcoming."
Chapter 100 Vice-Captain’s
Rage
[A few minutes earlier.]
High Wizard Trayus was easily the strongest wizard in

Merylsward. As an adventurer, he was known for being
unflappable in the face of danger. As a guild leader, he was known
for being strict and overly serious. But as Knight-Captain Daniela
Lacroix's uncle, he was an often cute, sometimes cranky, old man
who hated going outside.
"Daniela, are we there yet?" The middle-aged wizard squinted his

eyes underneath his dark hood. "Perhaps I should invest in those
dark lenses. The sun is proving to be quite troublesome."
Daniela shot her uncle an accusatory look, "I bought you a pair
last year, (Dear Uncle.) And where did zat go?"
Trayus pulled his hood down, looking away, "A lovely day outside,
dear niece. Especially with such lovely company."
Daniela grinned as the two turned a corner. They were nearly at

Vice-Captain Sergeant's apartment, "So why ze fuss, (Dear
Uncle?) What iz so important to lure ze High Wizard out of his
cave?"
She had been pleasantly surprised to see the sun-shy wizard

outside the City Guard Headquarters, requesting for her presence.
She had a slight hope that her uncle remembered her nameday
(nearly two weeks prior), but her hopes were dashed when he
urged the need to pay Vice-Captain Sergeant a visit.
The wizard wrung his hands, "It's bad, very bad, Daniela. Princess
Aurala has expressed the need to intervene, very strongly."
The Knight-Captain furrowed her brows in confusion, "Why does it
matter what ze youngest princess thinks?"
Trayus shook his head, "Far too many people will be affected if
word gets out, King Adal and High Councilor Highblade,
especially."
Daniela frowned. That was indeed bad. International incident bad.

She mentally pushed her worries away as she climbed the steps
of the Vice-Captain's apartment building.
"Knight-Captain Lacroix, High Wizard Trayus, good afternoon," a

half-elf greeted the knight-and-wizard pair. Beside him was a
chesty blonde in fashionable, but conservative clothing.
Daniela swept back a strand of pink hair that escaped her bun,
"Sacred gods, Cyrille. I've told you a thousand times to just call
me Daniela outside of ze courtroom. (Lacroix is my father's
name.)"
The solicitor, Cyrille Silversand adjusted his glasses, "I'm here on

business, Knight-Captain. Professionalism is a must."
"Excuse me? Knight-Captain?" the blonde woman spoke up,

standing tall.
Daniela raised an eyebrow. Was this woman not Cyrille's

assistant? And what were either of them doing here?
"A group of armed men just entered Mister Sergeant's apartment,"

she smiled helplessly.
Cursing in the old language, Daniela thanked the woman and

hurried into the apartment.
She saw her Vice-Captain on the ground, amidst several well-

armed men, empty wine-bottles, and paper trash from market-
stalls. Rushing to help him, she managed to catch the tail end of
her Vice-Captain's screams, "--Worst I'll get is a slap on a wrist or
a few days off without pay!"
"By ze gods! What is zis commotion?" Daniela frowned, no longer
as hurried as before.
The armored adventurers gave way for her and High Wizard
Trayus, allowing her to see unhindered. Vice-Captain Thomas
Sergeant was laughing maniacally as blood streamed down his
nose, wearing nothing but underwear and a sheer undershirt.
He scowled and began pointing angrily at his surrounding

aggressors, "You lowlives are in for it now that the Knight-Captain
Lacroix is here!!"
Daniela narrowed her eyes, pursing her lips. She shared a

dubious glance with her uncle before answering Sergeant, "We
are here for answers, Vice-Capitaine."
Did the issue have to do with these armed men? None of them
looked particularly strong, but not even Guild Trayus could afford
to gear their lowest echelon with enchanted armor and weapons.
She shot a look of apology at the assumedly wealthy men before
urging Sergeant once more, "...And we suggest you are
forthcoming."
A heavy man in heavier armor took off his helmet and placed it in
front of his chest, "Madame... (Please allow me to explain.)"
Daniela crossed her arms, observing the rough, bearded man. He

looked like an uneducated street thug, though his politeness won
her his respect. And anyroad, she preferred to converse in the Old
Tongue, "(If you would, respected sir.)"
The large man smiled shyly, a contrast comical, "(One of our...

friends, a Baron, was wrongfully imprisoned.)"
A Baron? That explained Cyrille's presence... The solicitor

representing the Royal Robe also worked for various nobles. She
knew that her Vice-Captain sold favors to various nobles, but she
didn't think he would be stupid enough to become embroiled in
their asinine political wars.
Daniela inwardly cursed. She shook the fingers of her sword hand
as she placed it on her hilt,"(And because of that, you stripped my
Vice-Captain and assaulted him in his home?)"
"Actually, the creep was already like that when we arrived," The
blonde woman frowned with obvious disgust, carefully navigating
through discarded bottles of booze and giving wide berth to a
moldy half-eaten baguette. She had Cyrille had followed them into
the small apartment.
Thomas Sergeant struggled to his feet, pointing at the woman and

spattering blood as he yelled, "Captain! She's with them! I want
them arrested! I'll have them all on THE RACK!!"
Daniela's sword hand froze and she placed it back onto her hip.
She had heard unsavory rumors about one of her lieutenants
reinstating usage of the torture rooms. She found the thought of it
disconcerting. Was it not a lieutenant and was it her Vice-Captain,
instead?
Sergeant had managed to crawl over to Daniela's boots, groveling

at her feet, "Captain, please. I did the right thing. I jailed the noble
for murder! There were witnesses!"
"Objection," Cyrille Silversand wagged a calm finger. "My client,

ie. the witness, Vivienne Roucher, has expressly stated that Baron
Tycondrius has acted in self-defense."
Sergeant was aghast, "Captain! The man slaughtered a dozen

men and women IN PUBLIC!"
"Objection. There was only one death. And less than ten men and
women were hospitalized for minor injuries." Cyrille impassively
refuted.
"Your BARON is on a torture rack AS WE SPEAK! I've made sure

of it! Don't cross me, Gilebert!" Sergeant angrily pointed at the
polite bearded man, "You can't stop the DUE PROCESS of the
law!!"
Daniela stared with a straight face. Her Vice-Captain just admitted
to propagating torture. At this point, she had lost all desire to save
him. If he didn't get himself killed, she'd do everything she could to
have the man's employment terminated by the end of the sun.
"Objection," Cyrile sighed, adjusting his glasses, "Baron

Tycondrius has been imprisoned and jailed without even a
hearing. It seems Vice-Captain Sergeant had expedited the
process... which is the basis of my case today, Knight-Captain
Lacroix."
"Well, you know what, KNIFE-EAR?!?" Sergeant yelled.
"That's enough, Mister Sergeant," Daniela shook her head.
"How about you take your glasses, fold 'em up, and STICK 'em up
your slanty-eyed ARSE!!"
Cyrille looked away, adjusting his glasses with a crestfallen look.

Daniela looked at him in worry. Did Sergeant hurt her old friend's
feelings?
Seething in anger, Sergeant stood up, holding an empty wine-

bottle he'd grabbed on the floor.
He posed to throw it at Cyrille, "Take this, you slanty-eyed

FREAK!!"
Chapter 101 Vice-Captain’s
Fall
ilebert Boulet moved like he was a man 10 years younger. He

G
didn't feel at all comfortable around the City Watch, but he knew
an ally from an enemy. So he moved his large body to intercept
the thrown bottle.
After Baron Tycondrius attacked their base and almost single-

handedly wiped out their men, he won Gilebert's respect. After
being gifted state-of-the-art armor and a handsome battleaxe by
Mister Reynard, he thought of the Baron as an angel sent from the
heavens.
Per Reynard's orders, he and his men all bathed and had their
beards and hair trimmed by professionals. Walking through the
streets, Gilebert was used to looks of disdain and avoidance.
Walking through the city in professional garb, he instead received
gazes of awe and admiration from adventurers, city watchmen,
and even children.
From small-time thugs he once thought of as his peers, he

received small-minded looks of envy. Gilebert could only
straighten his back and stand taller because of it. He was a better
man than he was only a week prior.
He knew the right thing to do in the situation with Vice-Captain

Sergeant. He would risk injury and even death to protect the allies
of Guild Invictus.
Gilebert shut his eyes, waiting for the thrown bottle to hit his face.
But after a moment, he hadn't even felt a splash of old wine.
Opening his eyes, his jaw dropped seeing the enigmatic High
Wizard Trayus without his hood. Two long pointed elven ears
flopped past pink hair.
He held up two fingers, glowing with mana as the thrown wine-

bottle, levitating ilms in front of Gilebert's face, spun and rotated in
the air.
The elven High Wizard's eyes glowed with mana, "Slanty-eyed

freak... That's no good, Mister Sergeant."
...
Knight-Captain Daniela Lacroix grit her teeth and rolled her eyes.
Thomas Sergeant had abused his authority to imprison someone
he had no business offending. He had assaulted a civilian and
even insulted the most powerful magician in Merylsward. Thomas
Sergeant's head was jammed so far up his arse that she couldn't
pull her Vice-Captain out even if she wanted to.
Sergeant finally ascertained that things were not going his way,
"C-c-c-captain! These thugs! They-they attacked me! Gilebert was
the one! That one there!"
Daniela examined Sergeant's so-called "thugs." Trimmed beards.

Neat haircuts. Orderly armor. Then she looked at her undressed
Vice-Captain wearing a blood-stained undershirt and living in filth.
For a moment, she questioned whether her Vice-Captain was
Thomas or the adventurer, Gilebert.
She rested both hands on her hips, "Mister Gilebert, does Mister
Sergeant speak ze truth?"
The bearded man shuffled his feet in nervousness, "(Perhaps...

Mister Sergeant fell down?)"
In a flash of mana, a wine bottle smashed into Sergeant's face

hard enough to shatter the glass. Sergeant crumpled to the floor,
scattering trash everywhere. Trayus nodded, quite pleased with
himself, "It appears the Vice-Captain has slipped and fallen."
"I saw it too!" The blonde woman cheered loudly before being
overcome by a fit of giggling.
The armored adventurers murmured in agreement.
Even Cyrille looked back, "I hadn't seen when Mister Sergeant
injured himself, but the man does seem prone to self-injury."
Gilebert's face grinned in a jolly smile, "How clumsy of Monsieur

Sergeant... Would Madame be averse to our helping him go...
eh... how you say-- (down the stairs?)"
Knight-Captain Daniela nodded, "That would be wonderful,

Monsieur Gilebert. I would request your professional assistance in
bringing my former Vice-Capitaine to ze Headquarters."
...
It was a nice day in Merylsward. The late winter chill was

tolerable. The birds sang. Pale had taken Taree out to a
restaurant that specialized in dishes from the Holy Country.
"Hey, hey." Taree was trying to get Pale's attention as he nibbled

at a fried rice-and-cheese ball, "You think they're almost done? I'm
starting to get worried about Uncle Gil."
Pale washed down a bite with some citrus drink, "I think it's gonna
be okay. Boss thought he was smart enough. That's why Mister
Reynard put him in charge."
Taree pouted, idly spinning her fork in her pasta, "It's just that he's
not very strong..."
A large crash resounded from across the street, as the wooden

shutters of a 2nd-story window burst open, a man in his
underpants being thrown out of it. Shortly afterward, a wooden
wardrobe dresser flew after him and fell on top of him. Gilebert
appeared in the window, red-in-the-face and yelling obscenities in
the Old Language.
Pale took another sip of his drink.

The 11-year-old Taree put a finger on her chin, "What's he
saying?"
"Probably things we're not allowed to repeat," the younger boy

assured her.
"Oh, alright."
The two resumed their meal.
...
Knight-Captain Lacroix followed her uncle down the steps of the

apartment building.
"I really should have known zat would happen," she confided
helplessly.
"Mister Gilebert is an efficient man." High Wizard Trayus had

pulled his hood down to shield him from the midday sun, "He
would make a fine addition to the City Watch. There will be an
opening now with Sergeant's injury."
Her uncle spoke with a bit of venom, still clearly unhappy.
Daniela shook her head, "By sundown, I'll have ze former Vice-
Capitaine is rotting in one of ze cells he loves so much. Of all ze
times--"
Her uncle held out a hand to stop her from walking. Daniela
reflexively reached for her sword, observing her surroundings.
The alleyway they walked along was suspiciously empty, outside
of the two of them. Not even a bird dared to sing.
[I wish to know why Thomas Sergeant still breathes.]
"Who goes there? Come out!" Daniela yelled out, drawing her
sword.
"I wish to know if you've ever killed anyone with that sword of
yours, little girl."
Daniela leaped forward, away from the source of the voice. She
turned, adopting a defensive stance, to see a 4-fulm-tall gnome in
furs, with hair as green as vines, crossing his arms.
Daniela felt Trayus place his hand on her sword arm, but she
shook him off. The gnome had appeared without warning. If he'd
attacked, they'd be dead, and he clearly didn't appear with the
best of intentions, "Who in ze hells do you think you are?!"
The gnome tilted his head strangely, reminiscent to an owl. His

eyes-- all-black sclera, sending chills down Daniela's spine, "I was
given the name Leafstrangle. I wish to know why Daniela Lacroix
asks for my name when all others beg for mercy?"
Her uncle stepped forward, placing a hand out in front of her,

"Mercy, Master Leafstrangle. The former Vice-Captain has been
dealt with. The Baron will be released in less than two bells."
"I wish to know why he still LiiIiivVvesss?! MaAaastErrr

TrayUUUuus?" The gnome's toothy maw grew wide with its
screeching, grating Daniela's senses.
Finding her voice, Daniela pulled her uncle's arm down. She didn't
need a man to speak for her, "Thomas Sergeant will be tried and
prosecuted according to ze Kingdom's laws. You have my word
zat he will be punished to the law's full extent!"
The gnome's face broke into a jagged-toothed, unblinking smile,

"How. Dreadfully. Boring."
With a sudden breeze, the gnome spilled into a pile of leaves,

scattering in the wind. Daniela looked all around her. Dozens of
people were in the alleyway, walking about, washing clothes,
yelling at their husbands, and giving her odd looks.
Daniela resheathed her sword, nodding politely.
"Master Leafstrangle, a Druid from the Free Nation Embassy," her

uncle explained.
"Stars and stones... A lawyer representing High Councilor Rocher.
A Trading Company... Half a dozen men wis' enough arms and
armor to slay a cave troll. Princess Aurala, King Adal, and High
Councilor Highblade?" Daniela shivered from latent fear, "And an
emissary from ze Beast Kingdoms? Who is zis Baron
Tycondrious?"
Chapter 102 Attack On Tavor
arza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark laid naked in a copper tub.

B
After several bells of crying and moping, he had finally run out of
tears. He spent his time staring listlessly out of the inn's window,
washing his genitals with the same shampoo that hadn't worked
since 3 bells past.
"Heyyyyy, bud. How ya doin?" Dragan peeked over the naked

man.
Lone turned away, not wanting to face the big man, "I don't wanna
talk to you right now."
Tamaki shrugged, "You were kinda indirectly responsible fer the

Chosen One gettin' crabs, Mister Dragan."
"Okay, bub, that's fair. But hey. Heyyyy. You're a good guy, you
know that?"
Lone absentmindedly touched the skin on his groin area, wincing

in pain. He had rubbed it raw, trying to get the burning and the
itching to stop, "What the hells do you want, Dragan?"
Dragan grinned over the naked man, "You wanna get some ice
cream? 'Cuz I bought some ice cream."
A short male Popoto wearing magician's garb knocked politely on

the door.
"Mister Jejeka! Come on in, just don't mind the naked fella in the
tub," Tamaki waved him in. Jejeka was the first Popoto he had
met, a well-learned, Bronze-Rank Magician with a brimmed cone
hat. Like all Popotos, his skin was bronzed, he was barely above
3-fulms-tall, and he had a cute rounded face and a button nose.
"Guild Invictus! I got a package for a-- uhhh." The Popoto squinted
at the package writing to ensure its accuracy, "Lone Shadowdark?
Isn't that redundant? Shadows are already dark, aren't they?"
The Popoto put his tiny arms on his waist, glancing around the
room, "Wait, is this even real or is someone making fun of me
again?"
"Niiiiice!" Dragan exclaimed, "Check it out, bud! Boss got you a

magic cure potion!"
Dragan grabbed the potion Jejeka was holding out and tossed it to
Lone. The potion slipped out of Lone's hands, falling clumsily into
his tub. Sobbing tearlessly, he grabbed it out of the dirty water,
unstoppered it, and poured the tonic onto his affected region.
"We 'bout ready to kick some butt, Mister Jejeka?" Tamaki

inquired.
The tiny Popoto nodded with a cute smile, "Suit up, everyone!
Commander Maximus's given the word!"
He placed a fire-charged fist into his open hand, "And that word is
*Incerination.*"
...
Tamaki fired another arrow at the defending Tavor guardsmen. He

and 5 other Trayus archers and wand-casters held a high point,
sniping down important targets at the battle below.
"Aw, fiddlesticks. I moved my thumb," Tamaki twitched.
Dragan peered into the distance below, a flat hand over his brow,
"You got one!! Hells yeah, man! Do it again!"
A few of the others shot Tamaki positive nods and silent hand-
signals of encouragement.
Tamaki drew his bow again, "Oh boy, this is fun. Usually, I'm more
worried 'bout hittin' friendlies than my targets."
Dragan snorted a laugh, "The Watch has cordoned off the area.
So fire away, man-- Ooh! You got another one!"
"Really?" Tamaki looked, a dumb smile plastered on his face, "I

accidentally closed my eyes when I shot!"
Lone scratched at his trousers. He, Dragan, and Tamaki enjoyed

relative safety in the rooftops above the battlefield. The enemy
was originally estimated to be two platoons of Tavor Guardsmen,
but there were a number of plainclothes mercenaries that didn't
evacuate with the civilians.
The tonic Lone took had healed the skin he had rubbed raw, but
he still itched terribly, "I'm gonna go join the battle."
"You can jus' relax, bud," Dragan shrugged. "Guild Trayus' forces
are doin' fine. And they have Commander Maximus and the
Whore General if things get dicey."
Lone half-turned to Dragan, "I just need something to keep my

mind off of things."
Dragan shrugged, "Go ahead, bud. I'll cover these guys up here."
Lone leapt off the building, descending down a flagpole. Spinning

around the pole twice, he smashed his crotch onto a Tavor
guardsman's face, unsheathing a sword and stabbing it into the
man's neck, coincidentally landing near the Popoto Magician
Jejeka.
"Nice job, Invictus!" Jejeka cheered, bouncing up and down, "I

thought I was a sliced Popoto!!"
Lone smiled weakly, "Y-yeah. No problem." He felt a bit strange

that a mage as old as he was had such naturally cute actions.
"Ugly descent. Sloppy execution," an elven woman sneered.
"Councilor Naedrielle?" Jejeka waved his arms in the air in

surprise.
Naedrielle narrowed her eyes at the magician, "I've resigned as of
this morning. I prefer to be called Wind General."
She turned her glare to Lone, "Follow me to the front, Invictus

whelp."
Lone rendered the woman a silent salute. The fiery itch on his
crotch had yet to die down completely.
Jejeka pat Lone's thigh, "I'm coming with you!"
Lone stared blankly at the grinning magician.
"Why? Well, I've always been meaning to try out this new spell
where I combine internal combustion and external dehydration to
improve the burning process."
Lone didn't know what to say, "Uh?"
"Basically what I'm saying is if there's someone out to get you,

he'll have to go through some of my experiments" The grinning
Popoto threw up both hands, his thumbs raised.
"The both of you! Follow me!" Naedrielle shouted.
...
Lone focused his attention on following in Wind General

Naedrielle's wake, quickly finding the reason for her title. Just
being near her, Lone felt a gentle breeze flow through his hair. His
body felt lighter, and he was able to run with a magical glide.
Even as she dashed forward, she would whip her rapier out at
enemies, each man and woman falling to a single accurate
slash... The elf's ruthlessness and precision reminded Lone of
Tycon's.
The two quickly made it to the front lines, where Naedrielle

pointed with her rapier blade. 4 monstrous black and flaming
creatures stood at the ready alongside dozens of Tavor
guardsmen and mercenaries.
She began shouting orders at the men and women of Guild
Trayus, "Melee, prioritize the guards and protect our back lines!
Ranged, focus fire my target!!"
She turned to face Lone. Levitating a few ilms off of the ground,
their eyes met at equal height, "Hellhounds. How many can you
take out?"
Lone pursed his lips... "Um. One?"
"Ughhh," Naedrielle signed in utter contempt. She pointed at the

biggest creature. "You can handle that one, then. I'll take care of
the other three."
In a blast of air, she dashed away, a surge of spell casts and

arrows following her.
"Wake up, Lone! The heckhound is comin' right for us!!" Jejeka
waved his magical staff wildly in a panic.
"Seven hells!!" Lone yelled, charging forward through the crowd of

guards.
He slid under a Tavor guardsman's greataxe slash, then grabbed

a different guard by the helmet and hit them in the chin with a
rising knee.
Drawing his blades, he blocked two attacks coming at him

simultaneously from his left and right.
"Ignition DRIVE!!" Jejeka's shout came from behind.
Drilled into Lone's reflexes, he immediately dropped to the floor,

allowing a booming chain of fiery explosions to blast his two
attackers away.
Quickly getting to his knees, Lone sprinted forward towards the

largest hellhound as it reared its head up to howl at the sky.
"Mister Double Dark!!!!"

Lone furrowed his brow and looked back at the Popoto mage. He
was waving his staff in the air with wide sweeping motions, trying
to get his attention.
"It's gonna breathe fire!! You gotta shut him up or he's gonna kill
us all!!!"
Chapter 103 Lightning &
Thunder
"Oh, no you don't!"
Lone dropped his swords and he used both arms to push the
creature's lower jaw closed. What Naedrielle called a hellhound
was a quadrupedal creature that stood two heads taller than he
was, with a head that could easily bite his torso in two. He really
didn't want to call it a hound, as its skin resembled strips of rusted
wire pulled taut and from the spaces between, tufts of flaming "fur"
licked at the air.
It didn't have eyeballs but it did have a jaw with metallic teeth. And
as it snarled, globs of oily, hot slobber dripped onto Lone's hair
and chest.
Some of it got into his mouth. He was starting to regret leaving

Dragan to distract himself.
Lone spat out what warm viscous fluid he could, and he turned to
his magician ally, "Jejekaaaa!!"
The Popoto held his stubby arms above his head, "Fulmination
BURST!!"
An explosive sphere appeared, glowing a threatening gold amidst

the backdrop of darkening skies. With a deafening POP sound, it
burst near the hellhound's hell-head.
As it reeled back, Lone reared a fist back and punched the

creature with a solid left hook.
It felt like punching a metal barrel. Lone was fairly certain he'd
broken something in his hand.
As if angered, flames began to burn brighter and hotter, all around
the hellhound's body.
"Oh, fff-- Get out!! I think it's gonna explode!!" Lone yelled. He
waved his hand in a [Disperse] motion and the Guild Trayus
members around them began to scatter for cover... with the
exception of the Popoto Magician, Jejeka Banjeka.
It was then that Lone noticed the drawn magic circle on the floor
beneath the mage, the Ley Line Circle. He recognized it from
when Wroe had used it during the fight against Old Fool. A bluish
cloud of mana was enhancing Jejeka's magics as he cast spell
after spell at the hound.
Lone screamed, "Jeka, what are you DOING?! RUN!!"
Keeping a brave face, Jejeka continued to throw his fire spells,

"My Mana Ward will save me."
"Don't be stupid, STUPID!!" Even though they spent only a short

time together, Lone refused to let Jejeka die. Instead of running
away, he rushed to the magician and picked him up underneath
an arm.
"Nooooo!! My safe spaaaaaace!!!!!"
...
With a despondent, high-pitched gargle that could have passed

for a howl, the 4th and final hellhound fell. Wind General
Naedrielle raised her rapier up in victory, standing atop the fallen
creature.
"Glory to Guild Invictus! Glory to Guild Trayus!!" She yelled. A

round of cheers erupted from the crowd.
Lone stumbled out of the smoke, covered in bruises. The skin of

his side, arms, and legs was torn from skidding along the ground
after being launched by the hellhound's explosion.
He dropped the Popoto held under his arm to the ground as he
collapsed to his knees, "I thought we were gonna die!!"
Jejeka struggled to his feet, covered in soot, "I... told you so."
He had a growing welt on his forehead from being dropped on his

face, "My mana ward saved us."
The members of Guild Trayus surrounded the two of them. --"You

guys were awesome!!" "We thought we were done for when it was
about to breathe!" "Drinks are on me when we get back, Lone
Shadowdark!!" "You saved the Popoto!"
The nearby building exploded, quaking the earth, and abruptly

halting the crowd's premature victory. An entire wall had been torn
down from the explosive effects of a spell.
The 3-fulm tall Jejeka visibly trembled, hugging his stick, "Is it
another enemy??"
A blue blur flew into the sky, out of the destroyed building.
Maximus of Invictus landed in front of Guild Trayus and folded his
wings behind him, "East side threats eliminated. No casualties."
Naedrielle floated down, glaring sharpened daggers at the

Dovahkiin. The 5-fulm tall woman levitating next to the nearly 7-
fulm tall Maximus was almost laughable, "Pah. You people from
the Holy Country have no sense of delicacy."
Maximus crossed his bulging, scale-covered arms, "Your buildings

are weak, just like your soldiers, Witch General."
Naedrielle scowled, "That's Wind General, you winged iguana.

While your platoon was busy staring at their feet in your stupid
formations, I've secured 4 Metal Rank kills with my Thunder Step,
alone."
Maximus' wings suddenly spread to their full span, making

Naedrielle look even smaller than she was, "COUNNNNNT!!!!
OFF!!"
The platoon Maximus was leading began to emerge from the
smoke. A man tossed a severed hellhound head to the ground,
"ONE!!" Then another, "TWO!!"
...In all, six severed heads were thrown to the ground, dripping oily
blood.
After the 6th head was counted, Maximus' glare hadn't lessened,
"A victory attained with coordination and precise, accurate fire."
Maximus tilted up his chin, his eyes sparking with blue electricity,
"Thunder may boast, Witch. But the true power comes from the
lightning that strikes first."
"Always intent on being first, Gian Vanzano," Naedrielle puffed

one of her bangs out of her eyes.
"Perhaps one day, you'll decide to come second, for a change,"

Without waiting to hear a response, Naedrielle turned around
abruptly and began walking into the central building.
Jejeka waddled up to Maximus and placed his hand on his

forearm, "Holy shite, she killed you, dude. Should I call a Healer?"
...
The Duke's warehouse held hundreds of boxes filled with various

metal goods: cookware, belt-buckles by the hundreds, lines of
mass-produced swords and shields. Much of it had been
damaged, but the members of Guild Trayus were too busy
recovering the injured and dead from both sides to admire them.
"So this is what they were protecting," Naedrielle sheathed her

rapier and knelt beside a rectangular iron door, poorly hidden
underneath a crate of mining picks.
Maximus opened a palm, crackling with lightning mana, "Step

aside."
The elf rolled her eyes, "Opening the door with force? Your brain
is as stupid as your feet, Gian."
Dragan placed a hand on Maximus' shoulder. Taking him aside,
he lowered his voice, "The whore is right. The iron door's hiding
something... but it could also be keeping something out."
Maximus glanced back to Naedrielle to ensure their privacy, "And

what are you worried about, Brother Dragan?"
Dragan hesitated, his voice barely above a whisper, "I worry it's
something that specifically iron keeps out."
"Hey, fellas! And lady! I found somethin' over here!" Tamaki

waved. He directed the group's attention towards a hidden lever
on a nearby wall.
Lone absentmindedly scratched himself, "Are we... all gonna go

down?"
Dragan broke away from Maximus, "Yep! Guild Trayus first! Line
up, guys! Everyone in the hole!"
Jejeka Banjeka saluted crisply, "How about Guild Trayus take the
honors? Invictus can do the work sorting the bodies for the City
Watch and filling out the paperwork?"
Dragan and Maximus looked to each other, coming to a tacit

understanding.
"NOPE! Get the hells out of my way!" Dragan yelled, shoving his
way towards the iron door.
"The glory will belong to Sol Invictus!!" Maximus roared.
Tamaki pulled the lever and the iron door swung open with a
series of creaks, crescendoing into a bang.
Jejeka smiled with tiny white, pearly teeth as he lifted up a closed

fist, "Stay alive down there, Lone."
"Yeah, I hope to." Lone nodded, tapping his fist to Jejeka's.

Chapter 104 Descent
one descended down the iron ladder after Maximus, Dragan, and
L
Wind General Naedrielle.
Guild Invictus stood atop the highest platform, inside of a hollowed

tower, stone stairs spiraling down along the walls. The far-off
sounds of hammers and clanking from down below echoed dully
off the smoothly hewn stone.
"What is this place?" Lone looked around in wonder, wiping his

brow. The hot air reminded him of the saunas back at the Ivory
Judge sect.
Dragan crossing his arms, "I think it's a pocket dimension... One
on the outskirts of the Plane of Fire."
Naedrielle scowled, "The Duke has opened a portal to the Plane

of Fire? Does he want to bring the Gatekeepers down upon our
city?!"
Dragan held a hand out, "First off, if you don't have anything
useful to say, shut the hells up."
Naedrielle's eyes widened, "You DARE--"
Dragan grabbed the woman's sword arm with his left and raised
his greataxe in the air with his right. The movement was so fast,
Lone didn't even register it for a moment, "I'm stronger than you,
Wind General. And I lead this group. You have a problem with it,
you leave, right the hells now."
The elf narrowed her eyes.
"I will not ask again," Dragan gripped the woman's arm harder.
Naedrielle winced in pain for a half-second, but regained her
bearing and nodded.
Dragan released her and resheathed his axe on his back.
"Who in the seven hells are you guys?" Naedrielle spat, rubbing
her arm.
"Right now, Naedrielle, we're just a bunch of Iron-Rank

adventurers that want to live to see tomorrow," Dragan shrugged.
He began walking down the steps. Naedrielle glared at Maximus,

waiting to see a reaction. Maximus gave none, catching up to
Dragan to walk alongside him.
Lone and Tamaki shrugged to each other and followed along.
"You haven't answered my question, Leader Dragan," Naedrielle

badgered the giant man.
Dragan didn't spare the woman a glance, "I'm not as patient as

Boss Tycon, Naedrielle."
"Is the Duke capable of opening a portal?"
"He is not. With the way the rift is located, the Duke probably had
a cellar with a manifest zone. A minor ritual later, he stabilized it,
replaced the door and ladder with iron to withstand the heat,
installed a lever so he didn't have to burn himself on the door--
Frankly, I'm a little surprised I had to explain all that to you."
Naedrielle opened her mouth to gripe, but thought better of it...

"Magical education in the Kingdom doesn't cover planar travel."
Maximus furrowed his brows, "You're an elf, Naedrielle."
She crossed her arms, "I have approximate knowledge of many

topics, Mister Vanzano. Pocket dimensions and rifts to elemental
planes are only vaguely familiar to me-- not to mention, illegal to
even study."
"Don't feel bad, Miss Wind General. I didn't know 'bout any of that,
neither," Tamaki offered a genial smile.
Dragan turned back holding up his arms, "Shite on a stick!?! WHY

ARE YOU HERE?!?"
Maximus raised an eyebrow, "What's wrong? Tamaki is a noble

archer."
"I thought I said only Iron-Ranks go into the fire dimension death
trap?!" Dragan yelled, holding his head.
Lone raised his hand, "Mister Dragan, why am I here?"
"Shut up, Mister Crabs, you don't count."
Lone put his hand down and scratched his crotch.
Tamaki rubbed the back of his head, "You said fer all of Guild
Invictus ta come down. Plus, I gotta back y'all up, if y'all are
headin' inta danger!"
Maximus nodded, "Right. How could young master Tamaki bear to

watch us brave danger without him?"
Dragan sighed, "Eh, it's probably fine."
Naedrielle pursed her lips, "Why do I get the feeling that it's not?
"Leader, do you know what exactly we're dealing with?" the elf
asked. Her tone was probably as polite as she could muster.
"An associate of ours named Seldin Korr has a confidante in

Fernia. After following a bunch of rumors, yadda yadda, she's
concluded that a power called the Flamebriar Monarch has allied
with Duke Tavor," Dragan shook his head.
Maximus tilted his head up in thought, "Flamebriar?"
"Right. Not an inherently fiery thing." Dragan glanced over to

Naedrielle, "You look like you figured it out, Windy?"
Naedrielle glowered but did not comment on her new nickname,
"Yes... The Flamebriars are an ancient elven clan, lost
generations ago."
"Welp, yeah. Boss and I came to the same conclusion. Hence why
I thought that the iron ladder and door up top might be for making
sure Faewyld creatures don't break through to the surface."
"How's the iron gonna stop the bad elves?" Tamaki inquired.
"Windy," Dragan snapped his fingers.
Naedrielle's mouth twitched, "It's an old, old rule, lost to the ages.
The most pureblooded fae are born of nature, one with the world.
Taking metal and working it-- taking what is natural and bending it
to the will of men is anathema to them."
Tamaki was staring at the walls.
"Maximus," Dragan waved.
Maximus placed a strong hand on the youth's shoulder as they

walked, "Iron blades cause the most pain to the deep elves.
Something in the metal is like a poison to them."
"Oh, I got'cha," Tamaki nodded, finally understanding.
Dragan continued before Naedrielle could stab the blonde boy,

"Fernia has no interest in invading the material plane. They have
their own wars to worry about."
Naedrielle frowned, "So you're saying this rogue fae, a Flamebriar

ancestor, is responsible for the Duke's growth in power? Why? For
what reason?"
Dragan shrugged, "Doesn't matter. We know the Duke's motives:

money and power. We know the Duke's offenses: stabilizing a rift
to a pocket dimension on the outskirts of the elemental Plane of
Fire. Next task is sealing this stupid place, to prevent a possible
invasion."
"And preventing the Gatekeepers from wiping the city off of the
Kingdom's maps," Maximus added.
"Right," nodded Dragan.
Naedrielle crossed her arms, "Then WHY, Leader Dragan, are we

venturing deep into this foul place and not just sealing it off?"
Dragan rolled his eyes and his entire head along with it, "Did you
see a spell circle? An artifact? No, you didn't. There was just a
metal door. There is no 'magic' portal, Windy. This is a stabilized
rift that needs to be destabilized. Even if we block the entrance,
this place will still exist."
Maximus put his hand on Naedrielle's back, "Shall we attack while

the enemy is unaware?"
Dragan nodded, "We'll head to the bottom and look for a way."
Chapter 105 Ancestor
one looked back up the walls. Guild Invictus had climbed down 5
L
flights of stairs and had finally found the source of the incessant
clanging and hammering. Hundreds of dwarves worked around
forges, hammering away with orange-skinned, tree-trunk thick
arms, their heads and necks lit in golden flame.
Maximus pointed his spear, to a sealed set of red double-doors, "I

don't like the look of that."
As salty as Naedrielle had acted during the descent, she

managed a chuckle, "You've never locked the doors before, why
worry now?"
Maximus was left dumbfounded. It wasn't the first time. Dragan

snorted and pat Maximus on the shoulder.
"What're these folks? Fire dwarves?" Tamaki asked. His eyes

were filled with wonder and his brow was covered in sweat from
the sweltering heat.
"Azers," Dragan explained. "Think of them like a cross between

dwarves and golems with a single function. They'll work until they
can't."
Maximus banged his spear against his shield, "Shall we reap their
lives, brother Dragan? Surely it's a better end than being forced to
do evil's bidding"
"If you waa~AAaant," Dragan sang, noncommittally, "But the azers

are essentially slaves. It doesn't stop the slavemaster from
acquiring more."
"Slavery? Impossible. A true fae wouldn't desecrate another living

creature's freedom!!" Naedrielle growled, her long ears reddening.
Lone had just the tools for the job! He took out a hammer and a
chisel, "How about we just free them? Break their chains?"
The elven girl knelt down to examine the black chains on the azer
smiths' feet, "Sacred gods, there's so much blood?? How can they
work in these conditions?!"
"Looks like... black twisted vines? Thorns like daggers and

knives," Tamaki squatted down, reaching a hand out to touch.
Naedrielle caught the boy's fingers in her soft hand before he got
too close, "House Flamebriar was known for growing iron-colored
vines... When pricked by their thorns, it will burn like roiling
flames."
She stood up, gritting her teeth, "I spoke too soon, leader. This
can only be the work of the Flamebriar family."
Dragan rolled his eyes, "(Azer, who's in charge here?)"
The nearby azer blacksmith didn't take his eyes off his craft, "(Sod
off, filth. I can smell your efreet-blood.)"
Dragan's face remained impassive, "(Mom's dead. I have her

severed head displayed in a box. Who's in charge?)"
The blacksmith clanged his hammer a few more times... "

(Flamebriar Monarch. If there's nothing else, I'm working.)"
Maximus grinned, "The Fire Language? That's a rare one."
"Had to confirm." Dragan walked off, "I really didn't want to be

right."
The Wind General opened her mouth to argue, but clenched her
teeth and remained silent.
"Guys! I found somethin' over here!" Tamaki called out.
Guild Invictus gathered around a huge spell array on the wall,

covered in orange-glowing magical script, several layers of lines
rotating at different speeds.
Naedrielle levitated up to it, examining the carved runes, "I know
these runes. Ancient elven characters. If you just give me--"
"Provides heat to the forges. Heat stabilizes the rift," Dragan spun
his finger in a circle, signaling the elf to hurry up.
She floated down, crossing her arms, "It looks like someone's
spent a pretty copper crushing earth crystals to make the mana
ink, along with a few other reagents. We'll be able to track down
the Duke's supplier once we leave this place."
Dragan turned to Maximus, "Winged iguana, wanna do the

honors?"
"Shut up, dude." Maximus snorted and shook his head.
He slashed at the array with his circular shield, "Maximus!!" A

rending line of lightning zapped the array, the glow blazing
brilliantly before suddenly dimming.
The entire tower began to shudder, groaning as if angered.
"Move! MOVE MOVE MOVE!!" Dragan yelled.
Maximus spread his wings and flew ahead of Lone and Tamaki.
Naedrielle crossed one leg over the other, chanting. Wisps of wind
spirits swirled around Guild Invictus, speeding their movements.
The ground beneath Dragan burst in a gout of flame, enveloping

the redheaded giant and ruining his hair. Even with the ground
quaking and occasionally spitting super-heated fire, the azers
continued to hammer and smelt their metalware.
The double doors burst open.
Dragan yelled to Naedrielle, "Hey, listen, we haven't been on the

best of terms, but I really think we should run."
Naedrielle scoffed, "Leader I am the Wind General. I have the

strongest defense out of anyone on the Council and I can literally
fly. I'll delay the Ancestor and follow shortly."
Dragan was jogging in place, "I'm not gonna ask twice, y'know?"
"Go, Leader. Think of this as an apology for my earlier rudeness."

Naedrielle drew her rapier and gave Dragan a wink, "I'm looking
forward to traveling with Maximus again."
With a wave of her hand, Naedrielle pushed Dragan with a burst

of air, forcing him to run towards the rest of the guild.
The creature emerged from the door, at first appearing like a man.
It stood as tall as Maximus, towering over Naedrielle. On its face,
it wore a ram's skull with what appeared to be red worms bulging
from its eye sockets. Its body was covered in black vines, each
tendril as thick as Naedrielle's fist and thorns grew at its corners
like ridged spines on a beast's back. At the end of an elongated
vine arm, it held a wicked curved blade made of sharpened bone
that glowed crimson with magic.
It glided forward as if it hid no legs underneath its tendril robe.
Naedrielle called out, "Flamebriar Ancestor! I am Naedrielle, First

Warrior of House Whisperwind!"
She flourished her rapier, "I request to take part in the ceremonial
rite of the Blade Dance!"
Wind mana began to slowly rotate about her, kicking up dust and
flame.
The Monarch raised its left arm, a dozen black vines extending
forward, easily crossing over 20 yalms in an instant and wrapping
around Naedrielle's mouth and neck. Without moving its main
body, the vines withdrew, pulling the elf along with it.
The Monarch held the woman up with one arm, several fulms off
of the ground. She had dropped her sword. She kicked. She tried
to scream. Blood ran down her neck, chest, and arms, from the
burning thorns embedded in her flesh.
The Monarch lifted its right hand, and the curved blade cut into
Naedrielle's side. With a sudden jerk, it tore the weapon out, blood
and entrails spilling onto the burning ground. It drops its blade and
reached into her wound, tearing out her guts with gnarled roots
that resembled fingers.
Chapter 106 Madison
amaki fired a barrage of arrows at a green-skinned humanoid,

T
complementing the black thorns growing from its flesh. Lone spun
his dual blades in a 720 degree circle, slashing the injured plant-
creature's flesh and decapitating it.
"Thanks, Chosen One!" Tamaki wiped sweat from his brow, "I
thought I was a goner!"
Lone kicked the severed head off of the stairs and it plummeted
into the fiery explosions geysering up from the bottom floor, "Not a
problem, brother. No man or woman left behind-- like Boss says."
Dragan bounded up the stairs, an uncommon look of worry on the

big man's face, "Yeap! Move! Both of you, have to catch up with
Maximus, riiiiight NOWWW!!"
Without a word of complaint, the giant, the archer, and the

swordsman powered up the stairs to catch up with the winged
dovahkiin. The sounds echoing in the tower were deafening: boots
to stone, roars of the fires below, and plant-people dying to
Maximus' lightning bolts.
Lone had to yell to make himself heard, "Dragan! Where's the

Wind General?!"
"Dead! Reeeaaaallly dead!! Which is why we are RUNNING!!"

Dragan placed his hand and the flat of his axe on Tamaki's and
Lone's backs to push them along.
A crack opened in a nearby wall as a trio of plant-men spilled out

of it. Lone deflected a thorn-covered sword and stabbed one in
the eye, "What do you MEAN, DEAD??!"
Dragan slashed his heavy axe horizontally, knocking the enemies
back, "Axe BURST!!-- It's exactly as I said, the elf got cut into two
by something that's chasing us, so MOVE YOUR--"
Lone and Tamaki had run up the stairs to the next platform,
leaving Dragan behind.
Dragan stared up the stairs at their backs, "Yeah. Like that."
He looked at the crack in the wall. Over a dozen more feral plant
men crowded to get through, clambering over each other to bite
into the flesh of men. Dragan leaped up powerfully, smashing the
corner of the wall with his axe-- blocking the entrance with rock
debris, "That'll slow 'em down, now to get away from the--"
Vines latched onto his knee, dagger-sharp thorns pricking into his
flesh.
Dragan looked down, "Aw, fff--"
...
Tamaki hurriedly shot past Lone's head, the arrow pinning to the
tower wall. As they ran past, Lone noticed... a tiny creature still
wriggling on the arrow.
Lone ran past it quickly, starting up the next set of stairs, "What
the hells was that?"
"Looked like a big ROACH, Chosen One! Mama taught me ta

shoot 'em, whenever I saw one," Tamaki yelled between breaths.
Lone glanced up to where Maximus was fighting, one platform

higher. He was surrounded by plant-men, pouring out of another
large crack in the wall. With every strike of the dovahkiin's spear,
two or three fell to a chaining bolt of lightning. The plant-men
weren't even metal rankers-- once Lone, Tamaki, and Dragan
arrived to provide support, Invictus would be able to break
through.
Lone arrived atop the next set of stairs, stopping abruptly.

Tamaki collided into Lone's back, "Chosen One! What's the big
idea, we hafta--"
A woman with dark eyes stood at the center of the pathway. The
only thing that covered her barefoot nakedness was long, curly
hair that dropped down to her waist. Past her were the stairs to
Maximus' platform.
"Nice to see you again, my love," the woman waved a dainty

hand. A red millipede, half the size of her arm, licked the tip of her
fingers.
Lone squinted his eyes, weapons out and slowly edging forward
towards the woman, "Madison. This is... awkward."
"It shouldn't be. I'm not ashamed of my body, Master Lone."

Madison sucked on two of her fingers, the millipede crawling onto
her face and retreating into her hair.
"I was a virgin!!" Lone yelled, wiping away a tear with the back of
his hand. He didn't have the time to be cordial.
"You can't take it back, Master Lone." Madison swept her hair
back, showing off her nudity, "But my legs are open to another
reservation if you're so inclined."
Tamaki nocked another arrow into his bow, "We're kinda in a rush,
Miss Madison. Would be a shame ta put ya down, after all ya did
for the Chosen One."
Lone pointed his sword angrily at the naked woman, "BITCH,

YOU HAVE CRABS!!"
The woman waved a slow hand in the air. Hundreds of black and
crimson roaches spilled out from her dark hair and hovered by her
head, "I command far more than just that, Master Lone."
Tamaki pulled Lone's shoulder, whispering loudly, "Chosen One, I

think the naked lady has bug powers."
Madison narrowed her eyes, "Master Tamaki. You've killed one of
my children."
"Oh, wow," Tamaki scratched his head. "That was before I knew
ya had 50 million of 'em living on yer head."
Thrusting her hand forward, the roach swarm rocketed towards

the two.
"Millions of young will feed and lay eggs on your flesh!!" She
screamed.
...
"Ow! Augh! Ahhh! --Grah! Ah!"
Dragan bounced down the steps. Flailing about, he tried to smash

his weapon against the vine wrapped around his ankle, but he
was being pulled too fast.
Sparks flew as he tried to catch his axe-blade into the rock to slow
his descent.
"(GIVE UP. SUFFER. DIE,)" a gravelly voice that crackled like

kindling emanated from the Monarch's ram skull. The ancient
magic in its words was powerful enough that Dragan didn't need
to parse through their meanings.
Dragan righted himself at the last moment, springing up at the fae

creature, "Aha! Got'cha!!"
His two-handed axe bit into the creature's flesh, cutting into the
roots, cleaving the Monarch nearly in twain.
Dragan pointed, grinning, "I got'cha! You're dead! Fall over!!"
The figure stared up at Dragan, red worms bulging in the

Monarch's skull. It lifted its curved ivory blade.
Dragan winced as he caught the blade with his forearm, cutting

deeply and touching the bone, "Oh, come on!!!"
The Titanblood sent a powerful forward kick at the stuck axe's
haft, knocking the Monarch back a step. Dragan unstuck the bone
blade from his arm, "I'll be taking this, then!"
He turned to run, easily bounding up the steps. Black spines dug

into the flesh of his left hand-- the hand holding the Monarch's
weapon, "Eeeaarghhh!. Are you SERIOUS?!"
He felt a tingling sensation along his forearm-- likely the burning

sensation that the dead woman Naedrielle had warned about.
Dragan ignored the pain and bounded up the steps. Having a
weapon was worth the annoyance of a few holes in his hand. And
at least he wouldn't drop it easily.
Dragan ascended another platform, "Why haven't you two caught

up yet?"
Tamaki was rolling back and forth on the ground, swatting at

dozens of fattened insects. Lone was doing a little better, flailing
around with his two swords as the hundreds of flying, skittering
creatures swarmed and bit at his face, neck and the unarmored
parts of his body.
"It's MADISS-OHHARRGH" Lone tried to yell out, allowing the

insects to crawl into his mouth.
Dragan smiled weakly, patting Lone's back with the flat of his ivory
blade, "Sorry, bud. I kinda set you up for that one."
Chapter 107 Daughter
ragan glanced up to see Maximus still fighting a few platforms

D
above. The dovahkiin was still swinging his shield, stabbing his
spear, and breathing literally lightning bolts comfortably, but the
plant-men were gaining in number.
Madison, the noble taker of Lone's virginity stood holding her arms
out towards Lone and Tamaki.
"Yes, DIE TRASH!!" She yelled, the inhuman buzz of insects and
the clicking of countless teeth audible in her voice. It seemed she
was controlling the insect swarm.
Dragan grinned sheepishly, "Oh. Yeah. That-- Yeah. This is the

first time everything's *actually* my fault and Boss isn't around to
see it."
"Mister Dragan!" Tamaki yelled with closed teeth, "Please do

somethin!!"
"Egh, alright," Dragan reached out his bloodied right arm, testing
to see if his fingers still moved. He made five hand-gestures in
rapid succession while chanting.
Flames erupted from where Dragan stood, turning the

surroundings insects to ash and Dragan into a puff of cinders.
Nearby, Madison's head flew from her body and she collapsed
into a heaving pile of roaches, millipedes, and grubs. Dragan
stared confusedly at the bone blade in his hand.
Lone rolled around on the floor vomiting, but the insects began to
skitter away from him instead of insisting on crawling on his
person.
Tamaki managed to recover and ran up to Dragan, "Did'ja get
'em?"
Dragan's pupils shrank in realization and he hurriedly began

stomping down at the bug pile, "Nope! Didn't get her!"
Tamaki hopped up and down, stomping with both feet, "Y'know,

Mister Dragan, I'm having a terrible time right now."
Dragan smashed a heavy boot over and over into the mushing
bug pile, "Me too, kid. Me too."
Lone stood up, his body contorted at a strange angle. Black bile
was spilling out of his mouth, "Guuhhh-- guyyys?"
Lone's voice sounded like something was still lodged in his throat.
The pool of insects shot over to underneath Lone and the nude
form of Madison began to rise up from it.
"That huuuurt, Master Dragan," she pouted. The naked woman

draped herself over Lone's back.
She stuck a long tongue into Lone's ear, "Won't you protect me,
dear servant?"
"Guysss? Augh... I-- can't moolve-- mawwwyy body," Lone

choked.
Madison grabbed Lone's face with both hands and forced a deep
kiss onto him. As she withdrew, Dragan and Tamaki could see a
fat crimson roach climbing into Lone's mouth.
Dragan shrugged, "Well, he's dead. Let's get a move on, Tamaki."
"The Chosen One's still alive, Mister Dragan. We gotta--" Tamaki

pulled an arrow out of his quiver, but it was chewed on by insects.
He pulled on his bowstring and his bow snapped in two.
Tamaki tossed the broken pieces off the side of the platform, "I'm
sorry, Chosen One. We'll remember you."
...
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, had a nightmare.
Dark eyed, tinged with red. Madison's seductive moans resonated

throughout his soul. Her burning itch invaded his senses. The
crawling of insects and the clacking mandibles filled his mind. He
lied in a copper tub, swarming with worms, nibbling at his flesh.
His own wails and Dragan's laughter echoed against the cracking
tower walls.
Sorina looked at him with pity, touching his hand, "Wake up,
Father."
Lone coughed, a knot in his throat, the corners of his eyes hot,
"Sorina? What do you mean? Why are you here?"
The girl shook her head, "I've taken the form of something you
subconsciously wish to protect. I'm... I'm sorry, Father, that I'm not
your Sorina."
Lone shook his head, spilling some of the insects residing in his
hair, "What are you? A dream then? A nightmare?"
Sorina looked on in worry, "I'm... the hivemind of your pubic lice.

When you applied the magic potion to your crotch area instead of
imbibing it, I gained sentience. I'm currently communicating to you
telepathically."
Lone turned away, his insect bath groaning and squishing in

complaint, "I'm tired, Sorina. I'm tired of all of this adventuring... I
can't even get permission to die."
The hivemind gently shook Lone, "You're in grave danger, Father.

You need to wake up."
Lone shut his eyes and covered his face, smearing the blood of
crisp and dying insects onto his cheeks, "I don't know what I was
thinking, joining this guild. I don't deserve to be one of them. I
don't deserve to be better. I don't care anymore. Just leave me
alone."
Lone felt two drops against the outside of his hands. He
uncovered his eyes to see Sorina's crying face.
"There are so many people that still need you." She grabbed
Lone's hands, "Tamaki and Pale look up to you. You've earned the
respect of Dragan and Maximus. Even Wroe and Sir Tycon would
be amiss if you gave up on yourself. You've forged bonds with all
of Invictus."
"Father... You gave birth to me." Her tearful expression wrenched

Lone's heart. She sniffled miserably, choking a sob, "I know you
might not care about me, but you are my world-- my everything."
She pulled at Lone's hands, "Please, just... just try. I'll do

everything I can to protect you."
...
Lone's eyes shot open. He was prying Dragan's mouth open as

he was spewing a stream of crawling and writhing insects into his
mouth. With inhuman strength, he tossed Dragan to the side and
turned to Madison.
"OhHhh, so you've gained the willpower to get it up again, lover

boy?" Madison teased, her long tongue licking her painted lips.
Dragan groaned, his back smashed against a wall. He jammed a

bloody finger into his mouth to vomit the contents of his stomach.
"Hold her off, Lone. I just-- I just need a sec," Dragan coughed,
dragging himself to Tamaki's unconscious form. He unstoppered a
potion and poured it into Tamaki's mouth.
Lone growled, flexing his arms. His insides were burning and
aching, like he was being eaten away. Madison's power was
surging through his body, and he was fighting for control over it.
"Fuck off, Madison." Lone threw his arm forward, revealing an

obscene hand gesture, "You might have taken my virginity but you
won't take my pride!!"
Madison frowned, crossing her arms over her ample breasts,
"Kneel."
Lone couldn't control his body as his knees painfully crashed

down to the stone platform, "GRAHH!". He struggled against the
force, but whatever was inside his body twisted his muscles,
wracking him with pain. Forced to give in, the side of his face soon
fell hard next to Madison's feet.
The dark-haired woman lifted her bare foot and pressed it against
Lone's face. Unable to control his actions, he haltingly stuck his
tongue out and began to lick the dirt in between her toes. He
could only gaze helplessly up at her shapely legs as Madison
caressed the area between her dripping thighs.
Madison grinned wickedly, "I've already claimed you, Lone

Shadowdark. Give in. Your body is MINE to command. You WILL
give in! You WILL kill your former allies! And then I will draw every
fluid from your body to feed my lust and to give birth to our new
brood!"
Lone shut his eyes, resisting Madison with every onze of his
being. Itching deep within his loins, he felt a new power-- a power
that could help him fight. He reached out his hands, latching onto
the edge of the stone platform.
"I won't let you make me hurt my friends!!" Lone screamed.
He pulled himself off of the platform, plummeting to the fiery

depths below.
Chapter 108 Deus Vult
ragan cut through Maximus' plant-men with Lone's two swords,

D
clearing a path for Tamaki to run through, "Go on ahead, Tamaki!!
"You got it, Mister Dragan!" Tamaki, a credit to his sect, dodged
and weaved his way through the plant-men's attacks, climbing the
stairs past.
"Sword burst!" Dragan yelled. He thrust his sword out and the
mana thrust out all about him in sharp points, accurately piercing
each of his enemies in the chest.
"Seal the cracks!!" Maximus yelled. He literally spat a bolt of

lightning, electrocuting a half-dozen plant-men alongside the
walls.
Dragan leaped up and smashed near the top of one of the wall
cracks, shattering one of Lone's swords. Simultaneously, Maximus
tossed his shield at another. The two open paths collapsed,
sealing them both in debris.
"Where's Lone?" Maximus raised a fist to Dragan, and they

tapped their knuckles together.
Dragan averted his eyes, "Saw his girlfriend. Jumped off the
steps. Nothin' we could do."
Maximus nodded, "That kinda day, huh?"
"No kidding, got any potions?" Dragan picked up a rock and

tossed it to kill a plant-creature sneaking up on Tamaki, "I'm fresh
out after tearing some cursed spines out of my hand."
The dark-haired, blue-winged dovahkiin snorted, "I don't. One of

these plant-people tore up one of my wings with its weird thorn-
stick. Where's your axe?"
The red-headed giant shrugged, "Elf thing that's chasing us while

this whole place is exploding. Normal weapons don't hurt it."
Maximus clanged his spear against his shield, "My faith will pierce
a hole in his defenses."
The giant crossed his thick arms, looking down, "Really, dude?"
The holy warrior clanged his shield again, "The spearblade's

made from Tyrion steel-- a silver alloy. Might do better?"
Dragan started up the steps, "We're withdrawing, don't do

anything dumb."
"Wait."
Stopping, Dragan slowly turned his head back. "Come on, man.
Forget about it."
Maximus grit his teeth, "Is she dead?"
"...Yeah. Don't do anything stupid, Maximus."
The Flamebriar Monarch approached at a walking pace, slowly

ascending the steps as if floating. Spines covered its thick
armored body, arms of elongated woven strands of vines dragged
on the floor beside it.
"Go," Maximus commanded.
Dragan grit his teeth and breathed deeply into his nostrils. No
more words needed to be exchanged. He turned to sprint after
Tamaki.
...
Lone fell over the side of the platform, watching Madison's form
growing smaller and smaller. With the air rushing past him, he was
finally able to gain relief from the sweltering heat inside the tower.
"I WONNNN'T LET YOUUU!!" Madison shrieked.
She jumped off the platform after him, summoning a swarm of her
insects to power her flight. Why was it so hard for Lone to die
when he wanted??
He had lost his swords when he blacked out. But he still had the
rest of his gear! Lone began throwing hatchets, a short sword,
even his water canteen at Madison-- but all of it was swallowed by
the black mass of her insect swarm.
[I am with you, Father...]
Lone felt the warmth of mana coursing through his veins. Boss
Tycon's mana was quick, direct, filled with the power of rage and
cunning decisiveness. His daughter's mana... was different. It had
warmth. It had a soft and stubborn strength. It was silvery bright,
filled with innocence and hoping desperately for tomorrow.
As downtrodden as Lone felt... Trudging each day through the

insurmountable pressure, through pain, tears, and loneliness... He
could not deny that he was loved.
"Yeah. Let's go... Yaeger."
He named her. She felt his intentions. The link between them
forged, she gave it her all.
[Father...]
Yaeger channeled her mana through Lone, a silvery glow

enveloping his form and freeing him completely from Madison's
influence. He had control of his body!
[I'm not afraid any longer! Let's face Mother together!]
"Right," Lone nodded, "I won't let you down!"
Silvery wings sprouted from Lone's back, halting his descent. This
was mana. Lone felt his fingers, felt his pulsating heart. His
senses were heightened, feeling the ebb and flow of the heated
air, hearing the sounds of Maximus fighting against the Flamebriar
Monarch.
Yaeger's unending mana coursed through his meridians. Lone

finally understood why Boss Tycon never acknowledged his usage
of Skills. If he could channel Yaeger's mana into his Whirlwind
Attack, he'd be able to defeat anyone in Invictus.
Lone turned mid-air to face Madison. With his mana-enhanced

vision, he saw each individual flying insect in the tens of
thousands that comprised Madison's 6 black wings.
Her eyes were full of incredulity and seething hatred, "You...

DARE use my children against me?!?"
Yaeger called out, an ethereal voice heard by Madison and all her
children, [I won't let you hurt Father!!]
Lone reached out, forming a living, writhing greatsword comprised

of Yaeger's silvery mana, "I will protect my friends AND my
daughter, Madison!"
...
Maximus deflected the Flamebriar Monarch's vine arm with his

shield, simultaneously throwing his body out of the way. The vine
went on to smash a hole into the wall.
Maximus narrowed his eyes. He couldn't get caught by that. He

held an advantage at range against the Flamebriar Monarch, like
he did fighting against Seldin Korr a moon prior.
His mana had been steadily depleted by fighting the Monarch's

plant-men, so he was reluctant to wage a prolonged fight.
However, the creature had proved resistant to his lightning
attacks.
He tightened the grip on his spear. It was a great risk to get into
the Monarch's melee range.
The dark ram-skull figure glided forward like a ghost. Its voice was
a powerful, foreign whisper, and Maximus felt as if it spoke behind
his neck, "(BURN. RETURN TO DUST.)"
With a flap of his great blue wings, Maximus rose into the air.
Pointing his spear downward, he charged most of his mana
reserves into his most powerful attack, "Howling Tempest!!"
Battering winds crashed into the Monarch, invisible walls of force

smashing it off of its footing. But just as Maximus was beginning to
see hope, vines from where the creature's legs would be jutted
into the stone floor. As it right itself, it waved its vine arms in a
cross, nullifying Maximus's spell, "(I. AM INEVITABLE.)"
Maximus landed. His spell didn't work. He lifted his silvery spear-
blade to examine it. It was a gift from the Archbishop, herself--
emblazoned with the symbol of the Silver Flame. Regardless of
whether the silver alloy would affect a fae, its effectiveness as a
tool to smite evil was unmatched.
Beyond the spear, his opponent stood, shrouded by a robe of

black thorny vines. The ram-skulled Monarch spoke, "(THY GOD.
CANNOT SAVE THEE. PALADIN.)"
Maximus pointed his spear forward, lowering his stance to charge,

"If I must fall here in order to bring you down, then so be it."
The creature raised its arms, tilting up its red-eyed mask. Wings
like black branches began to sprout from its back, "(AND WHO.
ART. THOU??)"
Maximus charged forward as a streaking bolt of lightning, his

spear aimed at the heart of the enemy, "I am MAXIMUS of Sol
Invictus and victory will be MINE!!"
Chapter 109 Last Stand
our needle-toothed plant-creatures circled around Kimura

F
Tamaki, glaring with red beady eyes and wielding sharp-thorned
sticks as swords. Tamaki needed to circumvent them to get to the
iron ladder to freedom.
"Gods damn it, Tamaki! Just-- just hold on, dude!!" Dragan was
still climbing stairs to reach him. Every few steps he had to swing
his remaining weapon, Lone's weathered longsword, stained
green by the blood of dozens of feral plant-men.
Tamaki grinned. He could handle himself. He took the metal

quarterstaff off his back, the former spear belonging to Invictus
Pale.
He weighed it in his hands, "Oh, wow. Now that I think of it, the
weight of this thing's kinda like a fishin' pole."
Tamaki changed his grip on the staff, similar to how he held his
weapon of choice-- it felt just right for a reason he could neither
explain or understand.
...
"(WHAT IS. THIS POWER?)" The Flamebriar Monarch bled a

thick, bronze sap from the vines that covered its body. But it was
nowhere near enough to slay it... the vines were visibly
regenerating their cuts.
Maximus looked haggard, his blood running down his dark hair,
black spines stuck in his armor, "Never fought a dragonborn
before? We get stronger the harder we fight!"
Rushing forward, the winged warmage jammed his spear into the
Monarch's neck, "MAXIMUS!!"
Lightning mana coursed through the Monarch's body, as Maximus
poured all the free mana he could into his spear. Four red
insectoid mandibles lashed forward from underneath the
creature's ram skull, latching onto Maximus's spear hand.
The dragonborn grit his teeth, "You're an ugly motherfucker."
"(AND THOU. ART A DEAD ONE,)" The monarch declared, its

voice a thousand skitters and screams.
Maximus groaned in pain as he tried to pull his bleeding hand

back. The pain was almost unbearable as the Monarch's
mandibles ripped and tore at his flesh, crunching at the bloody
bone. His spear-- he needed it badly. If he lost it, all hope would
be lost along with it.
...
"Tamaki, I'm comin' to save ya-- Don't you dare d--"
Dragan finally reached the top platform. But instead of finding the
mangled corpse of Kimura Tamaki, he found the blonde boy
staring up the iron ladder, the corpses of 4 plant-men at his feet.
The red-headed giant jogged over to him. Looking up, the iron
door had been sealed. Dragan knew right away that it was
useless to climb up and bang on it-- it was made in such a way
that sounds were impossible to hear through it.
Dragan cursed that he lost his axe to the Flamebriar Monarch. He

didn't have a chance at prying the iron door with his bare hands.
They were going to die.
Dragan flexed all of his muscles before relaxing them all with a
sigh, "Well, this sucks."
"How're we gonna escape, Mister Dragan?" Tamaki looked up at

Dragan innocently. Had the possibility of death not crossed the
boy's mind?
"I guess I'll go down to help Maximus. Just stay here and don't do
ANYTHING. Boss will jam that quarterstaff you're holding up my
anus if I let you die," Dragan began to rapidly descend back down
the steps.
"You got it, Mister Dragan!" Tamaki saluted Dragan's back as he

left.
Lone smashed into the edge of the platform, his legs dangling off
of it. Without hesitation, Tamaki walked over and pulled him up, so
he wouldn't fall back down into the fiery abyss, "I didn't know you
could fly, Chosen One?"
"Ehehe," Lone managed to laugh before falling unconscious.
Only Tamaki remained (conscious) on the topmost platform.
Tamaki punched one of his fists into his opposite palm, "Looks like
it's up to me to find the lever that opens up the iron gate!"
...
Dragan dropped down to Maximus's platform, wielding a sword

that looked tiny against his massive frame. He kept his weapon
pointed forward, taking slow, measured steps towards Maximus of
Ezyria and the Flamebriar Monarch.
A blue-scaled blood-covered wing full of holes lay on the ground

between them.
"What... what the hells are you doing?" Maximus groaned.
The blue-scaled dovahkiin knelt down, facing Dragan, with the

Flamebriar Monarch at his back. The Monarch's hand had
changed from vines to gnarled wooden fingers. The fae creature
had one hand placed on Maximus' shoulder, and the other gripped
the base of his remaining left wing.
Dragan stopped his movement. He had his range.
"Whirling Rend!!" Dragan tossed his blade. With the Monarch

occupied, the blade immediately found its mark, lodging itself into
the side of Flamebriar Monarch's chest.
Lone's steel didn't even make the creature flinch.
Dragan's heart dropped. The creature didn't have an enchanted

armor or a mana-based regeneration ability-- Maximus would
have dropped its defenses if that were true. The Flamebriar
Monarch was an ancient existence so powerful that it needed
specific enchantments or specially-made cold iron to combat it.
Guild Invictus had neither.
"GRAHHHHHHRGHH!!" Maximus screamed in pain as the

Monarch tore the scaled wings off of his back. He discarded it like
a piece of trash onto the stones.
"DRAGAAAAN!" Maximus screamed, "Get the HELLS away!! I'm

channeling the last of my mana!!"
"Dude, don't do this!! Don't be dumb!!" Dragan yelled back, "Just

hold on!"
Maximus narrowed his eyes, no longer having the energy to

shout, "You'll die."
Dragan smirked, cracking his knuckles, "My Mana Ward will save
me."
Maximus shook his head, and lowered his shield. Dragan's heart
dropped upon seeing the gaping hole in the dragonborn's chest, a
broken thorn half the size of a sword staunching the blood.
There was a hole in his chest. Blood was probably streaming

down his back. His hand was severed at the wrist like it was torn
off.
Maximus was going to die.
His spear was nowhere to be found, the last hope that Dragan
had at combating the Flamebriar Monarch.
But still, Dragan hesitated to leave, "No man left behind, Maximus.
Don't you remember?"
Maximus saluted with his right stump-of-a-hand to his chest,

"Death to the enemies of Guild Invictus."
Maximus began to glow radiantly with an overwhelming amount of

mana. The Flamebriar Monarch's rams-skull head tilted in
curiosity. The collected mana grew exponentially-- all of his life
essence, his scales, flesh, and bone channeled into the spell.
Dragan inwardly cursed as he shielded his eyes from the light.
Quickly calculating in his head, he began to layer Mana Ward after
Mana Ward, praying that he'd be able to survive Maximus' final
stand.
...
Dragan's vision was bleary. His world spun. He couldn't hear a

damn thing, save the ringing in his ears. He found which way was
down, and he set his feet and arms in that direction.
Stairs. He had to get up the stairs. He scrambled up the stairs to

the next flight. The ringing didn't stop. It would be a real bitch if it
didn't go away.
Dragan found Lone's body. Was he dead? Didn't matter. He

picked Lone up over his shoulder. Strange. Why did his right arm
hurt so much? Didn't matter.
Tamaki was yelling. Dumb kid. But he caught a damn good

catfish. What was he saying? He was pointing up?
Dragan looked up. The iron door was open. Freakin' sweet. He
grabbed hold of the iron ladder and began to climb. One step.
Three steps. Lots of ladder steps.
Seven hells. The blonde kid. If he didn't get the blonde kid, Boss
would kill him. Dragan looked down. The kid was fiddling with a
hidden lever on the wall. So that's how he got the door open.
Smart kid. He felt that sometimes, the boy was smarter than he
was.
Black vines grabbed the boy's neck, thorns piercing his flesh. Was
he screaming? What was he saying? Shit. Boss was gonna kill
him. The boy was gone, pulled away by the Monarch to wherever
the hell that bastard was.
Dragan kept climbing. He found the open iron door. He threw

Lone up to the surface. Damn, did his arm hurt. He climbed to the
top and dragged himself up.
Guild Trayus surrounded him. Good. They were allies. His

consciousness was fading. With a heavy arm, he slammed the
iron door shut, "SEAL IT! SEAL IT, GODS DAMN YOU!!"
Dragan couldn't hear himself shout. He hoped they heard him. He

screamed it a few more times, even though he couldn't open his
eyes. Damn. Boss was going to kill him.
Chapter 110 Invincible Dragan
Titanblood emerged from the iron hatch. He was covered in

A
blood, cuts, and char marks and one of his arms was obviously
broken. He screamed himself hoarse, begging and pleading.
High Wizard Trayus immediately cast Arcane Lock on the iron

door.
Trayus pulled down his hood and summoned his lieutenants,

"Gather all the Circle Mages and Ritual Casters in 10 minutes--
no, as many as you can in 5. I want a layered Arcane Lock on that
door."
Two of his Circle Mages saluted, "Yes, sir!"
Jejeka Banjeka, the vertically challenged popoto-skinned, Popoto-

sized magician danced in a panic, alternating his bouncing legs,
"What do I do? What do I do?"
Trayus grimaced, "Master Druid."
A nearby mage wearing antlers on his forehead nodded, "As you

command, High Wizard... Calm Emotions!!"
A gentle mist of mana washed over the Popoto, calming him down
almost immediately... "High Wizard, 5 members of Guild Invictus
went down there. 3 of them were Iron-Rank... including Councilor
Naedrielle."
Trayus let out a sigh, "Stars and stones... House Windwhisper will
not be pleased. Mage Jejeka, get the Titanblood and his
companion to an infirmary. If their injuries are severe, have the
Healers use potions or scrolls."
The antlered mage coughed, "Our side has taken casualties, as
well, High Wizard."
Trayus shook his head, "Whatever they fought down there was in
defense of the city... and likely the Kingdom. If it wasn't Guild
Invictus to face that threat, it would be us. We can spare a few
scrolls as thanks and as condolences."
...
"Was it the best you could do?"
Dragan awoke to a surge of healing mana. He was in a white

room that smelled like sterilizing soaps, lying on three beds
pushed together. He sighed. The ringing in his ears hadn't gone
away.
Tycon was sitting patiently in front of him, wearing silver armor

and the bright blue tabard of the Kingdom's soldiers. His familiar
frowning face was a comforting sight.
"Hey, Boss," Dragan tried to wave his hand. Then he noticed his
arm was molded into a cast, "Oh. Looks like I broke my arm.
That's embarrassing."
Tycon stared, his golden eyes silently pressuring Dragan to keep

speaking. He was tacitly asking for an explanation.
Dragan averted his gaze, "If I waited for reinforcements, the Duke
would have known. If I went with any less, none of us would have
made it back."
Tycon walked to the window and opened the wooden shutters to

let more of the daylight in, "Report."
Dragan grinned sheepishly, "Do I gotta stand, Boss? I'm pretty

messed up right now."
Tycon turned and groaned in annoyance, "No, you red-haired

gorilla. Just tell me what you've discovered."
Dragan shut his eyes and breathed in deeply, "Underneath one of
the Duke's warehouses, we found a manifest zone that led to a
pocket dimension connected to the Plane of Fire. We disrupted a
ritual circle that held is stability, but the Flamebriar Monarch
showed up."
Dragan hesitated, but Tycon allowed him his brief silence...

"Naedrielle died to buy us some time. Maximus exploded his
dovahkiin life essence to buy us some time. Tamaki managed to
trigger the mechanism allowing us to escape, but he got grabbed
right as we were climbing up."
Silence enveloped the room.
Finally, Tycon spoke, "I see..."
"Barza? Is he?"
"Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, is alive and decently well. He

woke up before you and has been bawling and babbling about
losing some woman named Yaeger," Tycon explained.
Dragan shook his head, "Brain damage?"
"Likely a false memory stemming from a traumatic brain injury,"

Tycon agreed.
"To report on my end: The children are fine. I got arrested for a
sun. We found purchase records that condemn the Duke to
incarceration, along with what you and Guild Trayus discovered
the other night."
"Oh, that's good. Bucket's alive," Dragan remarked.
Tycon nodded, "Yeah. The little shite-ling Taree, too."
"Hey, Boss?"
"Yeah?"
"Would it be fucked up if I cried?" Dragan asked in a low voice.

"Yeah, man. Allow me to lock the door..."
...
In the mercenary profession, you don't think less of another man

when he cries. In this line of work, there is always loss. There are
always what-if's. What if Dragan was a little bit stronger? What if
the team was different, if Tycon had accompanied them, or if they
enlisted the help of the Trayus guild leader? What if they moved
faster or waited a sun later?
Ultimately, unless a god came about and used a 9th or higher

Circle spell to reverse time, it didn't matter. No god was so
benevolent.
Maximus was a Paladin. He died like any other mortal.
Tycon asked Dragan what they usually did when someone in the
company died.
"Same as in any company," he said. "We drink."
And so the green-haired, youthful-looking boy drank with the

triple-bedded red-headed giant.
Pale and Taree knocked on the door. They brought sweetbreads

from the baker, Heloise. They had accompanied Guild Trayus in
seeing that the Duke was arrested. His warehouses were seized,
as well as his estate. Everything he owned would be sold off,
including all of the "art" he'd collected.
It was good to know. Tycon was planning on visiting the manor

that night. He still had explosives from House Muto in his spatial
ring.
Pale took the news well, keeping a solemn face. The boy was a
veteran member of Guild Invictus, and some had died under his
father's command.
...Former leader Quay was still missing and Pale yet held onto the
hope that he lived. It was just as well. The bastard could still be
alive, for all Tycon knew.
Kimura Taree did not take it well. She wailed. She wanted to fight.
Tycon was prepared to have Pale cast another Sleep scroll on
her. But even she couldn't keep her anger when she saw the
lasting evidence of crying on Dragan's face.
Invincible Dragan. Unstoppable Dragan. Always grinning, always

smiling Dragan. Impossibly honest. Drunk. Foolish. Violent.
Cunning.
A good man, that Dragan. As well as Maximus, a noble, honest

man.
Taree kept asking Tycon if he was okay. Of course, he was okay.
She was the one who lost her blood brother. Idiot.
They had moved Lone to Dragan's room. Together, the 5 of them

talked. They told stories, how they felt, what Maximus would laugh
at, stories of Tamaki growing up, even how a mysterious woman
named Yaeger managed to save Lone.
An entire sun had passed, talking, grieving together. Tycon did not
deem the time spent as a waste. It was necessary.
Pain shared is pain divided. Joy shared is joy multiplied.
"What happens now?" Taree asked.
Tycon looked to Dragan, "We do what we must. Mister Dragan?"
Dragan sighed staring at the ceiling, "We need to report to the

Gatekeepers. A faction from the Plane of Fire has declared war on
us."
Chapter 111 Awfully Calm
" Good evening, Monsieur le Baron," the lightly-armored veteran

guard bowed.
Tycon chopped his wristbone onto the guard's jugular vein,

dropping him to the ground. The guard woke up in a few seconds,
coughing and gasping for air.
"I am the leader of a guild, shite for brains. You will render me a
gods damned salute," Tycon spat as he stepped over the man and
into the courtesan house proper.
A tall, purple-haired half-elven woman approached him, clad only

in thin golden chains, "Sir knight, may I escort you?"
"No," Tycon brushed past her. He didn't care about anyone else.
He just needed to see her. "Also, your perfume is cheap and your
eyeliner is as uneven as your breasts."
No other courtesans bothered the silver-armored knight on his

way to Princess Aurala's room. Second floor. The room at the end
of the hallway. Tycon found the familiar Levi Wolfrider standing
guard.
"Mister Levi."
"Boss," Levi rendered a salute. "Nice armor."
Tycon nodded in acknowledgment. He glanced back down the

hallway. Other clientele were present, so Tycon had to watch his
words, "Is our mutual friend inside?"
The weretouched boy gave a troubled expression, whining softly,

"She is, Boss. But she's meeting with someone."
"One?"
"Just one, Boss."
"Are they sexually attractive?"
Levi's ears shot up in curiosity, "I guess so, why?"
Tycon checked to make sure a poisoned bolt was loaded into his
hand-crossbow. He ratcheted the lever back and clicked off the
safety.
Levi stepped aside, "Oh."
Tycon made sure his crossbow-arm was covered by his cloak

before entering the room. It was brighter than he remembered.
Upon closing the door, he breathed in-- ugh. The man in the room
wore a heavy concentration of perfume oil.
"Excuse me, sir. Who in the blazes are you?" The man had stood
up, his face full of indignation. Aurala had remained seated, a
frustrated look on her face.
Tycon checked the door again, his talisman from the other sun
was still present. Using his System to check it, it was still in effect.
[Private Sanctum. Fourth-Circle Abjuration. The barrier prevents

magical and corporeal senses, to include hearing, vision, and
mana-sense...]
"I'd like to introduce my associate, Baron Tycondrius of Guild

Invictus," Aurala said coolly. "And this is--"
"Konstantin Dunzis," the bearded man said.
He was dressed in noble's traveling leathers and a handsome

cape in the style of the Kingdom. He wore a neatly trimmed
mustache and beard, and short, slicked-back pale blonde hair. His
features marked him as a man not of the Kingdom-- likely from the
Sleeping Country. Tycon couldn't wait to see him dying on the
floor from a poisoned crossbow bolt in a major artery.
Neither man offered their hand.
"Sol Invictus. I've heard of you," Dunzis started, "It's so strange for
a guild named in the language of the Holy Country to traipse
around the Kingdom unchecked."
Tycon remained impassive, "I'm doing a job for the Princess. Is it

wise to openly question her man? Or perhaps you didn't come to
request for her help and to order her instead?"
"That is enough, Sir Baron," Aurala commanded.
She narrowed her eyes at Tycon and her lips twitched, "Mister
Konstantin."
The man half-turned, unwilling to turn his back to Tycon,

"Princess."
"You have my promise for support. The details will be discussed

later."
The man gauged her expression before bowing lightly, "Very well.
I shall take my leave, then."
The man walked past Tycon without a second glance and let
himself out of the door. No kindness. Base cordiality. No apology
for his rudeness. For a merest hint more, Tycon would have shot
the man. Tycon locked the door.
The blonde princess glared, "Sir Baron, is your seal still in effect?"
"It is."
Aurala fell onto the pillows, "What the hell, Prince? What was that
all about?"
Tycon clicked the safety on his crossbow and began to unload it.
"Dude, what the fuck? Were you really going to shoot that guy?"
Aurala was covering her mouth with her hand, but her eyes were
smiling.
Really? The girl had nearly witnessed a literal murder... It seemed
a bit stupid, after the fact.
Tycon sighed, "Not in a good mood, Aurala."
Tycon flopped into Aurala's lap.
"This is not appropriate," Aurala chided.
"Don't care," He sat up and brushed his nose on Aurala's neck,

"You're the only person who doesn't smell in this entire inn."
Aurala giggled, but didn't stop him, "What are you, a dog, now?"
"Maybe I'm a snake as Naedrielle said? Or are you hinting that

you enjoy Mister Wolfrider's company?" Tycon gazed into Aurala's
eyes.
"Ugh. No, thanks," Aurala shrugged. She brushed her hand

through Tycon's green hair, "What's wrong, sweet prince?"
Tycon pressed his shoulder to Aurala's abdomen... and picked her

up, pomfing her down upon the bed.
"Um, Tycon, what are you doing?"
Tycon began taking off his armor, "I'm tired. Duke's arrested. I lost
nearly half of my guild-- help me with these straps, will you?"
"Oh, my God, that's terrible," Aurala was shocked, "I heard the
report... but..."
"I'm quite upset-- Ah, thanks," Tycon finally got the rest of his
armor off with Aurala's assistance. He slipped off his tunic and
trousers.
"...What are you doing now,?"
Tycon pulled at the sheet underneath Aurala, the force causing

her to roll the opposite way. He laid next to her and tossed the
sheet over them, "I'm getting ready for bed. What did it seem like I
was doing?"
"And why did you think this was okay?"
Tycon placed a hand on the side of Aurala's face, staring deep in

her eyes. Obediently, the blonde girl fluttered her eyes closed and
they shared a kiss. And another, deep and passionate.
Aurala kept silent, staring at Tycon's lips.
"Why are you still wearing that?" Tycon asked.
"My dress? ...Do you want me to--"
Tycon kissed her again, "No, the hair. Do you like it better being
blonde?"
"I... I dunno." Aurala hesitated, "I just... figured Aurala was blonde.
And she is. So I am."
Tycon laid back on the pillow on his palms, appreciating the

feeling of his body sinking into the high-quality mattress,
"Unfortunately for you, I'm probably the only person in this world
that somewhat understands your plight."
Aurala laid her head on Tycon's chest, "Is that such a bad thing?"
Tycon sighed, stroking Aurala's blonde hair, "I suppose even a

virgin like you, will do."
Aurala puffed her cheeks out, "What the heck's that supposed to
mean?"
"I'm joking, Aurala," Tycon booped her nose with the tip of his
finger.
She laid on his stomach and blew onto his skin to make an
indecent noise, "I know."
"Au~ra~la," Tycon sang.
"Yeah?"
"You're awful calm for a virgin literally in bed with a half-naked
gentleman."
In a panic, Aurala tried to get up, but Tycon kept a firm hold of the
woman's waist. After a brief struggle, she plopped her face onto
his chest. He could tell her face was flush by how warm it was.
Aurala bit her upper lip, "I... I grew up with a brother, I guess."
"Oh? Did you ever sleep with your brother, then?" Tycon teased.
"Yes. I mean NO! NOOO! Not like THAT!!" Aurala struggled in vain
as Tycon kept hold of her.
Tycon chuckled, "I'm teasing, Aurala. And what happened to

him?"
"He died."
Chapter 112 Mana Transfer
Ritual
Tycon changed his position in the bed and embraced the smaller
Aurala with strong, protective arms, "Can you tell me about him?"
"Y-yeah... It was a few years ago. Or a lot of years ago, actually."
Aurala's voice was calm, like she'd told the story a dozen times
before, "We got news that my brother had an accident overseas.
He threw himself onto a grenade, they said. He saved 13 other
people."
Tycon pulled her close and touched his forehead to hers. She
smiled, a nostalgic and reminiscent smile, "Mom was pretty
devastated. She cried for days. But she had me and Thea to
worry about, so she had to go back to work after a week."
"Some Officer showed up at our door. A Captain or Lieutenant-

Captain or something, but he was old and his coat dangled with
medals when he walked. He talked about how brave my brother
was and that he was sorry and that we should be proud. They
named a Chow Hall after him, I guess. Dad poured him a drink."
"You wanna know what the worst part is?" Aurala looked up, her
voice starting to quaver.
Tycon nodded for her to go on.
"One of our family friends was a guy in his team. He got drunk one
night and told everyone that my brother blew his brains out. Like,
he couldn't handle the pressure or whatever and he just ate the
bullet. Everything else was a cover-up, the award he got, the
medal they mailed to the house. But those 13 people knew.
"His sister, Jessa told me. I was pretty numb when I heard it. I
mean, I wasn't surprised. My brother always had a self-esteem
issue. And we were all pretty surprised he joined the military. I just
don't understand it, you know? How bad could it have been?"
Aurala curled up in Tycon's arms.
"...It's not easy," Tycon finally said.
He didn't understand much of what Aurala was saying, but he

understood the gist. He and Aurala came from very different
worlds, not that she needed to know that.
Tycon spoke, gently stroking Aurala's back, "The worst affliction of

military members is the doubt. Why am I still alive when they
aren't? Why do I deserve to live when I'm not as fast, as strong,
as smart? And does anyone truly care?"
"But I cared. Mom and Dad cared. Jessa's brother Owen cared,"
Aurala argued.
"I know. And I won't speak ill of the dead, but it's important that we
always reassure our own that we care."
Aurala pouted in silence, enjoying her back and hair being stroked
like a cat.
"I'm waiting for it, Aurala."
"Waiting for what?"
"For you to tell me you care about me," Tycon teased.
Aurala hmphed, turning away, "What makes you think I care about
you?"
Tycon kissed her on the forehead, "I'm half-naked in your bed.

Your trust and care is implied."
"How do you know I sleep here, anyway? I could just be keeping
you company because of the big sad."
Tycon sighed, "You gave yourself away, just now. You basically
confirmed that you do sleep here."
The blonde princess pursed her lips, "What if I didn't?"
"Have you not noticed that I have an excellent sense of smell?

The entire courtesan house outside of this room is filled with
smells that give me a headache," Tycon explained nonchalantly.
"Which is why I'm here, in your bed-- which smells like the person
who sleeps in it, enjoying the scent of your body."
The reddening princess growled, "That's-- that's not fair. Pervert!"
Tycon pulled her in slowly and deliberately for a deep kiss. He

grabbed her hips and pulled her to straddle his waist where she
could feel his hardness. As they kissed he began to pull her dress
off. Tacitly, she raised her arms to allow him to remove the
garment over her head.
"Prince?"
Tycon kissed her deeply, allowing his arms to grab and caress
whatever he felt like, "Yes, Princess?"
"What... are we?" Aurala asked in an uncharacteristically tiny

voice.
"How difficult," Tycon replied... "We're allies with a common

background that are physically and emotionally attracted to each
other."
Aurala frowned. It wasn't the answer she wanted.
"Would you prefer being lovers? Are you so intent on that mana
transfer ritual?"
"That..." She averted her gaze, allowing Tycon to admire of the

cute side of her face and her gorgeous neckline.
Tycon pulled her close, kissing and running his teeth along her
neck, breathing into her ear, "Would you have me as your lover?
To be quite honest, I'm fairly controlling. At the very least, you'd
have to cancel all of your plans for tomorrow morning."
"I... That..." Aurala was conflicted. The heavy intimate contact was
clouding her judgment.
"It will hurt," Tycon kissed her again. He applied pressure to her
lower back, grinding her hips against his.
"I know," Aurala gulped.
"And when the hurt goes away, you'll be quite sore," Tycon kissed
her, and again, sucking lightly on her tongue.
"I-it will?" Aurala whispered.
"I can assure you it'll be quite nice in between," Tycon chuckled,
gently matching Aurala's grinding rhythm.
The princess moaned lightly in response. The girl's body was

certainly honest. It was a weakness, if anything.
"You might fall in love," Tycon warned, half-teasing, half-serious.
"I... I might already have," she whispered breathily.
Tycon leaned towards her ear, lightly nibbling on it, leaving a

breathy whisper in her ear, "Even if I'm not human?"
Aurala's eyes widened in shock, "You're not? What are you?"
Tycon deeply kissed Aurala, twirling his tongue and playing with
hers. He quickened his grinding pace, rubbing her sensitive areas,
matching her moans. Aurala embraced him, grabbing at his hair,
pulling him in for hungry kisses to match his fervor.
Finally, when they were both somewhat content, their lips parted...
with Tycon pecking her on the lips once more. He had to get that
last kiss in.
She kissed him back. Drat.
"What are you?" She repeated, her eyes unfocused, clouded by

lust.
Tycon laughed, "A snake."
...
A black-haired, no-makeup princess glared at Tycon while he was

putting on his tunic and trousers. Her illusory make-up had worn
off several bells prior.
"You're a beast. What the hell? I'm sore EVERYWHERE!!"
Tycon offered a shrug, "I told you."
"I thought you just meant... you know! My legs! And maybe my
thing!" Aurala raised her voice. She didn't seem incredibly upset.
But she was greatly annoyed.
"You were rather insistent last night that it felt better when it was
sore."
"Well... Yeah. But that was... Shut up!!" Aurala threw something at
Tycon. Tycon caught it. Her balled up underwear?
"Are you giving this to me? Hm." Tycon briefly considered actually
taking it.
No. No, that wasn't in his best interests.
"G-give it back!" Aurala pouted. She sat up, crossing her arms,
barely covering her ample chest.
"Or perhaps I should go back to bed to have another taste?"

Tycon grinned.
"Whatever, you pervert!" Aurala hid underneath her blankets,

"What time is it, anyway?"
Tycon checked his pocket-watch, "It's about 9. Have somewhere
to be?"
She threw a pillow, which Tycon deftly dodged, "We've been doing
it for the past 2 hours, why didn't you tellllll meeeeee!??!"
"I feel obligated to tell you it was a bit over 3 bells."
Aurala bundled herself up in her blankets, "Ughhhh. I don't

wannnnna goooooo. I'm so sooooooore."
Her face peeked out of the swaddled blankets, "This is all your
fault, Tycon."
Tycon chuckled as he approached the bed, stripping off his tunic

and tossing it aside.
"N-nnnot again?! You-- you!!" Aurala yelled.

Chapter 113 Strength Of The
Wolf
urala and Tycon spent the previous evening and most of the
A
following sun together.
With Duke Tavor jailed for his crimes, Guild Invictus had
completed the mission for Princess Aurala. The next order of
business was to inform the Gatekeepers of the possible invasion
by the Plane of Fire. No messengers delivered to the Gatekeepers
by either hand or spell... Tycon planned to contract a ship and
send Dragan.
Aurala agreed to give Tycon a letter of introduction to Fleet

Admiral Chantal, whose fleet was stationed in Port City Caractere.
She also offered the assistance of Wolfbanger-- err... Levi
Wolfrider.
Tycon tried to refuse. Aurala insisted, perhaps out of sincerity.
At Aurala's insistence, she picked Tycon's knowledges. The

princess fancied herself an alchemist. She was particularly
adamant about obtaining the recipe of a sweet, bubbled drink she
missed from her homeworld, a "black sugar beer." Tycon
suggested that the carbonation could be attained via suspension
above a beer fermentation vat, but she'd have to figure out the
sugary concoction herself.
The simple princess was ecstatic, showering Tycon with kisses.

Tycon found her intimacy acceptable. Establishing such a close
bond with Princess Aurala exceeded his expectations, but the two
of them were better off for it.
Aurala obtained a surge of Tycon's life essence, absorbing the
mana like a greedy sponge. With study, if Aurala couldn't reach
2nd-Circle within the moon, she'd have no future as a Magician.
Tycon got a sheet of paper and a dog.
Anyroad...
Guild Invictus set out the following morning, their numbers

noticeably reduced:
Tycondrius of House Charm. Dragan Ashlord.
Pale, son of Quay. Lone Shadowdark.
Taree, the silver-haired whelp.
Oh, and Levi Wolfrider, the Weretouched Warden.
"Wolfbanger! How ya doin' man??" After a couple of suns of rest,

Dragan had regained his genial nature, though he still retained a
cast around his fractured right arm. Even with magical healing,
allowing it to rest for a week or two would avoid any healing
complications. The 8-fulm-something-tall gentleman carried a
laughably small dark iron sword on his waist. Having lost his
greataxe, he accepted the "gift" from Duke Tavor with chagrin.
"Oh. Hey. Dragan," The young white-furred weretouched boy

seemed... less than pleased to share Dragan's company. The
Warden carried a stupid-looking battle-hammer with an oversized
head. A greathammer? It looked unbalanced. And the boy didn't
have the build to wield such a weapon as Dragan could.
Tycon was in a good mood, though, so he didn't feel like arguing.
...He knew he still smelled like Aurala. And he knew the

weretouched dog-wolf-boy was aware of it. That was the most
probable reason that Wolfrider flattened his ears whenever Tycon
was around and avoided talking to him outside what was
necessary. Tycon wished he bought a book on dogs before he left
Merylsward, so he could translate the boy's nonverbal cues...
As they hiked, Lone approached Tycon for a likely asinine inquiry.
He wasn't able to ask. His mere presence reminded Tycon that...
he had been in such a good mood that he forgot that Invictus
needed to train.
The rest of the sun was wonderfully miserable for Taree, Pale,
Lone, and sweaty-dog-smell Levi. Dragan was exempt. Tycon
worked up a healthy sweat alongside them.
Invictus couldn't change their enemies. But Tycon could surround

himself with men and women powerful enough to change their
destinies with their own hands.
...
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, had searched for the feeling
he was missing for the past couple of suns.
He still mourned the loss of Yaeger... She had showed Lone what
mana felt like, coursing through his body, empowering his
muscles, his sword skills, and even his very senses to a level of
perfection.
Before, he thought he could only use so many senses in combat;

he could see the enemy and he could hear them. After
experiencing Yaeger's mana, he could feel the airflow around
where Madison was going to attack. He could sense Madison's
rage and understand what she was about to say before she said
it. The mana blade that he wielded felt as if it were another limb--
he could close his eyes and know where it was at all times.
It felt like he could see the future.
Yaeger sacrificed the last of her mana, her soul essence. She
saved him. He felt like he owed it to her to grow stronger, to regain
that feeling of power.
After a harsh sun of training, he approached Boss tentatively, "Sir

Tycon?"
Tycon flashed a smile, brushing some of his green hair out of his
eyes, "How can I help you, Mister Shadowdark?"
Lone narrowed his eyes. Not a trace of annoyance was found on

his young leader's face.
Tycon leaned forward, raising his eyebrows.
Lone was confused. Boss had been in an uncharacteristically

good mood since leaving Meryslward. Maybe it was always like
this when a mission was completed? He decided to just come out
and say it.
"Boss, I want to learn how to use mana."
Tycon placed a hand on his chin, "Amusing. It's not something you
can rush, Lone. Unless you're a Circle Mage or a Martialist, a
Metal Ranker develops their sense of mana naturally. You may be
stronger than Pale right now, but his technique is better than
yours-- and even he doesn't have an offensive mana Skill."
Lone raised a finger, "But he has Crashing Thunder? And that

Misty Step movement Skill."
"...Perhaps Pale is a bad example," Tycon jut out his lower jaw.
He pat Lone on the shoulder, "Anyroad, I'm glad that you've

developed enough to realize your flailing attacks didn't have a
trace of mana in them. You've leveled up. Grats."
Lone averted his gaze, "Boss... I've... I've felt it."
Tycon smirked, raising an amused eyebrow, "Impossible. Your

foundations are still lacking. Unless a higher rank mage was
literally controlling your body, powering mana through it, you're--
"But I have!"
Tycon chopped Lone in the throat with his hand. Lone doubled
over, wheezing for air.
"--Don't interrupt, young man. Unless you've had someone
intimately providing mana, showing you how it flows through your
body, then your efforts would be in vain. How about this: we'll
search for an Essence Mage in Caractere, how about that, Lone?
Lone? ...Are you alright?"
Lone finally caught his breath, sweating in pain. "Sir Tycon," he

gasped.
"I had that experience underneath Merylsward. Yaeger showed

me how to do it."
"Ah. Very well. May I ask who Yaeger is, my good man?" Tycon
smiled, though his eyebrows were still furrowed with confusion.
"She was birthed from the lice on my balls because I applied your
potion as a tonic instead of drinking it-- and she became a
sentient mana beast that saw me as her father figure. We fought
her mother, this girl who could control bugs, and the same girl that
when I got super drunk Dragan got me into having sex with. But
because of Yaeger's sentience, she was able to fight back,
allowing me to regain control of my body," Lone explained.
Tycon crossed his arms.
"You know what, now that I've said that all out loud, it sounds
pretty stupid," Lone rubbed the back of his head.
"Hold on, hold on. Not the strangest thing I've ever heard," Tycon
lied.
"To be honest, your... 'Yaeger's' mana control is a bit out of my

depth. I would suggest you ask Dragan, but I'd rather he not be
participating in strenuous activities right now. Just like how I didn't
make you do anything after you cut up your stomach, back in the
Mosswood Wilds."
"Boss, I almost got cut in half!" Lone exclaimed.
Tycon looked up at the darkening sky, "Did you? Hm. Maybe I'm
talking about a different injury..."
"Anyroad, what should I do, Boss?" Lone grimaced.
"Pale is familiar to Elementary Level magic. I'll change your

training schedules around so you two can work together with
mana-training in mind."
Tycon placed his palms together and in a flash of magic, he held

two gorgeous dark-metal hammers, their heads in the likeness of
growling wolves. He spun them in a flourish and offered the
handles forward.
Lone touched their handles hesitantly, "Boss?"
"Dark iron maces. A bit heavy, but I'm confident you can handle
them. You can consider these your payment for a successful
mission."
"Grow stronger, Lone Shadowdark." Tycon grinned, "The strength

of the pack is the wolf... and there are no weak pups in Guild
Invictus."
Chapter 114 Needless
Slaughter
he following sun, Tycon assigned a new block of training for

T
Taree and Levi in martial weapon versatility. Tycon was the
instructor. Levi suffered greatly.
Dragan opted to watch Levi's trials and tribulations, leaving Lone

and Pale to train by themselves.
Lone explained his predicament to Pale, "So, I wanna use mana

in my attacks-- like I want to use a real Skill."
Pale nodded in understanding, "Like Sir Tycon's 'Iron Dragon

Rend' and Mister Wroe's 'Eldritch Blast'?"
"Right, and your 'Crashing Thunder'."
Pale hiked in a cloth robe instead of a spearman's leathers. His

crimson Lifedrinker spear almost looked like a mage's staff, so the
half-elven boy looked unquestionably wizard-y. Boss Tycon hadn't
corrected the boy yet... so Lone decided not to say anything.
He'd already unintentionally made Levi's and Taree's training into

"hard-mode." If he opened his dumb mouth, the training would
probably worsen for both himself and Pale.
Pale stood at rest, hugging his spear with crossed arms, "Well, I
can only use Crashing Thunder when Taree's around. I think Boss
called it a Combination Skill?"
Combination Skill. Lone didn't think he had any chance of learning

that, "How about Wroe's Movement Skill?"
Pale disappeared in a silvery mist and appeared in the same spot
in a combat pose, "You mean that?"
Lone hopped up in both surprise and excitement, "Yeah!! How do I

attack like that?"
Pale poked Lone with the bottom of his spear, "Hyah?"
Lone stared blankly.
Pale shrugged, "I dunno, Lone! Why did Boss tell you to work with
me instead of Mister Dragan, anyway?"
Lone rubbed his hair with both hands in frustration, "I dunno
either! I should have known you didn't have any other offensive
Skills!"
Pale's face lit up, "Oh, wait!"
He ran over to a nearby tree. What was he doing?
A red aura of flames licked the trees around Pale. The boy knelt,
smashing the bottom of his spear into the ground, "Magnum
BREAK!!"
In a fiery fwoosh, the bark of the tree was charred like it had been
lit on fire. And just as quickly, the scarlet mana dissipated.
Pale ran back. Lone still had yet to close his mouth from the
ridiculous display of power.
"So a Skill like that? Ehehe." Pale grinned.
...
« System, directions: Port City Caractere. »
[Calculating route... 10 bells and 48 minutes.]
Tycon examined the transparent map his System provided. He

was trying to decide if he wanted a bed to sleep in and a roof over
his head or to save a few coins and camp a few hours outside of
Caractere.
It was nice out. Levi was able to hunt for the decently plentiful wild
game, so the trip wasn't terrible. He keenly felt the loss of Kimura
Tamaki, but from what Tycon had heard, the boy died an
honorable death.
"B-b-boss..." The dog-eared boy approached warily.
Tycon mentally closed his System's transparent displays before

examining the young Warden. White-furred, floppy-eared, and
permanently wearing a pitiful expression, the young Mister Levi
Wolfrider wrung his hands patiently.
Slightly troubled, Tycon forced a smile. It still bothered him that

the young man was "affectionately" called Wolfbanger by Mister
Dragan.
"Mister Levi, report."
Levi hesitated before rendering a salute, "There's a merchant

caravan ahead being attacked. Should we... should we go
around?"
"Hmm," Tycon pondered it. "No harm in taking a look. Inform

everyone that we're approaching to observe."
Levi allowed himself a shy smile, "Are we gonna rob the robbers,
Boss?"
Tycon smirked, "Keep your mind open, pup. If the situation calls
for it, we might just rob them all."
...
Tycon crossed his arms. Smoke. Bodies. Destruction. Carnage.
"Empty night. Are you serious?"
Over 20 men were looting the merchant caravan. Bodies of men

and women littered the floor, mostly noncombatants. A painfully
small number of clothes-torn women were bound as prisoners.
"Who the BLAZES are you?" A bandit yelled. He wore tattered

salt-stained trousers and was missing a great deal of teeth. They
all wore salt-stained clothing.
Tycon sighed. He didn't feel like wasting time on fools, "Who's

your boss?"
"EHH?! YOU WANNA TALK TO DA CAPTAIN?!" The bandit

yelled. Or was he a pirate? The pirate yelled.
Tycon tilted his head up, allowing his voice to project, "Wrong
answer. Who wants it?"
Taree, the silver-haired maid, emerged from a bush, cheerfully

raising her hand, "Ooh! Ooh! Me, Boss!!"
Tycon didn't bother turning back, "Two strikes. Dealer's choice.

You will be rated."
"You got it, Boss!" Taree stepped towards the man with her
opposite knee lifted up. Like a shot, she delivered a side kick to
the man's knee, snapping the man's leg in the opposite direction.
She pirouetted around with her foot raised above her head and
axed it down on the fallen man, breaking his opposite clavicle.
"Five points," Tycon said as he walked off.
"Yasss!" Taree cheered.
Pale emerged from a bush and exchanged a high-five with the

girl.
"Alright, try number 2. Which one of you lot is The Captain?"

Tycon raised his voice. The display of violence seemed to have
garnered everyone's attention.
"That would be me," A smart-looking bearded man walked out,

wielding two smoking cylindrical weapons in his hands.
The dog eared Levi emerged from a bush and slinked to Tycon's
side, "Boss, that guy is wielding pistols. They're a dangerous
weapon, even for us Metal Rankers."
"I'm vaguely familiar with them. Thank you for the warning, Mister
Levi," Tycon nodded.
"You there, Captain. What's the meaning of this?" Tycon opened

his arms.
The merchant's carriages all had a semblance of fire damage. No

less than a dozen civilians were dead from sword or projectile
wounds. The only ones left relatively untouched were 3 terrified,
young humans, (assumedly female.)
"So you fancy yourself a hero, knight?" the bearded man snarled.
Tycon had eschewed his dark cloak for the silvery armor he wore
in Merylsward. Since Dragan was resting, he volunteered to be
the big, shiny Metal Ranker that attracted attention.
"Quite the opposite. If anything, I'm rather annoyed with the

needless carnage."
"Because if you-- Eh?" The Captain hesitated in confusion.
The other bandits, approaching holding knives, scimitars, and

ropes all halted their advance.
"You killed all these merchants. Why didn't you... demand a

payment?" Tycon asked seriously.
The Captain grit his teeth, "So we could rob them for all they were
worth!! Ain't that right, boys?!?"
The bandits started to cheer-- "Yeah, that's right!" "Cap'n always

treats us the best!" "We're ruthless bastards!!"
Tycon raised his palms in disbelief, "You could have charged them
a road tax, so they could go on their way, make more money, and
on their way back you could tax them again."
Tycon sighed, "It's the difference between banditry and murder.
Banditry gets a warning posted along the roads. Murder garners
the attention of guilds, bounty hunters, and Kingdom knights."
The bandits put their arms back down.
One of the bandits looked over, "Cap'n... Is that true?"

Chapter 115 What They
Deserve
aptain Cecil's ship, the Salty Selkie, was sunk by the Kingdom's
C
naval forces nearly two weeks prior. He figured robbing people on
land wouldn't be much different than at sea... but he was
beginning to think that was not the case.
After the Selkie ran aground, near half of the survivors mutinied or
deserted almost immediately. The ragtag crew left behind were
illiterate, unskilled, or were overall too reliant on Cecil's wise and
capable direction to leave.
After several suns of dwindling supplies, the crew was losing

confidence in his leadership abilities. Raiding a merchant caravan
was his best hope in raising the crew's morale... but with the
appearance of the bastard knight, his authority was beginning to
crumble.
His naysayers were a mere Kingdom knight, his two children, and
his dog. Cecil was a pirate Captain who had sailed with his pirate
crew for months and years! It couldn't be that difficult to win back
their hearts and minds!
The former ship captain crossed his arms, standing tall and
puffing out his chest.
"Well! They..." He leaned forward emphasize his point, "--looked at

me funny... So I shot 'em between the eyes!!"
He opened his arms and faced his crew, pistols in the air, "NO
ONE crosses Cap'n Cecil and lives ta tell the tale!!"
Some of his men's morale seemed to return. They didn't cheer

aloud like earlier, but the mumbles sounded generally positive.
Anyroad, when Cecil distributed the coin, the men wouldn't go
hungry into the coming night. The crew shouldn't mutiny for at
least a couple of suns.
"No, they didn't!" The knight plainly refuted him.
"Well, that's not fair," Cecil argued. "You didn't see it. You don't
know that."
"Aaarrrgh," The knight groaned. "That's what I'm saying. You

shoot someone to prove a point! 'Gimme all your goods or you
won't live to see tomorrow, yarr.' What was the point of killing the
*lot* of them?"
"I uh..." Cecil rubbed his beard with the end of his pistol.
"And quit that," The knight slapped the pistol out of Cecil's hand.
Cecil didn't even see when the young, green-haired knight had
moved adjacent to him.
"That thing's dangerous, isn't it? What if it misfired and blasted

your jaw off? A rather insipid death, don't you think?" the knight
reprimanded.
Cecil tried to shove the knight away, "Shut up!"
The knight swayed his body and made Cecil lose his balance for a
moment. Hoping that his crew wouldn't notice, Cecil walked a few
steps away, "Let me think... We, uh-- we killed them all so they
wouldn't tell anyone!"
The knight had his arms crossed, tapping a metal finger on his
armored bicep, "And then?"
"And... then no bounties would be posted." Cecil grinned wickedly,

regaining his confidence, "Are you daft? Do you really need me to
explain it to you?"
"Am *I* daft? Seven bleeding hells, you ignorant bastard!" The
knight yelled, "This was a *merchant caravan.* This caravan had a
FLAG. They have trade routes and INSURANCE policies. If a
caravan goes missing, everyone finds out."
Cecil turned to look at a nearby carriage. There was a smoldering

flag on it, too damaged to identify. He looked to his men, who
were looking at him with shameful expressions.
"Alright!" Tycon gave a wide exaggerated shrug, "You lot. I'm in

charge now."
Cecil was flabbergasted, "What? No! What? You can't just decide
that!"
"Lone."
A rough-looking man with a scarred nose emerged from the

bushes, wielding two very, very heavy looking wolf-hammers.
Cecil stared blankly, "How many people are you hiding in those
bushes?"
The knight looked back, "You learn how to use those things?"
The rough man grinned, the terrifying grin of a ruthless torturer.

He lifted up his hammers, the eyes of the wolves glowing red as
the dark iron wolf-heads burst into flame.
Cecil dropped his remaining pistol, "I surrender."
One of the bandits stepped forward, "Wot? I been workin' for the
Cap'n for 3 years! I ain't just gonna 'and the leadership to you!"
Another stepped forward, "Yeahh! Not wivout a fight!"
A murmur went through the crowd of bandits, a bit lacking in

enthusiasm.
The knight remained impassive, but raised his voice, "Very well,
who's your strongest man?"
The bandits looked at each other-- "The Cap'n?" "The captain."

"Maybe Big Lawrence?"
Big Lawrence, a big man a bit over 6 fulms tall, took a shallow-
step forward. He carried with him an impressive looking, two-
handed falchion on his shoulder, "Hi. I'm Big Lawrence. First
name, William."
The knight nodded, "Good morning. My name is Tycon. Mister

Lawrence, can you defeat my man over there?"
William Lawrence looked over to the knight's man. He had a few

ilms advantage in height but the other man had hammers that
were literally on fire. Lawrence gave Tycon a humble smile, "No,
sir. I don't think I can."
Tycon pursed his lips... "Well, thank you for your honesty. You
may step back."
"Thank you, sir."
Cecil piped up, "But you guys have a kid!!"
Knight Tycon nodded, "Fair point. Mister Pale. Miss Taree."
The young half-elven boy in a wizard hat stepped forward. He

chanted something and 3 levitating orbs of roiling flame floated
around his spear.
The silver-haired maid girl picked up a rock the size of Lawrence's

fist and smashed it against her forehead. Not a bruise or mark or
drop of blood was evident. She crumbled the rock into powder and
spilled it upon the dirt. Then she hocked up phlegm and spat on
the ground.
"Any challengers?" Tycon asked.
None of the bandits stepped forward.
Pale dispelled his magic, frowning at Taree. They both looked

slightly disappointed.
"Well, that does it." Knight Tycon spun his finger, "Mister Cecil,
Gather all your men out here. And be quick about it. I don't have
all sun."
...
Tycon had the bandits head to Merylsward to seek out Reynard.

They all decided to keep their crew together, a trait that Tycon
found admirable. They were a terribly stupid lot, but there were a
few Bronze-Ranks among them, Lawrence and Cecil in particular.
Reynard could use the much-needed combat power for his future
enterprises.
"But... what about the women we captured, Sir Baron?" Cecil

inquired.
Dragan, the near 9-fulm tall Titanblood walked out from behind
one of the merchant carriages.
The former-Captain was visibly sweating, staring at Dragan's

height, "Was-- was he in the bushes too?"
Dragan grimaced, "Hey, Boss. The wagons were carrying mostly

cloth goods. All of it's gone to shite, though."
Tycon took a deep breath. Suddenly, he grabbed Cecil by the

collar, "YOU DON'T DESERVE A GODS-DAMNED THING!!"
"Alright! Alright! I'm sorry! I was just asking!" Cecil was panicking,
showing his palms.
"Calm down. Don't piss yourself," Tycon shoved the bearded man.
Cecil lost his balance and fell onto his arse.
He glared at the fallen man, "Get moving. If there's a militia or

adventurer patrol in the next few hours, they might be able to track
you down."
Tycon snatched the man's pistol belts off of him, "And I'm taking
these. Arse."
"Alright, Boss! That's fine!" Cecil's voice had raised an octave.
Tycon handed him a cheap sword, "Now sod off, Mister Cecil. I
hope you aren't this disappointing after you get a salary."
Hope bloomed in Cecil's heart, "Y-yes, Boss!"
Tycon glared... "And get a haircut."
...
Dragan stretched the shoulder of his injured arm, still sealed in a

hard cast. Tycon had continued with Guild Invictus towards Port
Caractere while the Titanblood traveled with the 3 surviving
women.
"Ayep, accordin' to Boss, just over that way, there's a small village
called Underfoot."
The oldest among them, Henriette sobbed heavy tears, "Thank

you, Monsieur Dragan. I thought... I thought my life would be over
after my father and mother were killed."
Dragan patted the woman with a heavy hand, "Yeahhhh, that's the
spirit."
Odette stared blankly at the ground, while her sister Marie shook
her.
"Odette... Odette, come on! We're going to live in a new place with
big sis Henriette!"
The staring girl shook her head, "I hate them... I hate them all. I
want to... I want to be a Knight when I grow up. I'll make people
like them pay."
Dragan nodded a few times, "Yep yeap. It's a shame."
He unsheathed his sword and cut cleanly through Odette's neck.

With two quick more slashes, he cut down Marie and Henriette.
Dragan silently shook his head. It was a shame that Plan

Underfoot meant to get rid of the witnesses.
Channeling a steady stream of fire mana, Dragan started to burn

the bodies.
Chapter 116 Pale &
Prestidigitation
It took a few bells for Dragan to catch up to the rest of the
company.
"Welcome back, man," Lone greeted Dragan cordially. Over the

past few days, it seemed the pair had grown more relaxed.
"Did you show them to the village?" Pale asked.
Dragan grinned, "Come onnnnn, Pale. Have I ever gotten lost

before?"
Taree giggled, "You look like you get lost all the time!"
Dragan laughed, "Maybe that onnnne time in the markets. But no,
we found our way. I'm sure they'll be fine."
Tycon pat Dragan on the arm, "You know, I could have shown
them the way."
Dragan smirked, "I know, but I offered. You know I have a way
with the ladies."
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Tss. Right. Good work, Dragan."
"Anytime, Boss."
"I kinda wanted to fight those bandits!" Taree sighed loudly,

"Those losers didn't look all that strong!"
The silver-haired Martialist loved to fight. Tycon figured she

wanted to prove herself. Her brother's recent death had inspired
her to exhaust herself with training, throughout the sun. In the
evenings, when the girl had time to herself-- that's when she went
off to cry. The whelp probably thought no one knew.
"Right. And I really wanted to uh... cast spells." Pale glanced back
at Tycon but immediately looked away.
The little shite had talent at casting elementary spells but had
ironically horrid aim. Tycon couldn't understand it. The boy was
fine with a bow, better with a javelin. If Tycon wasn't relying on him
to watch over Taree's mental health, he'd have him go without
sleep, relentlessly drilling for spell accuracy.
Tycon pushed Pale's head and lightly flicked Taree's forehead.

They reacted with bright smiles. Tycon had no idea why they
reacted that way every time he did so.
"Young man, young lady, one of the benefits to being strong is

*not* having to fight," Tycon chided. "They feared your confidence.
You are confident because you are strong. When the enemy fears
you, it means you've already won."
The children seemed to be excited by the fact. Tycon didn't mind.

Growth was good.
Lone seemed to fall into deeper thought at the notion...
Dragan laughed, "Don't worry. We'll probably get into a fight as

soon as we get to town!"
Tycon wanted to argue, but it was better to remain vigilant. He

decided to segue to another topic, "Pale, how are your magical
studies progressing?"
The young boy in his oversized wizard hat and robe tensed up at
Tycon's question, "Well-- I uh... Um. I learned a new spell?"
The last time Tycon and Pale had a discussion about magic, it
concerned his haphazard casting back at the Royal Robe. It was
not the first time the boy cried during intensive training. And if he
got hit by a gods-damned lightning bolt in the back again, it
wouldn't be the last.
Tycon forced a reassuring smile, "Oh? Did you perfect one of your
scrolls, then?"
The boy still had a healthy variety of elementary and First-Circle

spell scrolls. While he couldn't cast First-Circle spells without aid,
and their effects were somewhat limited, his talent could easily
place him in the top percentile of students at any magic academy
in the Kingdom.
"R-right," Pale continued. "I can cast Prestidigitation without a

focus now-- oh, specifically cleaning and removing rust and stains.
I got a lot better after today's weapons and armor maintenance."
Taree hugged Pale's arm, spinning him around, "That's soooo

cool, Pale!"
Lone pat Pale on the back, "Nice job, man!"
Tycon nodded, satisfied. Prestidigitation was one of the most

useful Elementary level spells. It was also a complex spell with
many facets to master, the spell able to eliminate dust and debris
from gear, change the colors of a small item, change smells, flavor
a canteen of water, and even conceal a small object for a short
while-- among other effects. Mastering the spell well-prepared a
mage for learning the complexities of higher Circle spells.
Pale took off his hat, his face blushing underneath his sandy-
blonde hair, "Thanks, guys!"
Dragan was trying his best to stifle a laugh, "Kkkkkhhhh-- haha..."
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Mister Dragan?"
The Titanblood burst out into heavy guffaws, "That means you can
clean Lone's armor next time he pisses himself!!"
...
Port City Caractere.
The streets were paved with a white stone block, matching the
nearby cliffs. The ocean mist stun at the eyes, seagulls flew
around with their noisy bleatings, and the muted scent of rotting
fish remained pervasive in the air.
"We have two goals," Tycon declared.
Guild Invictus naturally gathered around him to listen.
"First goal: Find an inn. Second goal: I need a shop where they fry
fish. I'm in the mood for meaty-steak strips-- not the flaky or bony
bits."
Dragan nodded, "Sounds good! And let's get some ale!"
Tycon agreed, "Yes, I believe a fruitier or a lighter ale pairs better

with fish."
Taree and Lone both heartily agreed on a meal. Wolfbanger

muttered something about going off on his own, but Dragan put
his arm around the dog-boy and told him he'd at least have to
share one meal with the guild.
Pale raised his hand, interrupting the merriment.
Tycon pointed, "Go ahead."
"Sir Tycon," Pale pursed his lips, "What about... Mister Wroe?"
The group grew silent as Tycon cleared his throat, "We have...
three goals."
...
A sumptuous meal later, Tycon had arranged for two small rooms
at an inn for their group of 6.
The inn's sign was a squat humanoid figure seated on a

rectangular shape. As for the inn's name, Tycon didn't dare
venture a guess.
He and Lone inhabited the 3-bed room, while Dragan went out for
carousing and probably whoring. Tycon recalled how easily the
Titanblood got along with Guard Captain Varen's men back in
Nice. The oversized meathead was fine on his own.
"I certainly hope that bastard, Tarquin Wroe, hasn't gotten himself
killed."
Tycon laid out his gear, performing cursory maintenance to the

whistling of the port city's sharp evening winds. He lightly oiled the
Shatterspike, his enchanted sword. He didn't use it much because
of its heavier weight, but he refused to give it away because of its
niche magical properties.
"Though knowing Wroe, his death wouldn't be entirely

unexpected... Your thoughts on the matter, Lone?"
Tycon slowly turned to face Lone's bed. The man was fast asleep,
still wearing his armor. His snoring was uncharacteristically gentle.
...The disgusting thing didn't even change out of his sweat-

covered afternoon clothes.
Ugh.
Tycon rolled his shoulders and relaxed with a sigh. It had been a
hard few suns. He'd scold him in the morning... And he'd make
certain all of Invictus took baths before they continued their
journey.
The stomping of leather boots cut through the evening's wailing

winds. A clattering of hastened footsteps stopped in front of the
door of their inn room.
Tycon reached over to grab his crossbow, quickly loading it with

practiced hands. Who could be visiting? The time was just past
dusk, good but not perfect for more clandestine affairs.
A heavy blow smashed the door in, knocking it off of its hinges. A
tall dark-skinned man entered, wielding a two-handed
warhammer, "Time to pay the piper, you little bitch!"
Chapter 117 Intruders
ycondrius sat on the inn's wooden floor, leisurely pointing a

T
crossbow at the intruder. Surrounding him were half a dozen
weapons of war, including two loaded pistols within arm's reach.
The dark-skinned, hammer-wielding man was a head taller than

Tycon and wore a dark cloth mask over his face to hide his
identity... The mask was redundant as his large frame and bald
head were easily identifiable attributes. He wore a dark,
unmarked, vaguely-military coat from a guild Tycon did not
recognize.
The man stared blankly at him, then at the broken door, then back
at the several men situated in the hallway.
"Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat, "May I help you, gentlemen?"
The man slung his warhammer over his shoulder, "I uh... You uh...
Wouldn't happen to be a female slaver, would you?"
Tycon rubbed the bridge of his nose, "I am not a female, nor a
slaver... nor am I a slaver who specializes in female stock."
A short, young person pushed their way past the hammer man.
The cloth mask he wore to hide his face was painted reminiscent
of a skull's jaw, "Not the target, Hammer. We're withdrawing."
A boy's voice. Though somewhat deep, it still hinted of puberty...

The boy had short, dark-blue hair, and red eyes... a color as
uncommon as Tycon's gold.
Without a word of apology, the team of trespassers quickly

withdrew. One of their number propped the broken door to stand.
As the door's hinges were still broken, the door unsurprisingly fell
with an annoying thwack.
Tycon's eye twitched as he glared at Lone, still asleep after the
shouts and the BROKEN. DOOR.
Standing and walking over, Tycon dragged the man out of bed,
allowing his stupid face to thump on the inn room floor.
"Wha-- wuh? Yaeger? Did you come back?" Lone was trying to
blink the stars out of his eyes.
"Nope, she's still dead. Get up, you fool." Tycon groaned, "Grab
your maces. We need to follow some people. Now."
...
The evening's wind storm howled loud enough that the broken
door would not attract undue attention. Eight figures filed into the
opulent room wearing military uniforms and dark cloths over their
faces.
"Room's clear, Little Boss," said the dark-skinned man, gleefully

rotating a warhammer in his hands.
High-Captain Lang Hai pulled down his black skull cloth,

"Hammer... this is the *right* place this time, yes?"
Hammer fidgeted, pressing the cool steel of his warhammer

against his cheek, "Y-yessir."
"Very well, Hammer. Good job," Hai nodded, still scanning the
room.
A freckled brunette scrambled into the room, wearing a bright red

cloth over her mouth. Bounding with energy, she skipped around
the shorter Lang Hai.
"I lockpicked the door, Little Boss!" She declared proudly.
"No, Claw. You just... broke it. Just like you did the last one. But
good job, nonetheless."
Hai crossed his arms and surveyed the room, briefly running his
hands over the handles of the two pistols strapped to his chest.
He had 10 men and women, 7 with him and 2 guarding the doors.
He didn't know what kind of problems he and his crew would face
in the slavemistress' estate, but he had enough force to solve
them.
After several seconds of comprehension, the brunette pulled down

the red bandana covering her face to display an overly dramatic
look of betrayal, "My name's not Claw, it's Rico!"
Hai shut his eyes and rubbed his glabella. He spoke slowly to
ensure her understanding, "Rico, we're using our callsigns today.
Your callsign is 'Claw.'"
"Oh! And Mister Garret is Hammer! Riiiiiight!" Rico placed a fist in

her palm, cheering up immediately. She spun around in joy before
again stopping abruptly, "Wait, what's your callsign, Little Boss?"
"It's… Captain. Just Captain. So stop calling me that." Hai

managed to sigh before turning his attention. "Dagger, report."
A thin, lanky man nodded to Lang Hai, "Searched the room. No

sign of 'em, Cap'n."
Hai waved a hand signal, "This estate is Olesya's last known

location. Search for clues."
"Aye aye, Cap'n," the men chorused.
Rico perked up, her sandy-brown hair sticking up like pup ears,
"What about me, Little Boss?"
Hai grimaced, "I need you to err... count things. How about you
count your fingers and toes, Rico?"
"Eight!"
"Incorrect," Hai sighed. "Count them again. And quietly."
"Okay~" Rico whispered.
Hammer sidled up to Lang Hai as their men searched, "Why are

we being so careful, Boss? We can torch this place to the ground
and be outta here in five minutes."
Hai shook his head, "It's not a revenge mission this time,
Sergeant. Slavemistress Olesya has something we need."
Frowning, Hammer eyed the man near the door holding a small
box, "And the chest that Mace has?"
"Silver, because we need to offer at least token sincerity." Hai's

eyebrows furrowed in disgust, "Believe me, with what I've heard
about the old hag, I want to bash her slaver skull in and burn
everything down to ash. But as long as we're in Chantal's port, we
play by her rules."
Hammer grinned, "And if she ain't sellin'?"
Hai scoffed, "That's what I brought you fine ladies for."
...
Li Qiuyu's patrol around the perimeter of the Couture grounds was

uneventful. The weather was beautiful-- until when the early
evening sky took an unexpectedly dark turn for the worse,
hazardously windy with some salty ocean rain. He hurriedly
gathered everything that had been drying outside and busied
himself along with the mansion servants.
Wet bedsheets for the mistress would not do.
He didn't notice anything was amiss until when he began to make

his way back to his quarters past the main hall. No one used the
main hall, there were plenty of other entrances and hallways that
the servants used to navigate the large estate. The huge room,
cluttered with pretentious art and finery, was only used when
Mistress Couture was entertaining guests. It remained under lock
and key to cut down on cleaning.
Its front door was thrown wide open, nearly broken off of its
hinges.
Qiuyu softened his footsteps as he approached. There were
voices in the room, still unaware of his presence.
As he hid himself beside the entrance, he felt the trusty weight of

his short sword at his hip. He brushed his fingertips across the
familiar, cold metal knives underneath his long white sleeve,
hidden weapons that could reap lives from a dozen fulms away.
He deliberated his options... His usual style of handling things was

to cut throats and ask questions later... if any uncut throats
remained. Today was different.
Steeling his courage, Qiuyu stood at the doorway, "Who are you
people? What are you doing here?"
Chapter 118 Slave & Sword
ico immediately bounded to the lithe, weak-looking, white-haired

R
female in the doorway. Sniffing her all over, Rico grinned before
skipping a short distance away. Her uncovered face was covered
with a knowing smirk and her stupid-looking cuspid pointed out
over her bottom lip.
High-Captain Lang Hai shook his head. Rico's true form was
nothing like a dog. He was deeply curious as to where the hells
she got that behavior from.
"Rico." Hai stared with red eyes in annoyance. In response, the

girl quickly busied herself counting-- people in the room, it looked
like. She must have forgotten that she was supposed to count just
her fingers and toes... but she was distracted, so Hai accepted it
as a best-outcome.
The slave girl was dressed like a man in dark trousers and a thick,
white, long-sleeved tunic. Her arms were tiny and she wore a
slave collar around her neck. The short sword on her side looked
laughable with her build. Slave-mistress Olesya must be blind to
arm a guard like that.
The other men began to laugh at the slave in condescension,

"Hurr hurr hurr."
Hai recruited almost exclusively from former pirates, thugs, and

sometimes murderers. They had no tact and no sense of delicacy,
but they tended to be intimidating. If the girl was terrified, as she
very well should be, the questioning would yield better results.
...He and his men would still beat her half-to-death, but it was
always good to think two steps ahead.
"GRA HA HA HA!" Hammer laughed the loudest, "Come to join
the fun, little girl?! Loot and plunder! R*pe and pillage! Blood. and.
Thunder!"
Hammer was new. He was still more pirate than not.
Hai groaned in annoyance, "You're not a pirate anymore,

Hammer. You do those things on your *own* time."
"Cap'n," Dagger spoke to Hai in a hushed voice, "Requesting

permission to silence the witness."
"Very well," Hai nodded and gave a hand signal. Three men
stepped forward into an attacking formation, surrounding the slave
girl.
Hai called out their callsigns.
"Dagger." "Aye aye, Boss," the gaunt man replied, spinning his
daggers.
"Butcher." "Gur hur hur," the heavy-set man chuckled, brandishing

his meat cleaver.
"Hammer." "I'm gonna skull-fuck you, little giiiirrrl, kehehe," the

dark-skinned, muscular man chortled gleefully.
Gross.
"Non-lethal force," Hai ordered... "Break her bones. Tear apart her
pretty face. Answers will come once there's enough blood."
Hammer rushed forward, his two-handed warhammer raised

above his head. The girl side-stepped the swing with ease.
Tugging loose the concealed blade in her sleeve, she buried the
dagger into the base of the man's neck. Grabbing his arm, she
used the momentum to swing the larger man crashing into a
driftwood table and set of chairs.
Dagger attacked from behind the girl, aiming to sink two short
blades with reversed grips between the girl's shoulders. With a
flourish of her hands, she held two daggers of her own. Accurately
parrying with her arms in an X, she subsequently stabbed both of
her weapons horizontally into Dagger's ribcage.
The girl was fast. Was she using a movement technique? Hai was
barely able to follow her form as she dashed towards Butcher. The
clumsy fool hadn't even begun spinning his chained hook. The girl
lodged four knives down to their hilts along Butcher's right arm.
Lang Hai grimaced. He may have underestimated Olesya's

guards.
The girl had grabbed Butcher's chain and wrapped it around the
fallen Hammer's neck. The sod was still trying to reach his arms
back to grab the dagger embedded in his spine, but the meathead
spent too much time lifting weights.
Hai's dark-blue hair spilled over as he placed his hands in his

palms. This was not going well.
Butcher flailed his chain about, smashing Hammer into the various
furniture in the posh room and into the ornately wallpapered walls.
As a matter of course, Hammer began to pull back on the chain,
whipping Butcher into an oil painting and breaking a vase with
winged lizards on them. Those were the extra expensive vases.
As the girl deftly dodged the duo's crazed, thoughtless attacks,

Dagger was somehow struck in the face by Butcher's heavy chain,
bloodily breaking his nose. The lanky man was knocked
unconscious onto the ground, arse pointed up.
The girl remained expressionless. She raised her voice, a bit more
confident, "Is that enough blood? Answer my questions."
Hai put his hands on his waist and groaned in annoyance, "Sea
god's SPEAR! You lot are USELESS!"
Hammer was on his knees, finally untangled from the chain, "I can
still fight, Little Boss!"
"There's a knife embedded in your spine," Hai said flatly.

"And once I get it out, I'll probably be able to move my legs!"
Hammer tried to reach for the dagger again. "A li'l help, Cap'n?"
"You're. Done. She took down the 3 of you without even breaking
a sweat. She's an Iron Ranker, idiot."
Hammer snarled in response but quickly averted his eyes. He

knew not to question orders... and he wouldn't make the mistake
of questioning twice. He knew as well as Hai did that if the three
were human, they would have all been killed.
Hai stepped up to face the knife-wielding slave.
She wielded hidden weapons like a master assassin. Her attacks

were swift, accurate, and lethal, burying dagger blades to their
hilts, along with a flesh-rending twist. Not a drop of blood stained
her white long-sleeved tunic.
Hai had seen her level before, belonging to a master in his Liang
family. He wasn't impressed, at all! Well, not 100% impressive.
Maybe 5% impressed.
"I acknowledge your skill, little girl. I have business with your
slavemistress. I'm also looking to purchase a slave from her, a boy
from the Li Clan."
The girl adopted a confused expression for the briefest of

moments but didn't respond.
Hai continued, "Do you know him? If he's been mistreated, it

would be a great disservice to me and my clan."
"...You're mistaken." The girl said with a light voice, "Identify

yourselves."
"It looks like you do know something," Hai growled, deep and low,
"Hatchet. Shield."
Shield unsheathed his sword and stepped forward in a defensive

stance, "Blood and thunder."
Hatchet swiftly crouched beside Shield, ready to leap forward with
her two light axes. She winked suggestively at the slave girl, "I
could eat you right up!"
Gross. Hai sincerely hoped Hatchet wasn't being literal.
Lang Hai reached for one of the pistols strapped to his chest, "As
for our identities... you don't have the capability to make us
answer."
The girlish, white-haired boy placed a hand on his sword hilt,

"You've entered the Couture manor without invitation. You will
leave... in one piece or several."
Chapter 119 Looting The Boss
System, set target destination on that Hammer fellow. He should

«
still be within range. »
[Calculating route.]
Tycon leisurely walked the streets in his dark hood and a set of
leather armor. The leathers were the easiest to don in a hurry.
Following the System's directions, he turned the street corners
with ease. Lone hurriedly followed, knocking into the occasional
trash can.
If it wasn't for the harsh, howling wind, Tycon was fairly certain
they'd have been caught by Lone's sleep-addled blundering. With
the System's assistance, Tycon could accurately keep within a few
hundred yalms of the other guild.
After nearly half-a-bell of time, Tycon and Lone tracked their

movements to a cliffside manor overlooking the ocean. According
to the signs that Tycon read, it belonged to one Francesca
Couture.
"What... what are we doing here, Boss?" Lone asked, his teeth
chattering in the cold. The former ruffian had forgotten to bring the
cloak he usually wore, and instead wore a thin linen blanket he
had appropriated from the inn.
Tycon frowned as he peered at the System-provided map that

only he could see. Analyzing the blueprints of the house...
Hammer and his guild were in some sort of central room.
He didn't want to deal with them. He turned his attention to the

larger rooms, resembling living quarters.
"We're here to pay a visit to Lady Couture," Tycon said as he
scaled a wall.
Lone gawked, "B-boss, how did you move so fast?"
Tycon knelt atop the wall, wordlessly reaching his hand out for
Lone to grab. The leather armor he wore made scaling the wall
much easier than usual, allowing him to climb simple walls with
speed similar to Dragan. He decided not to explain.
"Hurry up," Tycon urged.
...
[Small Snake Form Cancelled. Returning to Human-Form.]
Tycon emerged from Lady Francesca Couture's closet. The

woman was reading a book in her undergarments, sampling
peeled grapes and smoking a long pipe. Sweeping back a long
strand of purple hair behind her ear, she looked up from her book
with drug-glazed eyes.
"Strange. How long have I left you in there?"
Tycon shrugged casually, "Ah, don't worry about it, Mistress."
The two inhabitants of the bedroom were the scantily clad

slavemistress and a naked, well-muscled, male slave tending to a
room-heating stove. Though the pair stared in curiosity, Tycon
walked to a shuttered window and unlocked it to allow Lone to
enter.
Couture's eyes widened, gaining a hint of sobriety, "What in the--

who are you?"
Tycon smiled radiantly, "We're part of a group that's robbing your

household right now, Mistress."
The slave began slowly moving towards a sheathed sword,

propped on the wall near him. Still smiling, Tycon pointed.
Lone dashed forward, smashing one of his wolf-headed maces
onto the slave's hands, crushing his bones to powder. With a
second swing, a mace struck the man's abdomen, winding him.
Lone's body was filled with raging mana. With inhuman speed, he
smashed both maces into the slave's ribcage, breaking his bones.
The slave spat thick, dark crimson blood before slinking to the
floor, dead or wishing he was.
Tycon smirked, placing his hand on his chin, "I've noticed that
none of your nearby slaves are Metal Rank..."
Sucking in air through his teeth, Tycon continued, "Summoning

them... probably won't help you. With all due respect, Mistress,
please surrender all items of value."
The woman sighed, "Then your men are occupying Little Yu."
Lone raised an eyebrow, "Who's--"
Tycon glared to stop him.
Lone coughed, "Whosoever that person is, I'm stronger!"
Tycon smiled cordially, steepling his fingers, "Anyroad, if you have

any large quality goods-- ah, or in lieu of that, perhaps a ship and
crew, we'd very much like to requisition it."
The woman chuckled softly to herself, emptying her long pipe in a

small silver box. She stood up, seductively swaying, before
grabbing a long, thin curved blade and tossing aside its sheath.
"What makes you think I'll just lay down and give you what I
want?" the noblewoman winked.
The temperature of the room dropped significantly, causing Lone's

teeth to chatter and. He wrapped his blanket around himself, once
more.
« System, basic information. »
[System response: Francesca Couture, Bronze-Rank Human

Warmage]
Stepping forward, she cut an icy slash down at Lone, "Blue Flame
Blade."
"Counter it," Tycon commanded.
[Jumping Knee Counter activated.]
Lone blocked the attack with a cross of his weapons, icy crystals
blooming in the air instead of sparks.
A frenzy of mana filled Lone's body again as he crossed his

maces behind Couture's neck. He smashed his knee into the
woman's abdomen. Repositioning himself, he mercilessly struck
with his opposite knee, driving the woman back.
With a snarl, the wolf-eyes on his dark iron maces glowed red as
the heads burst into flames.
Tycon rolled his eyes. As impressive as Lone's flaming weapons

appeared, the fiery mana extended only to his weapons and not to
his attacks. Unless he literally held the burning weapons to an
opponent's skin, the damage it dealt was negligible. Francesca
Couture, however, was a capable elemental sword wielder.
A prolonged fight was not in Tycon's and Lone's best interests. He

wasn't here to train Lone. He was here to rob the slavemistress
and frame that group of rude fellows.
"Hurry up," Tycon sighed.
With a nod, Lone began to attack recklessly. Couture focused on

her defense, accurately blocking the rough warrior's swings, but
Lone's strength quickly taxed her stamina.

Lone smashed through the woman's sword, the wolf-head
bloodying the woman's nose. With a side swing, he struck her jaw.
The woman smashed her side against a table, spilling papers and
books to the ground, as well as breaking her ornate, expensive-
looking pipe.
Tycon snapped his fingers again.
The woman was trying to reach for her sword, but Lone brutally
kicked the woman in the gut, then smashed a hammer into her
elbow. The woman groaned loudly in pain, holding her shattered
arm. Sweat matted her purple hair and tears ruined her purple
eyeliner. With a deeper groan and a nod of her head, she fell
unconscious. Or dead.
Tycon immediately began looting, placing items of value into his

spatial ring. He'd sort through the goods later.
The woman wore an expensive-looking ring with a slight magical

enchantment. Tycon took it. Why shouldn't he?
There were books on business, making money, and non-fiction

studies on various cultures. Tycon took them. They would be a
nice gift for Sorina or Reynard.
A long two-handed sword. Perhaps it would do as an interim

weapon for Dragan. Nice.
Tycon tossed Lone a gilded chamberpot.
"Very funny, Boss," he rolled his eyes.
Tycon glared, "It's not for you to use as a piss-pot, you dolt. Fence
it and buy yourself a coat or something."
"...Oh," Lone hung his maces on his belt and tucked the pot under
an arm.
"You can head back now. Remain unseen," Tycon began climbing
out the window.
"What about you, Boss?"
"I think I'll watch our new 'friends' for a bit longer."
Chapter 120 Faster Than A
Speeding Bullet
"Seven boys and one girl!" Rico happily gave her final count.
High-Captain Lang Hai crossed his arms, "Did you count

yourself?"
"Seven boys and one girl and... and ONE RICO!!" Rico happily
gave her final-final count. "Rico is a girl!"
"You knew he was a boy the *entire* time?" Lang Hai sighed. He
wished he left Rico on the ship.
"Uh huh~! Smelled like a boyyyy~!" she sang happily.
"Not gonna ask," Hai shook his head.
"Boss!" Shield interrupted, dashing forward to intercept. In a brief

moment, a flash of steel erupted from the white-haired boy's hand.
Sharp clangs of metal rang out, lightning-fast sparks denting the
metal block of steel Shield had strapped to his arm.
Hai furrowed his brows, seeing the dozens of bangs and dents left
on his man's shield. Mana was present in the boy's speedy,
accurate sword attacks. The sharpness of the mana with each
strike could easily mince their flesh.
He felt a dull pain in his pistol hand. Lifting it up, a dagger was
embedded accurately through the meat between his thumb and
forefinger. The boy must have thrown it simultaneously with his
attack. That hand would be useless for a while.
Unsticking the dagger, Hai yawned and stared at the boy through
the gaping wound, "I dunno why you keep talking about this
Couture guy, but whoever they are, I doubt I care."
Hammer gave a great roar, "No one attacks the Cap'n!"
The man wholly ignored the fact that the boy had *already*
attacked. He looked ridiculous, dragging himself around on the
floor with his arms and weapon. With the knife sticking out of his
neck, it seemed he was paralyzed from the waist down.
"No one touches the Cap'n!" Hatchet cried out with her shrill,
stupid, nasal voice, "He's still a virgin, you know!"
Hai's mouth twitched. That was blatantly uncalled for.
She dashed forward, swinging her hatchets around like a

whirlwind of stupid.
The white-haired boy easily parried her handaxes with his short
sword, concise, controlled, and not the least bit wasteful. Within
the momentum of taking a heavy attack, he pivoted on the heel of
his left foot and dropped his body weight.
With a fierce, lightning-fast kick, the boy took out Hatchet's left
ankle, toppling her to the ground. The audible crunch made it
apparent that her ankle was broken.
"Oh, snap! Miss Loretta fell down!" Rico gasped.
Hai didn't know why he bothered using codenames.
...Whatever.
Hai transferred his pistol to his left hand, aiming at the boy's chest,
"'Bout time for you to stop being so difficult."
The loud and unmistakable sound of the fired pistol reverberated

throughout the estate. Too late to dodge, the boy whipped his
sword out in a desperate attempt to block the bullet.
Hai furrowed his brows. Who tries to block a bullet?

The bullet had grazed the edge of his blade, puncturing through
the boy's shoulder and exiting the opposite side. Pink mist
sprayed into the air and painted Shield's... shield.
The white-haired kid dropped to the floor, a small fountain of blood

spilling from the wound. His blade clanged, scratched, and slid
dramatically across the floor away from him.
"Oh, snap! The nice-smelling boy fell down too!" Rico gasped,
with no less surprise in her voice than literally seconds earlier.
Hai briefly considered shooting Rico with his second pistol, but the
price of a single bullet was not worth the possibility of the girl
getting even dumber. He'd be more tempted if he had brain-bullets
capable of killing her.
"GAHAHA! " Hammer guffawed as blood vigorously spurted from

the knife-wound on his neck. He had recovered some semblance
of control of his lower parts again-- crawling on his knees, as well
as his hands, towards the fallen boy. "Not so tough are you now,
GIRL?!!"
Hai glared, "Hammer, One: It's a boy.
"Two: You look stupid.
"And Three: Shut up."
Hammer quieted down, scowling. He crawled to the young boy,

quietly muttering insults.
Lang Hai turned to Rico. The girl knew something... but if she
realized that he wanted something from her, she'd ask for
something stupid like to be fed more than twice a day or to sleep
in a bed that actually fit her legs when she stretched.
High-Captain Lang Hai was responsible for an entire Sea Wolf

fleet of (mostly seaworthy) ships. The Sea Wolves had nowhere
near the monetary power of Fleet Admiral Chantal's Darktide Fleet
or Commander Darro's Knights-Arcane. The Sea Wolf sect was
not a wealthy sect like the Ivory Judge sect or the Glory sect or
Frozen Asgard. He had to be frugal!
Hai gently scratched between Rico's shoulder blades... "Rico?

Why exactly would you say the boy smells nice?"
The dirty-blonde girl began to... purr? Her eyes glazed over in
thought, not even bothering to get rid of her goofy-looking canine
smile, "He kinda smells like you..."
Rico's eyes shot wide open as she hopped up, "Cap'n! CAP'N!!"
What had gotten into this girl? "What is it, Rico?"
"Are you... BROTHERS?!"
Hai crossed his arms. "No, Rico. I don't have any siblings."
"Is he... IS HE YOUR SON?!"
"No, Rico-chan! Boss is a virgin!" Broken-ankled Hatchet crawled

over to interrupt with her nasal arrogance, "That means he doesn't
have any kids."
Lang Hai had a bottle of seawater on his person. Every crew

member he'd brought to this raid had a high level of the Sea Wolf
Body Art, allowing them to regenerate their wounds and broken
bones with seawater. He decided that Hatchet would be getting
none of it. She could drag herself back to the Elizabeth Dare
along with Hammer.
Rico stared deeply into Hai's eyes, her face reddening as she
actively utilized her brain. Hai decided to count to ten before
stopping her. Any longer and he feared steam would literally come
out of her ears...
Rico grinned widely, raising both hands above her head,

"Cousin?!"
Hai shook his head, "No, Rico..."
...Hai's eyes opened wide, "Sea god's socks!! Hold on--"

Lang Hai looked over to where the fallen boy was. Hammer had
finally finished spewing his insults. Sitting back on his knees and
feet, he lifted his warhammer, intending to smash the boy's bones
into paste.
Without further thought, Hai swiftly kicked the boy's sword back
across the floor towards him.
Chapter 121 The Boy From
The Li Clan
i Qiuyu, the white-haired guard of Mistress Francesca Couture,

L
tightly gripped his shoulder. His entire existence was reduced to
agony, the pain spasming throughout his entire right side. The
only other sensation besides the pure agony was the warmth of
his blood spilling onto the floor.
Who were these people? How could they shrug off deadly and
life-threatening injuries so easily?
The dark-skinned man, Hammer, bellowed and raised his weapon

up. Qiuyu watched his incoming death with open eyes.
A sword clattered along the floor. The person the thugs referred to
as Captain had kicked Qiuyu's sword to within arm's reach...
He didn't have the spare time to think about it.
Seizing it quickly with his good hand, Qiuyu rolled forward,

narrowly dodging the heavy impact of Hammer's swing. He
grounded his feet. He twisted his body and swung his sword
upward. The thin blade cut through the flesh of the man's biceps,
stopping at the bones.
The tendons in the dark-skinned man's arms were severed. Qiuyu

pulled the sword out as quickly as he struck, spilling blood all
around.
"It's me," he whispered in a small voice.
Ignoring Hammer's pain-filled screams, Qiuyu staggered upright,

wincing in pain. He took a red cloth tied around his sword and tied
it tightly around his shoulder wound.
Qiuyu wiped the blood off of his face, eyes full of confidence, "I
am Li Qiuyu."
He slashed the blood off of his blade, painting the floor red, "I
serve the mistress of my own volition..."
He held his blade out with his off-hand in a defensive stance, "I
don't need a savior."
"It's like a rainbow!" Rico exclaimed.
Qiuyu turned behind him, witnessing the cheerful brunette running

in a circle around the bleeding Hammer. An arc of blood spurted
majestically from Hammer's arm, slicking the floor... Qiuyu thought
he was fast, but the girl was on a different level.
Thnk. Hammer finally fell without grace, smashing his nose and
chin against the adjacent wall, his rear pointed at the ceiling.
Without her fountain of blood, Rico lost interest. She casually
picked up the heavy, long-handled metal hammer with her fingers
and transitioned to poking the dying man's face.
The slightly taller boy, the Captain, shook his head shamefully,
"Hammer, you literally could not have disappointed me any more
than you have."
"Can I have his share of rations?" Rico cunningly inquired.
The Captain continued, ignoring her, "I'm not looking to save

anyone, Little Yu. But your Li family is a branch family of my Lang
family... And I'm just trying to take care of my own."
Captain Lang motioned to his crew, "This is it. The hated. The
downtrodden. The oppressed and the lacking. I've gathered them
together to fight against the sea, against the cold steel of men...
Against the monsters residing within ourselves."
Qiuyu narrowed his eyes. The monsters? Finally, Li Qiuyu

sheathed his sword. He was willing to listen.
The dark-blue haired Captain closed his eyes and crossed his
arms. A smirk crossed his face, a look of utter arrogance, "We're
cursed, Little Yu. The man on the floor behind you? He won't die
from just that."
The Captain opened his eyes, revealing inhuman black sclera,

"We're monsters, cursed to transform into great and terrible scaled
creatures from the abyssal depths."
A chill ran Qiuyu's spine. He loosed a cursed whisper, "Sea Wolf

Hidden Sect..."
Lang shrugged, breathing a deep, defeated sigh, "We're just as

cursed as you, Little Yu. We heard you're enslaved by a crotchety
old hag with... unhealthy tastes."
He flicked the metal slave collar with his fingers, causing a dull
*ting* noise. Qiuyu frowned but resisted the urge to cut the man's
arm off. The similarities in Lang's face and his made him uneasy.
"Olesya is dead," Qiuyu muttered.
Where did these people get their information? Olesya had been
dead for years.
"--Well, that's beside the point. Look, Qiuyu, we can help you,"
Lang offered his hand.
Li Qiuyu stared down at it. He... almost wanted to take it. He had
never known a real family. Mistress Francesca Couture and
Olesya before her was all he had after he'd been discarded by the
Li clan.
The Captain smiled, "Come with us."
"I..."
"You're cursed by a Gender Transmogrification spell, right?" Lang

nodded gravely.
"...Eh?" Qiuyu frowned.

Captain Lang continued, "I mean, it's obvious, looking at you. But
Rico said you smell like a boy, so there's still hope. We'll head
back-- oh, we have a Sea Witch in the crew! She knows a lot
about curses! Come on! That's what you want, right?"
What... in the world...? These people were absurd.
"I'm... not cursed by some spell," Qiuyu looked away. "I was born
with this face."
Lang tilted his head, "So, you're telling me... You're... not cursed
by some sort of sexually deviant Reverse Gender curse?"
Qiuyu shook his head, his brow quirking slightly.
Lang wiped some sweat from his brow, "Because this is incredibly
embarrassing, but I'm... not 100% in the wrong for assuming, you
know."
Qiuyu glared.
"How about your uh... 'Mistress' keeping you around for

unspeakable sex acts against your will? Because that sounds like
it would be a crime on more than one level. You look like you're
10."
Qiuyu reached for his sword.
"Rico is 4!" the snaggletoothed brunette proclaimed with pride.
Qiuyu looked behind the Captain to Rico with confusion.
Lang pursed his lips in embarrassment, "She's actually 3. Rico

doesn't understand the concept of 0, so she started counting her
age from 1."
Qiuyu frowned.
"You know, it's a nice night. Windy. Calming. It's a good night to
sleep early, right, cousin?"
Qiuyu unsheathed his sword with his good hand.

Captain Lang yawned and stretched. Qiuyu discerned that the boy
stealthily pointed with both fingers towards the door his crew had
broken down, "If there's nothing else, weeeee're just gonna get
outta your way."
Qiuyu watched as the crew of Sea Wolves picked up their fallen

and quickly escaped the hall. He looked around at the pools of
blood, broken furniture and debris. They stomped in and made an
absolute mess out of everything, but Qiuyu was too exasperated
to even berate them.
"Best of luck, then," Qiuyu mustered the last of his energy to

depart the young man with those words. He promptly resheathed
his sword and hoped he'd never see them again.
Chapter 122 Levi’s Loyalty
he morning sun came peacefully upon Port City Caractere and

T
for Guild Invictus.
With Aurala's quest completed, Guild Invictus no longer needed to

remain in the Kingdom. Tycon was going to send Dragan to
contact the Gatekeepers, and then Invictus would sailor
somewhere else-- either the Sleeping Country or the Holy
Country.
Tycon had sent word ahead via the Courier's Guild to Fleet
Admiral Chantal. The response was relatively prompt and the
meeting was scheduled a couple of suns later, allowing Invictus
some leisure time.
The young half-elf, Pale, volunteered to collect information and go

about the city along with Kimura Taree. Those two were Tycon's
best bet at finding any information about the whereabouts of the
still-missing Tarquin Wroe.
Tycon highly doubted the man had gotten himself killed... not
silently, anyroad. The blue-haired angel-blood had a strange
penchant for manifesting eldritch and magical effects, causing
general chaos wherever he went. Tycon hadn't yet heard any
rumors of the sort.
Dragan took Lone gallivanting. Tycon expected nothing from

them. Hopefully, Lone had learned his lesson and wouldn't
contract a new sexual disease by sun's end. And hopefully they
didn't find their way into a cell without proper adult supervision.
Tycon put on his dark-hooded cloak and met up with Mister Levi
Wolfrider.
"So... Mister Levi."

The dog-wolf boy perked his white, pointed ears up, "Yes, Boss?"
Tycon desperately wanted to ask him whether he was a dog or a

wolf? Tycon somehow knew that it would be rude to ask. It was
not an inquiry the System could answer.
The young weretouched boy seemed... skittish. Tycon didn't want

to damage his reputation with the boy (any more than it already
was.) He decided to ask safe, socially acceptable questions.
"What do you do... for fun?" Tycon inquired.
Levi fidgeted, touching his forefingers together, "Sometimes I...

steal from children."
"Ohhhh." Tycon forced a smile, "I see."
Is that what people do for fun in the Kingdom? Tycon began to

panic internally. He had nothing in common with this boy.
Tycon's mouth twitched, "We're going... shopping."
"Boss, should I... bring a sack?" Levi tilted his head, allowing a
floppy ear to fall.
What? Tycon wondered why Levi was classed as a Warden

instead of a Thief.
"...No. I'd... actually prefer if you kept your hands to yourself while
we're here."
...
Wolfbanger sniffed the air, "Trouble ahead, boss."
Tycon furrowed his brows, "I don't smell anything. How do you
know that?"
The wolf-dog-boy scritched behind his ears, "I dunno, Boss. I just
know, alright?"
Frowning, Tycon still pulled his sword out of its catch in case he
needed to draw it. Similarly, Levi took his greathammer off of his
back and heaved its unbalanced weight over his shoulder.
...Tycon needed to get him a different, more sensible weapon.
The pair turned the corner. One alley further would get them to the
mercantile district. There was a woman in a bright red skirt with
her back to a wall, surrounded by 3 rough-looking gentlemen.
Long, bright, orange-red hair, she was dressed in a conical witch's
hat and a functional set of leather armor.
"Come on there, girl. We can show you around the town." "Yeah,
you can trust us." "How 'bout we show you to an inn, hurr hurr." --
Tycon didn't hear anything particularly interesting or new from the
ruffians.
« System, basic information. »
[System response: Bronze-Rank Sea Witch...]
Tycon listened as the System listed off their rankings and

classes... Only the woman was a Metal Ranker-- which also
meant that Tycon didn't need to trouble himself.
He approached, fully intent on walking past the group. He really

didn't want to trouble himself in Caractere. The port city was run
by Fleet Admiral Chantal, herself. She and her men kept order
and held the power of lawful execution. Challenging her was not in
Tycon's best interests.
Unfortunately, he got a better look at the red-headed woman's

face. She wore a dark cloth over her eyes; the woman was blind.
More troubling still, the woman was looking directly at him.
"Och, I'm sorry, boys." The Sea Witch rested a hand on her hip,
her red skirt flaring to the side. "It's been fun tearin' the tartan, but
I've gotta get tae. Me knights-in-shining 'ave come ta pick me
oup."
What was she playing at? Was Sea Witch not a combat class? Or
did she not want to get her hands dirty? ...Anyroad, it looked to be
a low-risk project that could render at least some direction on their
shopping trip.
"Um, we don't know her," Levi whelped.
Tycon glared at the dog-wolf, causing his ears to droop.
He considered using his status as a baron of the Kingdom... but if

Fleet Admiral Chantal heard he was oppressing the commonfolk,
it might affect her view. Military and nobility tended to clash,
especially in the Kingdom, where old families still held high
stations. He could call the guard... like a tool. Or he could just be
himself.
"Good morning, gentlemen." Tycon stepped forward, "Kindly fuck

the hells off."
The woman's jaw dropped, "Ehehe... He's jooking. Such a kidder,

these friends'a mine."
The ruffians shared a look before they tacitly agreed to draw their
cutlasses and daggers, facing off against Tycon.
Tycon grinned, "I suppose I can give you until the count of 3 until
my guard dog tears your throats out."
[Commander's Strike failed. Target ally out of range.]
...Tycon slowly turned his head, scanning the alley wall behind
him. He found junk and trash debris, but no Weretouched boy.
Where in the seven hells was Wolfbanger?
Tycon's mouth twitched as looked down the alley from whence

they came-- that pup of a bitch had run off!!
Tycon ducked a swing of a thug's cutlass. As he fumbled for his

sword, he took a big boot to the chest, crashing him into a wood-
rotten crate.
'Empty night! That cur!' Tycon yelled internally. He finally got his
sword free from its sheath.
"Sod it all," Tycon muttered as he un-dimmed his vision. Mottled

gold eyes and vertical pupils stared at his attackers.
[Vexing Gaze activated.]
One man fell to his knees, scratching at his neck, struggling for
air.
The second man-- ah, it didn't matter. Tycon swiped his dark iron
sword across the tip of the second man's neck.
The third man's face was bright red and he had dropped his
cutlass in a panic. Tycon accurately stabbed that man in the
throat.
Two down, one to-- The first man tackled Tycon, and the two
crashed to the ground. Ugh. Tycon felt a sharp pain in his
abdomen. He had been stabbed. How annoying.
Tycon grabbed the end of his sword with his left hand. With both
hands, he forced the blade forward into the man's throat. The man
died gurgling blood.
"Yer madder 'an a box of frogs! 'Ave you offed the lot of them?!"
The blind Sea Witch yelled, rather unfairly.
Tycon struggled to his feet. Taking the dagger out of his gut and
tossing it aside, he held his hand over the wound. He bowed
ostentatiously.
"I, Tycon, your shining knight, has arrived," Tycon proclaimed, his
words dripping with sarcasm.
The Sea Witch scoffed with a hand to her mouth, "Well met, Sir
Tycon. Nae how 'bout we git lively bafore we git snared rapid by
the guard."
Chapter 123 Sea Wolf Curse
ycon accompanied Sea Witch Eilean through Port City

T
Caractere's modest mercantile district. Though she was blind, she
had no issues walking or even eating accurately with a fork and
spoon. (They had clam chowder and surf and turf at a small
portside cafe.)
Eilean explained that she had limited vision as long as there was
sea spray in the air. If she weren't on land and on a ship or in the
ocean, her senses would be far greater than anyone in her crew.
The Sea Witch couldn't read for obvious reasons, so Tycon was
able to decipher a few shop signs for her while shopping for
special deals. Eilean admitted to being the quartermaster of the
Elizabeth Dare, a frigate-class warship. Her goal of the sun was to
memorize the best deals at the shops, and on the morrow, she'd
bring coin and crew to purchase the supplies.
Eilean proved herself knowledgeable about the latest news. She

knew the most reputable port-side merchants, provided an
account of the state of politics in the Kingdom's Navy, and even
waxed on about a ghost ship spotted in the Darktide Fleet's
jurisdiction. The Sea Witch found the notion of a haunted wreck
romantic.
As sore as Tycon's stomach was from being stabbed, he was glad

for her company-- she was far better of a conversationalist than
Wolfbanger.
...Tycon missed Aurala. He decided to write her a letter, later in

the evening.
Eilean spun gracefully with joy, flaring her skirt and jingling the
bone charms hanging at her waist, "This 'as been grreat, Sir
Tycon! I've naerly finished replenishin' our supplies! --I mean,
when ah get the crew tae come with, anyrood.
Tycon smiled gently, "It's been a few bells, Miss Eilean. Shall I
accompany you back to your crew?" Even though the woman
couldn't see with her eyes, Tycon surmised that the Sea Witch she
was able to keenly sense Tycon's expressions.
Eilean bit her bottom lip, "Och! Such a gentleman! Would it kill ye
ta invite a bonnie lass to yer room?"
Tycon rolled his eyes and scoffed, "Tss. I wouldn't dream of being
so forward, young lady."
The witch cackled loudly, holding her stomach, "Sea god's shite,
you charmful bastard! Ye've damn near made me wet meself.
Anyrood, me crew's at the pub jus' past tha' fishery. 'Ow about ye
join us fer a pint?"
Tycon shrugged. Establishing friendly relations with a ship captain

and their crew sounded like a worthwhile time investment, "I'd love
to, Eilean."
"Speak o' the devil, 'ere comes me Captain nae!" Eilean stood on
the edge of toes and waved at a rapidly approaching gentleman in
a military coat. The dark-blue haired boy with red eyes was full-
on-sprinting towards the both of them.
Oh. Gods damn it. It was him. Tycon grimaced. His afternoon was
ruined and his disappointment, immeasurable.
The boy skidded to a halt in front of the pair.
Tycon noticed the boy's coat was dark, clean of stains, and he
wore the metal shine of rank insignias. As skeptical as Tycon was,
the boy was clearly an Officer in the Kingdom's Navy.
Eilean held out both of her arms, "Cap'n! Ahm glad ta see you fer
once. High-Captain Lang Hai, allow me ta introduce ya to--"
"Don't care," Hai cut her off, "Where's Rico?"

The woman scowled, placing her hands on her hips, "Nae jist hold
on, Cap'n. Yer bein' a right scunner in front of me guest."
The boy-Captain nodded at Tycon, "G'afternoon."
Tycon nodded back reservedly, "Good afternoon."
The boy didn't seem to recognize him... Tycon hadn't even put his
hood back up.
Hai turned back to Eilean, "Well, that was nice, Lieutenant. Now,
WHERE IS RICO?!"
The boy was nearly frothing at the mouth, "We can't do this! Not
here! Not in this port! Not when SHE is watching!! She'll have. MY.
HIDE!!"
Tycon pursed his lips. The boy's panic seemed... out of place.
"Aw, keeeeep yerr head, Cap'n," The Sea Witch waved a finger,
"Y'know, yer wee crush on Capitaine Chantal has y--"
Lang Hai threw his head back and howled. It was a deep,
sonorous song, shaking the nearby windows. The howl was unlike
anything Tycon had heard before. It was more like the pained cry
of an anguished sea leviathan than a wolf.
« System... Bring up the boy's basic information again... »
[System response: Lang Hai, Iron-Rank Dread Captain]
« Hm. I knew that. System, inquiry: What the hells was that howl?
»
[System response: Analyzing vocalization... Analysis complete.

Vocalization identified as the howl of the Abyssal Sea Wolf.]
« System... Inquiry: Why can Lang Hai howl like an Abyssal Sea
Wolf? »
[System response: Target is afflicted by Abyssal Sea Wolf curse, a

form of lycanthropy.]
Sea Werewolves. Tycon was not at all thrilled by the development.
It did, however, explain what Tycon witnessed the previous night.
All of Lang Hai's crew were able to ignore fatal wounds, relying on
their lycanthrope healing factor.
It also explained why Hai was literally frothing at the mouth in a

frenzied fear. Lycanthrope curses magnified raw emotions and
feral instincts. The pup was losing control.
Eilean tilted her head up. If she hadn't been wearing a blindfold,
she'd have rolled her eyes, "I'm real sorry fer this, Sir Tycon. I'd
tell ye he's not usually like this, but I'd be lying through m'teeth."
"Did I hear Little Boss?" A young, freckled brunette about Tycon's

height stepped out of the nearby pub.
Tycon cursed inwardly. It was the Rico that Hai was looking for.
She was the one existence that Tycon truly did not want to
encounter. The girl was a walking disaster.
The teenage girl swayed lightly to the side, stinking of rum... And
keeping her steady with a decidedly ungentlemanly hand on her
behind... was Barza Keith, the Lone gods-damned Shadowdark.
Rico tilted her head up to Eilean, "Sup?"
The drunkard downed what looked to be a triple-shot of dark

liquor before lifting the upside-down glass towards Lang Hai, "I've
been-- Hic-- We've been good, Cap'n. Just an-- just a drink."
Lone finally met Tycon's glare. His pupils dilated and he stood up
straight, "Ahem. Boss."
"Mind your hands, Mister Lone," Tycon frowned. To emphasize his

point he revealed a closed palm, then quickly flicked his hand
open.
Lone bit his upper lip in worry, glancing at his touchy companion.
He retracted his grubby hands from Rico and nodded, "Yessir."
Tycon used the hand signal for possible explosion or life-
threatening situation. Thankfully, it looked like Lone understood
that quite well.
The boy-Captain scowled, "Private First Class Rico, we're

leaving."
Rico tilted her head and grinned widely, her eyes narrowing into
squints, "Awww, we're just havin' a li'l bit of fun!"
She reached over, handily grabbing Lone's crotch, "Right, big

brother?"
"Boss, help," Lone whispered.
"If you die before the next pay period, the money goes back to the
guild," Tycon whispered back.
Lang Hai stomped forward and gripped his right hand on Rico's
face. Lifting her as easily as he'd lift a sword, he leapt and
smashed the back of her head into the paved white-stone road
where she stood. He violently rained down punches and kicks on
the drunkard.
"Cap'n, no!" Eilean yelled, "Stop! You're--"
Mounting the fallen Rico, Hai breathed in deep, nearly gagging on

the stench of blood, vomit, and alcohol, and he delivered a rib-
crunching knee to her side.
Hai stopped, but only for a moment. "Hurting her? Yes, I know."
Chapter 124 Prided Ability
ycondrius quietly observed High-Captain Lang Hai's physical

T
transformation.
The boy's eyes had darkened to a deep ocean black. His teeth
had lengthened into needle-like points. The muscles on his arms
and back bulged and his skin began to turn to a rubbery-looking
dark blue. His hair began to stand, silvery bone protrusions made
his hair resemble fins.
Hai rotated his body, using the kinetic force to spin and throw the
black-and-blue faced Rico against a nearby wall. Winding up a
punch, he dashed over and struck the blood-covered woman in
the chest, breaking in the outer shop wall in a loud, fantastic
fashion.
Tycon grimaced. That was not an Iron-Rank level of strength. The

boy, despite his size, was stronger than Dragan.
Sea Witch Eilean slowly turned to Tycon, her mouth twitching.
"Does... this happen often?" Tycon inquired.
"Aye, more 'an you might thaink," she smiled weakly.
Lone stood, petrified, "Boss. I'd like to run away now."
Tycon rolled his eyes, "I am stunned by your display of chivalry.

Permission granted."
Lone valiantly ducked back into the pub from whence he came.
Finally, Lang Hai was able to calm himself. His skin and hair
returned to their normal colors, and his misshapen muscles
reduced in size, reverting back to a normal 14-year-old boy.
He turned to scoff at Eilean, "Problem's taken care of Lieutenant!
No more drunken displays that Chantal could possibly execute me
for!"
Eilean held her face in her hands, "I was TRYIN' ta stop ye bafore
ye made a mess 'at Capitaine Chantal cannae ignore!"
Lang Hai lowered his head and raised his shoulders, slowly
turning back to what he had done.
The wall of a cartographer's shop had been broken through and

the dust was clearing, revealing the destruction that lay beyond. A
broken table and chairs, countless cracked counters with
compasses and measuring devices displayed, and dozens of
carefully reproduced maps worth countless silver-- everything was
ruined.
At the center of the devastation laid a blood-stained, broken

brunette with both arms impossibly twisted, "It… hurts, Boss…"
Eilean placed her hands on her hips, looming over the boy-
Captain, "I'll have ye know that waer in the coumpany of Monsieur
le Baron Tycon--"
Hai crossed his arms, turning up his head, "W-why do I care about
a noble?"
The Sea Witch stomped over and flicked the boy's forehead with
her middle finger. The boy immediately crouched in pain, both
hands on his head.
"Wael ya LET ME FINISH? --The Baron's been invited by none

uvver 'an Grand-Capitaine Chantal, HAERSELF!!"
Tycon's mouth twitched. Why the hells was he being dragged into
this?
"Wael?" Eilean scowled at Tycon, "Say sumfin, yer laerdship!"
Tycon dropped his shoulders, sighing. He should have escaped

when Lone did.
Reaching into his hooded cloak, Tycon activated his spatial ring
and pulled out one of his pistols. Keeping his finger straight and
off the trigger, he pointed it forward and unclicked the safety.
"Villain," Tycon stated lazily, "Cease thy villainry."
...
Lang Hai swore a dozen curses in his mind, scanning the broken
wreckage, (while purposefully ignoring the agonized whining of
Private First Class Rico.)
Sweat dripped down his back as he thought of Chantal. The

hammer that was the wrath of Grand-Capitaine Chantal De la
Croix would crush him to red, unrecognizable squishy bits. And
then he would be taken out and shot.
The familiar sound of a pistol safety clicking off, suddenly

sharpened Lang Hai's senses.
The young green-haired man in a dark cloak was calmly pointing

a pistol in his general direction. How dare he! Though Hai looked
younger, he was confident he was older than the youth...
Hai's senses analyzed his surroundings, enhanced by the most

powerful motivator in the realm: fear of a woman.
Pale pristine skin and neat hair: Definitely nobility. Yellow eyes:
possible inhuman blood. Outline of a blade beneath his cloak:
Combat skills likely. Dark, hooded cloak: Knows how to keep his
head down-- probably a tiny bit of intelligence. Pistol: definitely
has money, what a prick!
Worse still, Hai couldn't smell an onze of fear from the youth-- the
Tycon person. The man's relaxed state wasn't out of laziness, it
was out of certainty!
The beady-yellow-eyed noble cunt was definitely a threat! If Hai

didn't do something immediately, he'd be reported straight to
Chantal and his LIFE WOULD BE OVER!
...It was pretty late in the sun. Hai considered throwing Rico's
broken body at the noble as a distraction. Then he could run and
hide in a garbage heap until it got dark out.
Tycon sighed, "If you tell me what's going on, I'll at least be able to
explain it to the Grand-Capitaine."
Lang Hai's innocent, fragile heart shattered into a thousand

irreparable pieces. The noble would rat him out at first opportunity.
The gods looked upon Lang Hai and judged him to be unworthy of
their grace. Deep inside his soul, he wept, forsaken by mercy,
loathed by kindness, a stranger to hope.
He could feel his soul trying to leave his body. He wore his
Captain rank upon his coat's epaulets. He wore the Officer's
cutlass on his hip-- so expensive and so flimsy, its only real use
was to commit ritual suicide... and best try out of three, at that.
The formal dress attire of the Beaurte Marines was recognizable

throughout the Kingdom. All this was on top of the fact that he had
no less than four of his ships in port, fully rigged for raiding, flying
Beaurte's colors arrogantly.
Hai's brain operated at maximum capacity. He refused to be

executed without a fight!
Option A: Beg for forgiveness. Throw away all of his pride as an

Officer of Marines, much less the High-Captain of the fleet or the
Leader of a sect... Rejected! Rico was still alive, and he wasn't
willing to kill her unless absolutely necessary. The entire debacle
has been her fault. Hai swore he'd make her hate her life if she
managed to survive.
"Caaaaaptainnn…. I wish I were dead," Rico quietly sobbed.

Blood flowed from her eyes, ears, and mouth, "I need… I need
seawater."
"Shut up, Rico. I'm thinking," Lang Hai glared.

Option B: Kill every last Marine, Sailor, and Civilian in the area.
Immediately in the area was Rico, a hiding store owner, an old
hag, and a nobleman pistoleer. Rejected. Too many variables. At
least twenty Marines were in the tavern next door, each of them at
least half as hardy as Rico. And one of Chantal's goons could
absolutely not be simple, even if he looked dumber than a sack of
starfish.
Option C. Lang Hai did not want to use Option C. He hated

himself for even thinking of an Option C. He sucked in a deep
breath to prepare. His life depended on the ability he prided
himself upon most: theatre acting.
"Would you look at that!! In my foolish drunkenness, damage of

public property and violence has occurred!! But this happens all
the time!! Every sun!! Very violence!! Such common!! Not worth a
reporting!!"
Chapter 125 Wager
ycondrius wanted to go back to the inn. He'd get a nice, full plate
T
for dinner, write a letter to Aurala, and probably go straight to bed.
The Courier's Guild opened early. He wouldn't have to wait in line.
Instead, he was outside, cold, slightly-hungry, and being

essentially pressured by a Sea Witch he just met to point a pistol
at a child.
A small crowd had gathered-- random passersby and people from

the pub who had heard the commotion. They bore witness to boy-
Captain Hai and the pistol-wielding Tycon.
Hai was laughing loudly, probably to hide his fear, "HA HA HA HA!
HA! HAHA! HA! HAAAAAA!!"
Tears were running down his face. The boy wasn't fooling anyone.
...Tycon was growing tired of holding up his pistol.
The noisy mumblings of the crowd caught Tycon's attention--

"What's going on?" "It looks like it's one of the Grand-Capitaine's
enforcers." "What? No way, I've never seen an enforcer so
handsome!" "Psh. No one has the balls to pretend to be an
enforcer in Caractere. Everyone knows Capitaine Chantal would
skin him alive."
Tycon regripped his pistol, his expression serious, "Listen up! How
about you offer to pay for the damages and you can... just sod
off."
...
High-Captain Lang Hai felt rivers and tributaries of sweat running

down his forehead, face, and back. Hai had verifiably nailed his
impression of a slack-jawed, screwed in the head, Caractere
sailor. It was so perfect, he would even fool himself!
Hai's eyes narrowed in realization. Sea god's pants, how could he

be so stupid not to realize it earlier!?
It wasn't that the noble bastard Tycon saw through his flawless
act... Tycon must have specifically sought out Lang Hai to cause
trouble for him and his Marines. The shameless cunt even brought
a crowd of witnesses!
'Alright, Rico. Go Beast Mode and kill-- Aw, coral cock,

nevermind,' Lang Hai silently regretted his epic-worthy, violently
brutal, incredibly satisfying thrashing of Rico. He should have just
torn off a limb and beat her with it or locked her in the hotbox for a
week without food.
Rico would cry and pee herself if she was denied food for over 6
bells.
It had happened.
High Captain Lang Hai of the Beaurte Marines stood tall, dropping
the friendly facade and feigned foolishness.
He would not give in to Chantal's crony. He would fight against

their tyranny, their injustice, and their blatant disrespect of a pure,
innocent, honest and righteous Marine Officer.
"You ask me to pay?" Hai chortled, unintentionally sounding hurt.
Hai walked into the shop, creating some distance between him
and Tycon. He leaned forward, resting a forward boot on a raised
surface (Rico's face) and pointed his finger with an upraised palm,
"Well, I CAN'T DO THAT!!"
Tycon glanced aside at the crowd and at Lieutenant Eilean before

sighing, "Very well, sir. May I ask why y--"
"BECAUSE I don't have any money!!" Hai arrogantly declared.

Tycon didn't seem impressed, "That's... not at all something to be
proud of."
Rico's muffled voice emanated from her broken form, "Cap'n yer
on my… my teef. I needs them… ta eat."
Hai pointed his finger accusingly at Tycon, "We get our weaponry
imported from Bael Turath, but we only get old, discarded
weapons that otherwise they'd sink to the bottom of the sea!
Epochs-old gear makes up a majority of our gunnery!
"We've been able to add three ships to the fleet last fiscal year.
One of them has a HOLE in the hull because we had a
WARLOCK raise it from the depths of the ocean. But it's not the
worst ship we own because AT LEAST it can SAIL!"
"And do you know how much it costs to rent a port in Beaurte?

Have you seen Port Saint Guinefort? It's nothing but rocks, rabid
sea rats, and corpses that keep washing up on shore! It's so
haunted my garrison Officers have literally started calling
themselves Ghostbusters. And they keep humming that stupid
theme song! And the Council has the nerve to call it prime real
estate! And they refuse to give me a military discount!"
When Lang Hai's tears began, they did not stop.
Tycon frowned and closed his eyes, "I'm... so very sorry."
Hai perked up, his eyes widening, "YOU ARE?! Err... I mean...
You are?"
The noble smirked derisively, "I'm sorry that you're an idiot."
"How about this!" Hai declared, "We have a BET!!"
Hai couldn't pay. He couldn't run-- not easily, anyroad... Not when
the eyes and ears of Grand-Capitaine Chantal were everywhere in
Caractere.
But he could bet. Bets and gambles were what built Lang Hai's
life, suffering terrible setbacks and risking more for enormous
gains.
Tycon sighed in awe of Lang Hai's genius, "Seven hells, really? Is

that your best course of action?"
The crowd erupted into excited mumbles-- "Oh, a bet!" "Hey

everyone, there's a bet going on out here!!" "Make 'em walk the
plank!!" "Toss him in the bilge and make him drink it!!" "Even the
Grand-Capitaine has to abide by the results of a bet."
The noble narrowed his stupid-looking, beady, yellow eyes, "State

your terms."
Hai grinned. What an idiot, "Ahaha! If I win, you let all this go. If
you win… Well, uh... I've got a few weapons I could trade for... if
you like... to collect antiques. Every Kingdom-issued weapon
wielded by a Beaurte Marine qualifies as an antique!"
"Try again," Tycon scowled.
Hai punched a fist into his opposite hand, "Ha! I've got a few
unwed female Marines and Officers I could introduce you to! Sea
god's suspenders, I can even force Rico to bathe and hand her
over to your crew! (If she's still alive after this, anyroad.)"
"I can't see, Little Boss. There's... there's *only darkness*..." The
broken mess that used to be Rico sobbed pitifully.
Hai rubbed his boot on the girl's face, "Shut up, Rico. It's not even
that bad."
"Is... Your female going to be okay?" the stupid noble asked.
Hai grit his teeth. He was running out of offers. The noble was
insatiable, "I can invite you back to my ship?"
"And why... pray tell, would I possibly care about that?"
"The crew caught a half-ton Firescale Swordaxe-Fish maybe a

bell prior. It's pretty great raw, but Eilean knows a good supplier
for charcoal."
Eilean sidled up to Tycon, "Ehhh... Sir Baron. Paerhaps we kin
come to an arrangement, yanno, wivout tha bloadshed?"
Hai rejoined inwardly. Yesss. Use your powers of sluttery, Eilean!

Make him bend to your sultry, saggy-boobed, 25-year-old body!
Tycon stepped forward, away from the Sea Witch, "I accept your
wager."
Oh. That works out.
The elderly cartographer finally managed to unstick himself from

underneath some broken debris, "P-please... leave my store!"
"Shut up, ya old fart." "Silence, old man." Hai and Tycon
commanded simultaneously.
The noble twirled his pistol, "How fast is your reaction time,
whelp?"
Lang Hai seethed in righteous anger, "The Sea Wolf fleet claims
the fastest ships in the Kingdom and I am their High-Captain! The
Beaurte Marines are the fastest, strongest, and toughest raiders in
the Royal Navy and I am their Alpha!"
Hai snarled, "I am the raging Sea Wolf! Racing faster than a shark
to its twitching, bleeding meal! I'll tear you to twice the bloody
shreds, killing you three times as fast!"
Lang Hai grinned wickedly, feeling his blood boil. His

transformation threatened to replace his cool calm with naught but
hunger and bloodlust, "Now who the hells do you think you are?"
Chapter 126 One Shot
ycondrius had just been called out in front of a crowd. The

T
audience stared with excited eyes, waiting for a response.
Seven hells, what was the point of Lang Hai's showboating? He

was only calling *more* attention to himself. Was this some sort of
trick? Was he being pranked?
Tycon shrugged. He clicked on the safety of his pistol, placing it

underneath his cloak in a chest-mounted holster.
He presented himself to the crowd and raised his voice, "My name
is Tycondrius of Charm. I hold the title of Monsieur le Baron,
granted by King Adal and ratified by the Council. I am the guild
leader of Guild Sol Invictus, Champions of the Gladiatorial Arena
in Ezyria...
"I have uncovered the crimes against the Kingdom by corrupt

Duke Tavor of Merylsward, and seen to his arrest. I am the savior
of the Ivory Judge Hidden Sect and their Guardian Beast. And by
my own two hands, I've reaped the life of a fire-breathing winged
lizard."
"Dinnae ya mean... a dragon?" Eilean tilted her head, seeming to

stare through the red cloth that covered her eyes.
"Don't be ridiculous, young lady." Tycon immediately rejected the

notion, "Dragons don't exist."
"You're… you're so cool, Mister," Rico whimpered. Apparently, the

girl hadn't yet bled to death and, more surprising, was still
conscious.
Hai narrowed his eyes, "Private First Class Rico, you have my
permission to die."
"Aye aye, Cap'n," Rico responded with a lilting voice.
Hai approached Tycon, standing within a sword's distance,

"Sounds like you do have the qualifications to challenge me!"
Tycon stared blankly, "Yes, and I... probably exceed them."
Hai began pointing angrily, snapping his teeth with his words, "You
fancy yourself a gunner? You think that because you can afford to
have a hand cannon, that you're financially responsible and
therefore better than me?!"
"Yes and yes," Tycon replied flatly. Was the boy crying again?
Eilean unstoppered a flask of clear liquid and poured it on the

fallen Rico.
"It's seawater," she explained. "This'ull fix the wee 'un right up."
Tycon's mouth twitched. He was trying to hide his emotions but

was inwardly horrified. His own Inspirational Surge Skill increased
Dragan's healing factor by 5 or 6 times-- his broken arm would be
back to normal in a week. Rico had several broken limbs and was
bleeding like a leaking bucket. If a single splash of seawater could
enable her to even crawl... Egh. the prospect was daunting.
"I have your BET for you right here, BOY!" Hai screamed, "Shoot
me with that pistol you're so proud of! I'll dodge it... or-or I'll catch
it! And then I'll jam the bullet right into your eye!"
Tycon averted his gaze, cautiously pulling out his pistol again. The
boy's absolute confidence was making him uncomfortable. Tycon
could scarcely believe anyone could be so certain of themselves.
Was this... Was this what it was like when he did it to other
people?
Hai stepped forward, standing even closer, at arm's distance. He

pointed provocatively at his forehead.
"If you can drop me with your gun, you win. If you can't, or if you
can't even pull the trigger, you go back to your crew and don't
come back until you find wherever you lost your courage.
"I, High-Captain Lang Hai, of the Beaurte Marines, sanction this

contracted duel and absolve Tycondrius of Charm of any negative
repercussions from my injury or death!"
The crowd erupted in 'aahs' and 'ooh's, along with a smattering of

applause.
"Now..." Hai smirked arrogantly, now pointing both fingers at his

forehead, "Are you man enough to pull the trigger?"
Tycon stared at the shorter, younger boy. Was winning the wager
so easy? There were certainly loopholes to the bet. The simplest
and most obvious was Lang Hai's Abyssal Sea Wolf curse.
Judging from the performance of his crew at the Couture mansion,

each of the Beaurte Marines could easily ignore fatal injuries. As
Eilean demonstrated, with the easily accessible seawater, the
cursed Marines could even regenerate from their injuries at a
monstrous rate.
Tycon surmised that the salty port city air could trigger their
healing factor-- it was a theory reinforced by the fact that Rico still
lived, having bled profusely for several minutes.
With all of the boy's boasting that he was the Abyssal Sea Wolf
"Alpha", it was a given fact that his regeneration rate would be as
high-- likely higher than that of his subordinates.
A shot to the chest certainly wouldn't kill the boy. And he seemed
more than confident that he could survive a bullet to the brain.
...Tycon saw no negatives to the wager. Regardless of whether he

won or lost, he wouldn't pay a single copper. He also didn't see
any loopholes Hai could easily take advantage of.
He switched the safety off of his pistol.
...
High-Captain Lang Hai tried to keep his demeanor steady.

Was Lang Hai faster than a speeding bullet?
No.
He might be able to if he were on his ship, surrounded by the

ocean and bathed in sea mist. The more seawater he was in
contact with, the stronger and faster he was.
He could take a bullet as well as any Beaurte Marine. The Abyssal

Sea Wolf curse would heal any wound, though Hai would probably
forget what he had for breakfast at best, or forget how to use a
fork and knife for a few suns at worst.
The noble clicked his safety off, but Hai had figured the kid out,
one hundred percent. There was no way he was brave enough to
shoot him in the head. This bet was as good as won.
Tycon placed the barrel of his pistol against Hai's head.
Hai even adjusted the barrel with his finger, making certain it was
at the exact center of his forehead.
"Do it," Hai mocked.
The green-haired noble suddenly smirked.
Huh...
In a swift motion, the barrel that was pressed to his forehead fell.
The noble aimed down at Hai's kneecap.
Ahaha! What a tool! The noble couldn't bear the thought of killing
another person, so he changed his aim to a non-lethal shot! Hai
smugly celebrated inwardly. He was confident in taking a chunk of
iron in his brain! He could of course--
Wait, the knee?
Sea god's shite-box.
With a bang, the hot metal feeling seared up and down Hai's
entire leg. He felt his body begin to plummet to the ground, "That's
not fair! Why?! WHY THE KNEE??!?"
Chapter 127 The Negotiator
hurricane blur of motion rushed past Tycon, nearly knocking him

A
off of his feet.
There it was-- the loophole.
Private First Class Rico executed a running, jumping, triple-spin

high kick. Her boot smashed into High-Captain Lang Hai's face.
The boy's head collided against the wooden wall behind him. The
shop gained a few new cracks-- though they didn't look out of
place with the rest of the shop's ruined decor.
The Marine Captain did not fall.
The sandy-blonde, short-haired Rico stood on one leg with her

opposite pinning Hai's head against the cracked shop wall.
Her face was still bloody, swollen, and bruised; covered in tears
and snot. Her clothes were roughed, torn, and filthy with dirt and
wood dust. The areola of the girl's left breast was clearly in view,
but Tycon surmised that the uncouth drunkard probably didn't
care.
The seawater Eilean had poured on her enhanced the creature's

regenerative abilities to a frightening level.
Hai looked ridiculous. And his position was incredibly demeaning.

But Tycon had lost the wager.
"Cap'n Lang!" Rico yelled, "PFC Rico requests... THREE moons

of double rations!!"
The girl was a clever opportunist. Tycon could respect that. He

watched as Hai struggled to stand on his leg, but the bullet
shrapnel embedded in his kneecap looked to be more than he
could handle.
"Two… weeks." Hai's voice was muffled beneath the girl's boot,
"Best I can give you... is two weeks."
"Cap'n Lang!!" Rico yelled again, with no less enthusiasm.
"...What is it?"
"PFC Rico requests TWO moons of double rat's!!"
Hai sighed, "I'll give you ten business suns."
"DEAL!" Rico yelled, "Negotiation no jutsu!"
As the crowd began to disperse, Lieutenant Eilean approached

the elderly shopkeeper. She ran her fingers over the wax seal of a
rolled-up parchment before handing it to him. The old man
accepted it gingerly, not entirely trusting of the blind Sea Witch.
Eilean flashed a charming smile, "Mister Cartographer, here's tha

insurance policy we took upon anchorin' in port. Wish we could
get by withoot somethin' laek this."
Tycon's mouth twitched, "Have you had that this whole time?"
Eilean smiled back with chagrin, "Tha policy only covers soo
much, yer laerdship."
The snot-nosed female Marine unceremoniously heaved her High-

Captain over her shoulders, "Miss Eilean! I'mma carry Little Boss
back to the ship!"
"Rico, this is in no way necessary," the miserable wet noodle of a

boy complained.
Tycon chuckled, "That's right. If you hit the ground as a result of

my bullet, you lose the bet."
"Little Boss! I need to save you!" Rico insisted, "My 10 business

suns of double rat's are on the line!"
Hai grit his teeth, glaring at Tycon with his blood-red eyes,
"Whatever. Do what you want."
...
Tycon accompanied the High-Captain, Lieutenant, and PFC a

distance away from the pub and cartography shop, well away from
onlookers.
"I 'ad a right loovely sun, yer laerdship! Mayhaps yae'd like tae
'ccompany us back to the Elizabeth Dare?"
Lieutenant Eilean had been walking closer and closer to Tycon,

ever since she found out he was a baron. Tycon mulled over the
dilemma in his mind. The prospect of grilled Swordaxe-Fish steak
sorely tempted him.
High-Captain Lang Hai, still draped like a wet blanket over Rico,
let out a low growl, "Stay away from my Lieutenant, kid. She has a
dick. And it's bigger than yours."
The boy literally growled. Tycon found the concept novel.
"Och! Mind yer manners, Captain!" Eilean admonished, "If not fer
his laerdship, we'd 'vad a hunner yappy dugs clypin tae wan o'
Grand-Capitaine Chantal's galoots!"
Tycon had no idea what Eilean was saying.
"Yeah, BITCH!! Ehehe." Rico smirked at Tycon. One of her cuspid

teeth stuck out, outside her lips.
Tycon had no idea who Rico was talking to.
"Rico... Please shut up," Hai muttered.
Tycon decided to artfully segue into a new topic, "What's that

smell?"
Hai seemed to deflate, looking the most defeated Tycon had seen
thus far, "Rico pees herself when she's hurt, excited, or sad."
"Or hungry!" Rico added, cheerfully. "I'm trying my best to be
human!"
Which one was it? Tycon shrugged, "Human, huh? We're all trying
our best, young lady."
Rico gasped, smiling radiantly. It seemed Tycon's words had

struck a chord.
"I'm 4!" Rico volunteered.
"PFC Rico~" Lieutenant Eilean sang, "It'ull be easier fer ye tae

carry the Cap'n back if'n ye turn back tae naermal."
"Oh, right! I was so good at being human that I forgot!" Rico

purred.
Tycon grimaced. Was she, though?
The girl abruptly halted her movement, staring at the cloudless

sky. Her flesh began to warp, bones and cartilage crunching
together. Her skin began to shimmer in the sun, transforming into
a smooth bluish sea scale. Her jaws extended, but her stupid grin
and single misaligned tooth remained.
Rico stood on four bowed legs, her size easily bigger than a
horse, and likely weighing at least as much as Dragan.
"I'm a SEA WOLF!!" Rico barked.
"I can see that," Tycon patted her on the neck. It seemed
appropriate.
Hai somehow managed to look smug, still lying listlessly on Rico's

back, "The strongest Beaurte Marines can transform into Sea
Wolves."
Eilean interjected, "Rico's a bit strange innat she's a Sea Wolf 'at
turns intae a girl."
Hai crossed his arms, "Are ya scared now, ya noble prick?"

Tycon shook his head. There was no winning against the boy's
obstinance, "Sure. I'm terrified."
"Raaawr!!" Rico's tongue hung over her needle-like jaws like a

dog's.
Rico was not a smart girl, but she was a terrifying existence.
[Rico, Gold-Rank Calamity Beast]
Tycon forced a smile, "As much as I'd love to accompany you,

Lieutenant Eilean, I really must get back to my guild."
Tycon offered a hand, which Eilean shook. Disappointment was

painted on her face, "'At's a shame, innit?"
"Stay away from my ship," Hai insisted.
Eilean held her red skirt and gave a polite curtsy, "Bloud an'
Thunder, yer laerdship."
"I love you, Mister!!" Rico yelped.
Tycon smirked, "Death to the enemies of the Beaurte Marines."
He turned to walk away. Nothing good would come of dealing with

Lang Hai and his idiot crew.
The High-Captain's voice rang out at Tycon's back, "Fair winds

and following seas! Idiot!"
Chapter 128 The Unfortunate
he ship creaked and groaned a conversation with its single living

T
passenger.
"Don't talk to me like that..."
Tarquin Wroe stood defiantly on the ghost ship's main deck,

reprimanding the central mast.
"I raised you, and this is how you repay me?"
Through a series of fortunate-- but mostly unfortunate events

where Tarquin very nearly died, he managed to arrange for a ship
for Guild Invictus to sail upon.
The merchant ship he had contracted was transporting a

forbidden artifact of the sea god. One aquatic leviathan attack
later, the ship was dragged under the waves.
He washed ashore some time later, but was picked up by a

different merchant's ship that was returning to Caractere after a
long voyage.
The ship was transporting millions of silver's worth of trade goods

from the Holy Country. One pirate attack later, all of its sailors
were killed and the ship was left to drift.
Wroe was then picked up by the freebooters, who welcomed him

as a temporary addition to the crew. Including the Captain, who
dangerously wielded two pistols, the crew seemed to enjoy his
poetry.
One attack by the Royal Navy later, the ship was sunk to the
depths.
...Wroe wiped his eyes before a tear could fall. What was
important was that he had a ship, now! The Unfortunate cut
through the choppy waves almost silently, surrounded by cloudy
mist and illuminated by moonlight and stars.
Spirits and skeletons on the ship's deck moved with rote

remembrance of their living duties. Wroe watched as many
pantomimed with confused gestures. Ropes for rigging had long
ago rotted away, as did any semblance of stairs. Even so, ghostly
white sails rose up the mast and skeletons tirelessly climbed to
where their memories guided.
He found it a chore trying to order the undead around. He felt their

thoughts, but it was difficult to sort those from the ceaseless
groans of lingering emotions or otherworldly pain. This evening,
the mutterings of the ship contained anxious rambling and
excitement.
Wroe was left staring at the crack-ridden mast-- the point where
he felt the ship's soul the clearest. He pressed his forehead to the
structure with force, creating a muffled thud. Long at the mercy of
the ocean's depths, the wood was soft and stank of sea-rot,
covered in dead and dying barnacles and sea-dwelling parasites.
The endless voices Wroe ceased.
"We've arrived. Port City Caractere."
Wroe walked to the bow. Waving his hand to the side, the mists
split apart, granting him full view of the beautiful nighttime city.
"Now all I've gotta do is find Boss! My luck's finally turning

around!"
...
Lightning struck the ocean waters. Dark rain clouds were closing
quickly upon the small city, threatening to rob the light of the moon
from the city's defenders.
Hundreds of lanterns and braziers illuminated the port. Hundreds
more of the Kingdom's sailors stood, ready with ballistas,
anxiously carrying sword and crossbow.
Capitaine Geroux frowned. It was the middle of the night, but the
entire city was set in a panic as soon as the ghost ship was
spotted off the coast. With the tension in the air, Geroux couldn't
sleep even if he wanted to.
A ghost ship was a serious threat, a portent of a larger invasion.

Most of the young officers and enlisted didn't experience the
horrors of naval warfare against the undead of the Sleeping
Country.
But Geroux knew.
"Grand-Capitaine... There is still time. Shall we send word to the

Sea Wolves?"
A heavy wave crashed against the stone walkway, licking Grand-

Capitaine Chantal's boots and the bottom of her military coat. She
glared at the Geroux with her one eye, the other hidden behind a
riveted eyepatch, "You mean to call upon the 'boy'?"
She swept back her full, wavy, and unapologetically pink hair with
annoyance, "Don't bother. I can handle this *alone*."
Geroux felt a cold sweat of worry chill his back. As a young Naval
officer, he had seen the undeniable power of her predecessor,
Guillaume De la Croix, crushing entire ships with impunity during
battles with the Sleeping Country. If Grand-Capitaine Chantal was
even half the woman her adoptive father was, Port City Caractere
would see another sunrise. But if she wasn't...
Chantal walked to the edge of the docks, impervious to the

hurricane winds and the titanic battering of the waves. She raised
her arms to the storming skies.
The sailors held their collective breaths... At least old Geroux

knew he did.
Flashes of lightning illuminated white waves rumbling, at least 2
malms off the coast. Black, sinewy twists of flesh rose from the
depths... slowly, deliberately... until the faceless, toothy maw of the
creature nearly touched the clouds. All around it, churling,
misshapen tentacles whipped chaotically, each taller than 3 or 4
main masts, and thicker than 10 around.
As a thick wave began to form, the Sea Mages stepped forward to

shield the city.
Geroux shuddered from a deep, instinctual fear. The woman had

done it. She had summoned a leviathan... He had never seen its
main body before, and the dozens of red, staring eyes struck
horror in him at a primitive level. Guillaume had only summoned
its tentacles, each of the writhing black masses easily able to
smash several ships in close proximity. The main body, with over
a dozen of the ship-destroying appendages, could fend off an
entire fleet.
The leviathan stretched up to the sky, curving its body.
Light.
A harsh bluish-white light, not dissimilar to moonlight began to

form in a sphere in front of its mouth. As a resident of the
Kingdom, Geroux knew it well. The leviathan-- an existence
impossible to measure by the adventurer guilds' Metal-Rank
standards... was channeling an obscene amount of mana.
Capitaine Geroux stared helplessly at Grand-Capitaine Chantal

with a new fear. The woman wasn't a single, ship-destroying force.
She, alone, was a force equal to the entire Darktide Fleet.
The leviathan shot the beam of energy at the ghost ship, a white
blaze of devastating mana, cutting through both the ocean and the
night sky. Though Geroux and the sailors were forced to shield
their eyes, he knew that Chantal stood and watched to ensure her
enemies were annihilated.
It took several moments for the light to dissipate. The earth lightly
shook as the leviathan slowly sunk back into the ocean depths, its
impossible size being hidden away by the night's black waters.
The ghost ship was nowhere to be seen. With the leviathan's

disappearance, the seas had turned strangely calm and the storm
clouds were nowhere in sight. At the very end of the horizon,
dawn was beginning to break.
Port City Caractere had lived to see another sunrise.
Geroux forced his shaking hands still, his heart still pounding. If
only so much of the creature surfaced above the water... how
much was hidden?
The destroyed scout ship was a powerful warning to any potential

invaders.
Grand-Capitaine Chantal was not to be trifled with.

Chapter 129 Grand-Capitaine
ycon found himself sitting across from Maximus of Ezyria. They

T
sat on a tatami mat with a low table between them... in the central
room of the Kimura estate.
"...With your skills, you could join any guild in the Kingdom. Why
Sol Invictus?"
Without hesitation, the dovahkiin took the alcohol-filled cup on the

table.
Honesty. Unflinching determination. These were traits that Tycon

had admired in the man. And that was besides the fact that the
man's raw magical power exceeded that of every member in Sol
Invictus.
Maximus held the ceramic cup up in a toast, rice wine spilling from
its brim, "I know how you operate, Prince. Your guild has
produced the greatest champions Ezyria has seen in
generations."
Tycon shook his head, "From what I understand, it is you, Mister

Vanzano, who holds the title of Rex Gladiatores, the greatest
gladiator."
With a smirk, the dovahkiin lifted a blue-scaled arm, and drained

his cup in a single pull, "And with me, Sol Invictus is the strongest
guild in the history of the Holy Kingdom."
Tycon drained his own cup. He couldn't taste it, but he

remembered the sweet, nostalgic feeling from drinking Kagehisa
Yumiko's brew... "What is it you're really looking for, Gian
Vanzano?"
The paladin grinned and placed his fist against his chest, "To live
a warrior's life. And to die a warrior's death."
...
Tycon awoke in his inn room to a knocking on the door. Dreaming

of a dead man made him wake up late. He answered the door to
thank the innkeeper for the wake-up call.
Dragan and Lone had already left, clearly unwilling to accompany

Tycon to a boring meet-and-greet.
...According to Tycon's pocket watch, the scheduled meeting with

Fleet Admiral Chantal was in only a couple of bells.
Cursing inwardly in annoyance, Tycon began to change into his

silver armor. Clean, professional, with a Kingdom tabard of bright
blue. Dark iron sword with an ornamented hilt. Even though he
had Aurala's letter of introduction, he wanted to make a good
impression.
...
Admiral Chantal's Darktide Fleet was notorious for recruiting from

pirates and privateers, a tradition generations in the making. As
such, though her sailors wore a similar military coat, each wore
unique weapons, exotic sashes, and colorful bandanas. Strings of
superstitious trinkets and charms also seemed popular.
He had originally found it curious that he wasn't asked to

surrender his weapons upon entering
As Tycon was being led throughout Chantal's fort, he noticed no

less than 2 Iron-Ranks and several Bronze-Ranks. At any sign of
hostility or magical suspicion, Tycon surmised he'd be immediately
gutted... or undergo whatever horrible thing pirates were wont to
do. Perhaps take a long walk off of a short plank?
Chantal's waiting room looked to be the repurposed hull of a ship

with the interior stripped... Artful driftwood sculptures. Ornate,
heavy-wooded chairs and tables with a selection of hors
d'oeuvres. Large gold-plated porthole windows, lining each wall. A
massive skeletal shark, hanging above the seating area.
There were little lights on it. Clever. Chandelier-Shark.

Chandelark? Shark-delier?
...Did sharks even have bones?
A painting of the Fleet Admiral stared at guests with judgmental

eyes. The woman had a full head of wavy, pink hair that fell down
to her shoulders and a symmetrical, aesthetically pleasing face.
The sharp tricorne and the stylized eyepatch she wore spoke of
her fashionable piracy. The dark oils and jagged cross-hatching
used in the painting insinuated grim intimidation, no-nonsense
beauty rather than soft, feminine wiles.
Tycon respected that.
The double-doors to Chantal's office burst open as a leather-

armored sailor tumbled into the waiting room and onto his back.
Blood ran down his nose and mouth as he struggled to his feet
and drew his cutlass.
[Pirate Captain, Bronze-Rank Sailor]
The man spat out a tooth, red in face, "Ye'll pay fer that, ye gods-
damned bitch!"
The Fleet Admiral walked out of her office with an expression

curled in disdain. In her left hand, she held what appeared to be a
bent brass candelabra.
[Chantal De la Croix, Iron-Rank Beast Contractor]
Fleet Admiral Chantal De la Croix stood slightly over 6 fulms tall,

towering over the bleeding pirate and Tycon both. The painting's
artist did not embellish the woman's features. Like in the painting,
the woman wore a military coat, a colorful gold sash, and had
clear, unmarred skin. Not displayed in the painting was the
woman's wide birthing hips.
She was probably a very attractive woman, not that Tycon
particularly cared.
Even though the pirate captain was both armed and furious, the
brazen woman tossed her improvised weapon away and strode
within arm's length of him, "You do *not* attack ships flying my
Darktide flag, Monsieur-Capitaine. You *will* return the stolen
goods, as well as offer reparations for the casualties."
No threats. Just orders. Tycon would have liked her more if the
System hadn't colored the transparent name over her head a
worrisome yellow.
The pirate slashed his cutlass left and right in a flourish, "Ye one-
eyed, thrice-damned, greedy whore! The only thing ye'll get from
me is steel!"
Chantal snatched the pirate by the throat and lifted him nearly two
fulms up, clear off of the lacquered flooring, "There are worse
things to fear than steel."
Tycon placed a hand on his hilt, "Would you like some assistance,
Grand-Capitaine?"
She spared Tycon a casual glance, "Nah, I'm good."
The transparent yellow over her head turned to green. Tycon was
pleased but kept a professional, neutral expression.
The nearby table was covered in hard breads, cheeses, fruit

preserves, and cured sausages. Chantal choke-slammed the man
onto it. With a powerful heave, the woman flipped the man onto
his face, then dragged the man across said table, through broken
dishes, shattered glass, and burning candles.
Tycon managed to save a wooden charcuterie board.
At the end of the table was a large fireplace, filled with a heap of
crackling firewood. Chantal tossed the man in. His burning agony,
known to all by his pain-wracked screams, reverberated
throughout the room. Within moments, the front doors flew open
and half-a-dozen Darktide sailors filed in with swords and pistols
drawn.
Tycon glanced to a small corner of the fireplace. Trying not to

make any sudden movement, he walked over, picked up the
handle of the burning-hot branding iron and offered it to Chantal.
She accepted it with a vibrant smile, "Thank you, Monsieur."
"Of course, Grand-Capitaine."
The man's flesh sizzled as she branded him. The man began to
scream louder.
The hauntingly sweet smell of cooked meat pervaded the room.

Was it faux pas to sample the charcuterie? ...No one seemed to
be watching.
Chantal turned her back on both Tycon and the burning pirate,
"Hang this piece of meat from the gallows. Use the meathooks."
A younger sailor saluted, "At once, Grand-Capitaine? And the

crew?"
"Have them sold to pay their Captain's debts."
Tycon swallowed, trying his best to keep his face impassive.

Caractere was not beholden to the Kingdom's laws, which forbid
slavery. Instead, Grand-Capitaine Chantal was the sole lawmaker
in the Port City.
The sailor hesitated, "Grand-Capitaine, the uh... the Council has

outlawed slavery."
Chantal crossed her arms, the upper buttons on her jacket,

threatening to burst, "Sea god's scales! Take them out and have
them shot! ...And get this mess cleaned up!"
"Y-yes, Grand-Capitaine!" Half of the sailors immediately fled the

room, while the others busied themselves with cleaning the
broken glass and ceramics.
Tycon gingerly placed the charcuterie board back down on a
table.
Seeming to spot Tycon's movement, the tall woman turned and

glared down at him, "And why are you still here, Monsieur?"
Tycon tried to slow his heart rate as his mind prepared his speech,
each word calculated to not cause any offense, "About that..."
The transparent name above the woman's head had reverted to

yellow.
Chapter 130 Enemy Territory
ieutenant Eilean of the Beaurte Marines swept aside her orange

L
hair and reclined on the luxurious leather couch. She loved the
feel of it against her silk dress, adorned by witch-bone and gull-
feather charms. She adjusted the dark cloth over her eyes and
sighed. It covered the knife scars from an epoch past but was
unable to hide her concern.
"Cap'n..."
"What?" High-Captain Lang Hai turned, annoyed at the

interruption.
"Are ye *tryin* to run a hole in the deck? Ye've been pacin' fer
naerly ten minutes now, Cap'n~"
"I'm. Thinking," Hai puffed his cheeks like a guilty child.
Lang Hai had stopped aging when he was about 16... and he was
smaller than other boys his age. As capable as he was at fighting
and giving out orders, he spoke and acted more freely around his
officers.
The Captain had done an impressive amount of work in looking as

handsome as possible. With great inconvenience, he sharply
creased his trousers and straightened the dark, formal coat. The
insignias on his epaulettes glinted off of the lights, highlighting him
as a Marine Officer. His dressed and shined boots clunked against
the wooden deck in quick, even rhythm as he walked.
"Y'know," Eilean offered, "being the Admiral of the Sea Wolf Fleet,
ye didn't hafta surrender yer cutlass an' pistols."
...
"No. No weapons," Hai continued to pace, his back breaking out
into a cold sweat.
He stood on *her* ground. Pirate Queen Chantal De la Croix.

Fleet Admiral of the Royal Navy. The Grand-Capitaine refused the
honor of being called by her father's name, insisting on being
called Chantal.
The more he thought about it, the more he felt his sanity chip and
crumble. He stood at the center of the massive room, easily as
large as a hull in one of his corvette-class ships. But he almost felt
like he was drowning in the endless depths of the abyss.
He turned suddenly, surprising the Sea Witch, "This is her base...

her castle! We're on enemy ground, Lieutenant!"
"So izzat wot this is aboot?" Eilean snickered herself into a

giggling fit.
Lang Hai gulped as he remembered meeting her. The woman was

a monster, ruthless, savage, a fearsome creature born for combat,
immune to sword and claw. She struck without mercy. And she
would not stop until she tore Hai into itty-bitty pieces.
"Ye tidied up ta impress a bonnie lass," said the witch.

"Springtime's finally come fer the great an' powerful Sea Wolf
Cap'n! Och! I'm so prroud!"
Lang Hai felt a drop in the pit of his stomach.
Eilean tried to be optimistic, "Jus' bein in this room ah feel like

we're rich folk! It's nice tae pretend, innit? Wot's on yer mind,
Cap'n?"
Lang Hai breathed in deep. The worry, the frustrations, the cold,
deep-seated fear that threatened to rend his throbbing heart in
twain, he shut them away.
"I hate this place.

"I hate these expensive chairs. I hate this rich, imported ebony
wood table.
"I hate how there's food set out! And that it smells like barbecued
meat!
"I hate that gigantic, imposing staring portrait that makes Chantal's
breasts look like overripe melons!
"I hate that she doesn't limit how many sugar cubes you can put
into the tea...
"I hate the absolutely gigantic shark skeleton hanging on the

ceiling, with all the little lights, some sort of great white
chandelier!"
"His name is Charlie," the sea witch chided. "I love him."
"And. I definitely. Hate. That you, First Lieutenant Eilean. Are

enjoying yourself. In enemy. Territory."
Eilean gasped in feigned shock, "Cap'n! That's hardly fair! How

cannae fully 'preciate the Grand-Capitaine's fineries if I cannae
even see?"
Hai scowled. When he wasn't looking, the woman had left the
comfort of her reclining couch, "You're lying on a seal-fur rug."
"Indeed I am, Cap'n," Eilean purred.
Lang Hai took a deep breath. He needed to keep his wits about
him. He needed to wait patiently until Chantal was done with
whomever she was meeting. Then he just had to patiently ask
permission to sail in her waters.
Regardless of her answer, he'd withdraw back to the ships and

sail away-- never to return.
The rage and fear drained out of Lang Hai's body, replaced only
with hollow fatigue. He stared at the double doors of Chantal's
office in dread. In that room, Hai wouldn't even have the luxury of
Eilean's idiocy to calm him.
At least he left Rico with Eleven. The bastard would probably have
preferred a vacation through the seven hells.
Out of frustration, Lang Hai sat where he stood, trying to ignore

the vaguely sexual cat noises his Lieutenant was making.
And he hated how soft the rug was.
...
[A short time earlier.]
Beast Contractor. Tycondrius was wary of the Fleet Admiral's

class. From what he knew, its Skills didn't lend itself well to
physical combat, but the power of the Contractor varied based on
his or her creature (or creatures.) As an Iron-Rank, she was more
than capable of attaining and keeping her position as Fleet
Admiral.
She was far too confident... far too heavy-handed... and far too
young for her contract ability to be simple.
Thankfully, the Fleet Admiral-- err... she preferred the title Grand-
Capitaine Chantal, softened considerably upon discovering
Tycon's friendship with Princess Aurala. It seemed the two had a
rapport and mutually supported the other.
As strict as Chantal appeared, she spoke freely and amicably to

Tycon in the Kingdom's old language. She asked about Aurala.
She spoke kindly of the deceased Wind General Naedrielle. She
asked if Tycon had run into any trouble in Caractere.
She also asked if one 'Levi Wolfrider' had a relationship with Guild
Invictus. The gentleman had been arrested for thievery. Tycon
flatly denied that he was.
Wolfrider wasn't related to it. He was one of its members.
It was nice to be human, lying as he liked in order to keep the

peace. More powerful persons, particularly those with mana-rich
bloodlines did not have the same luxury.
They discussed their favorite desserts. Tycon was partial to a
savory crepe. Chantal confided that she would commit murder for
ice cream-- chocolate, in particular.
Tycon's respect for Chantal was solidified. Her clothing was

utilitarian-- comfortable, well-fitting trousers as opposed to
something like Eilean's ruffled skirt. Discussing Caractere's state
of affairs, Tycon discovered Chantal was also a confident and
intelligent leader. The woman also eschewed the use of perfume
oils, an atypical but welcome trait.
It was unfortunate that the Fleet Admiral couldn't help him.
"(I understand your difficulty, Tycon, but the Darktide Fleet can't
afford to spare ships or sailors. A possible incursion from Fernia
would be better handled by the Kingdom's ground forces and I'm
sure Aurala has already sent word to Commander Darro),"
Chantal refused him without mincing her words.
Tycon sighed, "(Chantal, Is there nothing to be done?)"
The woman gave a sly smirk, "(The Royal Navy will offer her
services.)"
It was a dangerous smile.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "(I'd rather trust a person than an

institution, Captain.)"
Chantal scoffed, "(Haven't you heard?) *I* am the Royal Navy,

young Baron. I shoulder her grievances and her faults. And I am
her terrible wrath."
The woman offered a hand forward, "(You will have your help. You
have my word.)"
Tycon smiled in relief and took her hand. There was no greater
guarantee.
Chapter 131 Simple Request
Chantal led Tycon out of her office, back into the waiting room.
"(Mister Baron, allow me to introduce you to the High-Captain and

First Lieutenant of the Sea Wolf fleet. As peculiar as they are, the
Sea Wolves are one of the most... efficient fleets we have.)"
Eilean and Lang Hai were lying on the rugs, stretching out like
cats.
The Sea Witch stood up with a gasp, smiling brightly.
The boy struggled to his feet, but Eilean quickly assisted him up.
Tycon shouldn't have been surprised. The young, troublemaking

captain and his cunning lieutenant were stationed in Beaurte.
Anchoring port in Caractere, they naturally needed to meet with
Chantal, their superior officer.
Eilean wore a more formal red dress that accentuated her well-
maintained hourglass figure. Tycon found the dress, combined
with her vivacious orange hair and the gloss of her lipstick, to be
aesthetically pleasing. Among her bone charms, she also wore a
Mureina Eel skull, which Tycon had gifted her (cheaply,) a few
suns prior.
Hai placed some effort in looking crisp and clean in his full
uniform: trousers, coat, and a captain's flat-topped hat. The back
of the boy-Captain's hair stood up, somewhat lessening the dignity
of his appearance.
It seemed that the Sea Wolves were cognizant enough to know

that bringing the one known as Rico was not in their best
interests. Tycon was briefly thankful that his own guild members
weren't so problematic.
...Minus Wolfbanger, who apparently was arrested for stealing.
Tycon turned to Chantal and forced the best smile he could

muster, "(The Sea Wolves. I've... heard so much about them.)"
Chantal nodded, her gaze drifting into the past, "(I've known High-
Captain Lang Hai for nearly an epoch now. The previous Beaurte
Fleet Admiral was... a rival of my father.)"
...
High-Captain Lang Hai stood with his Lieutenant's help and took
off his hat.
He couldn't help but stare. Grand-Capitaine Chantal De la Croix

had flitted in from her office, embodying the grace of a legendary
mermaid.
Realizing his distraction, his gaze hardened, his eyes flashing in

abyssal black.
It was no dream. She was Lang Hai's nightmare.
Lieutenant Eilean licked the entirety of her hand.
"Hold still, Cap'n," she whispered as she mussed his hair. "Cain't
'ave you all clarty in front've the loove of yer life."
She tried her best to smooth out the hair on the back of Hai's
head.
"Not... now! Eilean!" Hai struggled out of her grasp before

standing rigidly at attention. Waiting. For… Capitaine Chantal to
notice him.
She was conversing with some green-haired knight that Hai didn't
know in the old language of the Kingdom.
"Oooah, Baron Tycondrius is sooo handsome in armor," Eilean

swooned in a hushed voice.
Ohhhh. THAT GUY! Aha! That noble prick must have used a
disguise kit to trick him! But he couldn't trick Eilean's superior
senses (besides vision, anyroad.) Hai was glad he brought his
Lieutenant!
"Grand-Capitaine Lang Hai," Chantal approached with a dreamy

smile. "And Lieutenant Eilean. It's been years."
"It's grrreat ta see you, Grand-Capitaine!" Eilean said with her

stupid voice.
This was it. He was standing right next to the nightmare-woman,

close enough that she could wring her elegant, glossy-nailed
hands around his neck. Afterward, she'd have him shot!
The devilish woman's perfume was intoxicating. And there was

too much of it! Hai's head spun and his heart was beating out of
his chest. If he were a weaker man, his legs might have given out,
but his training prevailed. He could stand at attention for hours as
if his spine was a ramrod of steel.
Chantal pressed a long finger to her luscious lips and smiled to

Eilean, "As for your visit... Is the Sea Wolf Capitaine here to finally
assassinate me?"
Hai's face turned to disgust. It sickened him that Chantal had

decided to wear such a seductive outfit. Her Naval trousers,
meant for utility, betrayed the shapeliness of her perfect legs, thick
and powerful enough to fell sea monsters with lightning-strike
kicks. Her unreasonably massive breasts threatened to spill out of
her coat and the white, almost-see-through blouse, underneath.
Chantal was a disaster, a calamity overly capable of dooming men

to their doom! But Lang Hai knew better! He would not fall for her
charms! Those who tried to win the favor of Grand-Capitaine
Chantal were doomed to plummet to the infinite depths of the
abyss! Of doom!
...
Tycon narrowed his eyes.

The 14-year-old boy was suffering some sort of malfunction,
staring with his mouth agape. Hai had been... strangely quiet, for
a boy who loved the sound of his own voice.
After a moment of consideration, Tycon decided that he didn't

care. He'd simply enjoy hearing less idiocy in his presence,
"What's this about an assassination?"
"Och aye! I 'eard the spraff a few moons back, meself!" Eilean
was eager to share.
Tycon focused on what the woman had to say, trying to discern

her meaning. If she spoke another language, his System could
translate her. She spoke the Common tongue... but there was so
much slang and colloquialisms in her diction that Tycon had to
heavily rely on context.
Seldin Korr spoke in circles. Wroe spoke in eldritch riddles and

omens. Aurala was literally from a different world. Sorina Capulet
and the language of Business... Tycon didn't even try
understanding her.
What he managed from the Sea Witch was this: When Lang Hai
was about ten, (which was somehow over an epoch ago,) he
hatched a foolish plan to assassinate Chantal's predecessor,
Admiral Gulliame De la Croix, and take over his ship and crew. He
did so without stealth or guile, challenging the man in front of
sailors and Marines from both the Darktide and Beaurte fleets, his
own Admiral; and, at-the-time, First Mate Chantal.
She beat the boy half-to-death with her bare hands. Eilean
described a few of the more fantastical rumors surrounding the
event, which Chantal neither denied or confirmed. The Fleet
Admiral did chuckle in amusement at a few of them, though.
She was a terrifying woman.
"Anyroad, it's nice to see you, Little Captain," Chantal offered a

handshake.
Shocked out of his daze, the boy stood at an even stricter stance
of attention and saluted.
Tycon pursed his lips. The boy had saluted with such force that he
struck his own head with an absurd 'pak' noise. Other than that, it
was the crispest, sharpest salute Tycon had ever seen.
Lieutenant Eilean slowly lowered the boy's flat-topped captain's

hat back on his head, effectively hiding his cowlick.
"Grand-Capitaine Lang Hai, reporting to Fleet Admiral Chantal!"

Hai bellowed.
The boy had artificially lowered his voice to an absurd level.

Chantal's mouth twitched as she retracted her hand and crossed
her arms.
"Sea god's socks, this is pure barry!" Eilean giggled.
Tycon resisted the urge to hide his face in his hands. Lang Hai
was turning redder than a reefclaw, "Captain Lang, humans need
to breathe in order to remain conscious."
...
This was it! This was Lang Hai's shining moment! All he had to do
was demand the right to anchor at Port Caractere and to sail her
waters!
"Grand-Capitaine Chantal De la Croix--"
Great, so far! Now to do the demanding!
"I, humbly request--"
No! Wrong! Go back!
"I, High-Captain Lang Hai of the Beaurte Marines--"
Yes, insert a cool title to establish dominance! Lang Hai, the

Abyssal Sea Wolf! Of the Sea Wolves!
"--your most loyal servant, humbly requests-- to... to go out."
Wait, what?
That stupid noble, Tycon, had grasped his mouth and chin with his
hand. Eilean had her hands clasped together, flashing the most
annoying smile in the Kingdom.
Lang Hai coughed a short, careful cough. He was calm. He

quelled the feeling of wanting to vomit. He still held the salute, but
his hand was wavering.
"The ships. The ships to go out. The Marine ships to go out into…
Darktide waters... Where we will be doing… ship things. For the
Kingdom. Which we both belong to."
Chapter 132 Freedom Of
Choice
ycon struggled to understand Lang Hai's true intentions. Was his

T
goal to go on a personal outing with his superior officer? Or was it
to gain permission for his ships to sail the waters around
Caractere?
Should he applaud the boy-Captain for his brazen courage? ...Or

would it be more socially beneficial to retrieve Chantal's branding
iron?
The Fleet Admiral did not appear to be pleased. Her mouth was
twitching and she wore an out-of-place, artificial smile,, "Captain
Lang. My office. *Now.*"
Abruptly, the woman spun on her heel and walked back into her
office.
Tycon still hadn't received an answer on just how he would attain

a ship. Out of concern for the tense situation, he chose to remain
silent. Chantal had already promised her assistance and Tycon
would not question her sincerity.
Considering Tycon's remaining options... Tarquin Wroe proved

unreliable. And finding a merchant's ship willing to take them on
such a treacherous voyage could take weeks or moons. No, he
would place his trust in the Royal Navy.
High-Captain Lang Hai gave his hat to Sea Witch Eilean. The
pitiful way he looked at the blind woman made it look like he was
pleading for help.
Eilean hopped giddily, "Och aye, a clandestine tryst! A tale of two

star-crossed lovers! Cap'n! It's so romantic!"
He snatched his hat back and thrust it into Tycon's hands.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, taking hold of the black-brimmed, white

hat. Was this an implied sign of trust? Why were they looking at
him?
"Uh... Ahem." Tycon cleared his throat. He felt obligated to say

something polite, "You'll be fine, young man..."
« System, inquiry: Why is this boy's face turning purple? »
[System response: Target's skin color is a result of the target's

oxygen levels dropping below 80%.]
What a strange child.
"May I suggest you take a deep breath," Tycon offered. "I daresay
that collapsing would appear unprofessional."
...
High-Captain Lang Hai trudged slowly towards the stage of the

final battle. Each step was heavy, weighted with regret. He wasn't
ready. And the intoxicating scent of Fleet Admiral Chantal De la
Croix only catalyzed his anxiety.
Eilean called after him, "Stop dragging yer feet, Cap'n!"
"I'm not," Hai responded listlessly. He continued to drag his feet

on Chantal's stupidly expensive lacquered hardwood floors.
Entering Chantal's office, he shut the massive wooden doors

behind him. He was such a fool... He had willingly caged himself
in with danger, personified.
Papers were stacked, neatly and sensibly, on various tables and

desks-- each of them likely one of Chantal's super-important
Fleet-Admiral-y issues. Coin flowed through Caractere,
threatening to spill out of its coffers, much like Chantal's logic-
defying bust out of her coat.
Hai had to ration sugar. And use secondhand gear. And sail ships
with big holes in their hulls. And as far as anything spilling out,
Eilean's belly muffin-topping over her skirt wasn't worth
celebrating, at all.
Model ships of Captains-past were displayed on shelves covering

each wall... Hai could almost hear the whispers of their old ghosts
mocking him for having the gall to face the Fleet Admiral... But he
had to! He wanted to sail through her jurisdiction. He had to
professionally inform her, as a sign of respect.
As a High-Captain of the Royal Navy, he technically had free reign

in any and all waters in the Kingdom... But the thought of
offending Chantal... it made his cursed blood run cold.
It was the scent that troubled Hai the most. Ariavenna's wicked,
noxious perfume covered everything in her office. If it wasn't a
misty poison, Hai reasoned that it must be some kind of
malevolent mind-control mana, its purpose to keep rational
thinkers from thinking-- rationally.
Hai pomf'd down onto a luxurious, velvety backless stool, opposite

Chantal.
She reclined back on her desk, striking a seductive pose, "Sea

god's beard, Lang Hai. What the hells was that about?"
She grabbed the pistol on her desk and casually pointed it at him.
There it was. He was about to be shot. It was almost refreshing.

Hai thought Chantal would rend him into tiny shreds before being
taken out and shot.
Wait, was this good? She was being so serious! Was this the next
step to her saying they could go out? Maybe she was going to lay
down some ground rules-- No! Hai felt his face begin to burn red.
He wasn't mentally ready!
...
Sea Witch Eilean had pressed her ear against the office door,
wiggling her behind coquettishly.
Tycon ignored it. He held an empty cup to the door and pressed
his ear to its base. If he was to utilize a low skill like
eavesdropping, Tycon insisted on doing so with efficiency.
"I'm a wee bit worried about tha Cap'n," Eilean whispered.
"Hai can literally regenerate from deadly wounds," Tycon said

matter-of-factly... "And I doubt he'd die even if Chantal kills him."
Eilean whipped around to show Tycon her puffed up cheeks, "Ah

mean, 'asides that! Marines and sailors dunnae get along. It's
been 'at way fer generations."
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "That makes no sense. You're part of

the same Navy."
The Sea Witch shrugged, "Just 'ow it is. An' worse still, the
Darktide Fleet's got a black hist'ry with recruitin' from pirates. A lot
of 'em 'av seen the wrong side of Marine raids. Yanno we dunnae
shoot warning shots?"
"Weaklings die." Tycon narrowed his eyes, "What's the big deal?"
"The prrevious Darktide Admiral died tae strange circumstance.

He went off-grrid fer a few moons an' ended up gettin' 'imself killed
by the last Beaurte Admiral. Dereliction of duty's wot they said."
The pieces began to fall together in Tycon's mind, "And there's

particular importance of the previous Darktide Admiral?"
Eilean grimaced, "His name was Guilliame De la Croix. He was

Grand-Capitaine Chantal's father."
Tycon nodded slowly in understanding, "I see how that could

complicate things... But tell me, Eilean, why have the Sea Wolves
come to Port Caractere? What could be worth provoking the Fleet
Admiral, all things considered?"
She shook her head, "I tried tae convince 'im otherwise, but he
wouldn't have any of it. Raiders 'ave taken men and women from
o'er a dozen villages back home... and we've followed 'em this
faer."
Tycon still wasn't convinced, "And your Captain values those

villagers?"
Eilean smiled weakly, "Aye, he does. The Cap'n'll deny it outright

if'n ye ask 'em, but his heart bleeds fer the slaves... sons and
daughters, all. We all deserve freedom tae choose our masters..."
...
Click. Chantal switched off the safety on her pistol, snapping Lang
Hai out of his reverie.
"The Darktide Fleet and the Beaurte Marines have *never* seen
eye-to-eye." Chantal's voice was deep, sonorous, and womanly, "I
do not appreciate being mocked, Capitaine."
What?! How in the seven hells did Chantal not believe him? It was
a simple request! And what did this have to do with the 'Beaurte
Marines' in the past?
"That's ridiculous!" Hai stood up and shouted, "I've never cared

about who came before me. And it doesn't matter what other
Marines approached you before!"
All those disgusting sycophants, trying to curry for her favor...

Their very existence disgusted Lang Hai.
Chantal raised an eyebrow, "Wait, what?"
Hai moved towards Chantal, placing his hands on the desk beside
her shapely thighs. Her pistol barrel pressed against his chest,
ready to pierce his heart, but he didn't care. He leaned forward,
ilms away from the woman's face.
"I'm different from them!! I'm-- I'm serious about you!

"You're the only one who matters, Chantal!" Hai declared. "And I'm
here to tell you how I feel-- that I care about establishing a
relationship between us."
Chantal's mouth hung open, her plump lips glistening. Her eyes
narrowed, her long eyelashes fluttery and beauteous.
The atmosphere in the room seemed to change.
Sea god's socks.
What was it?
Hai gulped. Did he say something wrong? Why did he feel a

sense of dread?
...Was he going to be killed?

Chapter 133 Abyssal Sea Wolf
igh-Captain Lang Hai mentally recounted his words. What did he

H
say? Fleet Admiral Chantal was staring at him like he was a blue
reefclaw... but he still got the sense that she wanted to shoot him.
Oh.
Ohhhhhh.
"WORK!" Lang Hai slammed her desk with both of his hands, his
face as red as a normal-colored reefclaw.
That's what he was supposed to be talking about! He began

gasping for air as if his chest was being crushed by the watery
depths of the abyss. Sweat was pouring out of every surface of
his body!
Where was his heartbeat? Did it stop? Was he dead?
"A WORKING-- a working relationship. With you. Grand-

Capitaine," Hai proclaimed, flailing his arms.
Lang Hai stepped back and glued his eyes to the shiny wooden
flooring. He poked his two index fingers together, "Y'know, we sail
the ships. We beat the bad guys."
"Doot, doo! Doo!" Hai made little cannon shooting noises. He had
retrieved one of Chantal's model ships displayed on a wall mantle.
"Crshhh," he voiced a little crashing sound of a second ship

getting hit by cannon fire.
Lang Hai had gotten ahold of a second model ship and was
demonstrating, "Oh noes! Sea Wolves have boarded the ship! All
us bad guys are gonna die!"
"Behhhhhhhh," a groaning death-rattle. He pantomimed the
second ship sinking beneath the waves.
This was how Lang Hai had to explain some missions to the
Marines and Sailors under his command. It worked far better than
explaining normally. And Eilean and Rico always praised him for
the sound effects he made.
Lang Hai was a man of many talents.
Chantal clicked her pistol safety back into place and holstered the
weapon. Eh? Was Hai not going to be killed? Whew. It took a lot
of effort to impress the woman, but Hai was glad that he had
developed his theatrical skill to such a high rank.
She snatched back the two ships Hai was holding, "I can't bloody
believe you, Lang Hai. First, you embarrass me in front of my
guest and now, you blatantly disrespect the ships of previous
Grand-Capitaines-- To. My Face?"
Hai felt very small, his face burning with embarrassment.
Chantal groaned, grinding her teeth in frustration, "Get back. Go...

Just-- sit down."
Hai plopped back onto the backless chair. He did as he was told.
He knew how to take orders. He'd been doing it for years. The
only reason he'd replaced his predecessor, High-Captain
Langqiang, was because he listened to orders and he managed to
outlive the old bastard.
Chantal was livid, her voice deep with indignation, "On the
mantles of these walls are the *sacred* ships of privateers and
voyagers that have devoted their lives in service of the Kingdom."
Hai grit his teeth and crossed his arms so he wouldn't lash out at
the Fleet Admiral. He was being scolded like a child. Chantal
didn't shoot him, but with the humiliation he was enduring, he
would have rather she did.
Chantal carefully returned the two model ships back on their
mantles, "The Darktide Fleet has a proud history... but we're all
just pirates to you-- aren't we, Lang?"
Hai pouted. He didn't see what the big deal was.
Stomping over to Hai, she drew her pistol and smashed its handle
atop his forehead, "You have no place besmirching their honor
with your fingers."
"Owww!" Lang Hai held his head with both hands, stifling a growl.
He felt his skin bruise. And he felt the scalding warmth of his
Abyssal Wolf blood pulsing to immediately heal the injury.
"If you're here for a treaty between your people and mine, as Fleet
Admiral, I'll grant it." Chantal glared. "But I will *never* forgive you
or your precious Marines."
"No point to a treaty, Chantal," Hai grumbled, his words dripping

with annoyance.
The woman raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms, "Did I give you
permission to speak?"
Lang Hai felt the mana rush into his eyes. His entire body
trembled and ached. He was beginning to lose control. He felt the
sclera of his eyes turn black, a blurry haze clouding his vision.
"As offended as you are that we exist... As long as the Kingdom's

ships sail, men exist to protect them," Hai spoke through clenched
teeth. His words were slow and measured, trying and failing to
reign in his emotions. "Your own 'sacred' ship included."
Chantal scoffed, "We don't need you. According to the illustrious

history of our Royal Navy--"
"--The Marines have existed far longer than your sailors. Who did
you think protected your ships while they were being built?" Hai
felt his bones cracking and growing, his teeth elongating to
needles and his skin hardening into smooth scale. His body
instinctively forced his transformation when his anger grew and he
was quickly forgetting why he cared to stop it in the first place.
Hai swiped his hand in a cutting motion, "I do not care for the
actions of my predecessors. I do not care to judge between
privateering or piracy. Nor do I care whether you're the most
beautiful woman in the Kingdom or across all the realms,
combined!!"
With a feeling like wood screws drilling out of Hai's back, four thick
bubbles on the skin broke, viscous blood drenching his coat. Four
long-spined tentacles emerged and fin-like spines erupted from
his skull. In his human form, Hai stood a head shorter than
Chantal. Completely transformed into a hybrid Abyssal Sea Wolf,
Hai glowered down at her, nearly twice the long-legged woman's
height.
"WE serve the Kingdom. WE are sworn to duty and bound by

honor. We are Marines!!" Hai's voice took on an inhumanly low
gargle, that of a monster imitating a man, "Every Sailor in your
charge is under OUR protection! MY protection!!"
Hai looked down at his massive claws, now webbed, thin and
knurled, and reached it down towards Grand-Capitaine Chantal.
He tilted the woman's flawless face up to gaze into the glassy
black-sclera of his eyes.
"And if the enemies of the Kingdom so dare to touch a single hair

on your head, I'd charge into the deepest depths of the Abyss to
rescue you."
Chantal narrowed her eyes, hesitating... "If not for a treaty, then
why are you here?"
Hai sighed deeply, shuddering and subconsciously allowing a

clicking noise to emanate from his gullet.
"Slavers. They've taken my people-- people protected by MY

Kingdom. They seek refuge in Darktide waters. They think they've
outsmarted me. They think they're safe."
He growled, wheezing the salty air, wondering why. Why would
they dare? Why couldn't he crush them, chew them up, tear them
apart?
"I don't care how many they've taken, how long they've been
doing it, who they're protected by... One single child taken,
Chantal, and I will not rest until I drain the blood of a thousand."
He felt the thrumming of his insides. He turned his head upward,

raising the fins on his head, back, and arms, and loosed a guttural
rattle. Why couldn't he set sail right now and kill until he was
satisfied?
Hai gazed his glossy eyes at Grand-Capitaine Chantal, misty and

distorted without the seawater. As he stared at her, even in his
monstrous form, he felt his heart shudder.
It was her. Yes, he feared her. He fought and struggled against a

desire to obey her every whim? But why? It made no sense.
"I don't need your permission to sail your waters, Chantal."
Hai curled his lips back, revealing a wicked maw of rows and rows
of needle-like teeth, the transformed musculature making him
unable to smile or frown. He was pissed. He was indignant. He
was afraid. He was vengeful. Hai didn't know how to feel, and he
was glad for once that his cursed face couldn't show his emotions.
"I'm telling you that my Sea Wolves are going hunting."

Chapter 134 Cooperation
" Wod ye bloody move, Tycon?? if'n ye keep so close, I cannae

hear o'er the sound of me beatin' heart!!"
Eilean tried to shove Tycon with her shapely behind. He didn't

budge. Even using her body weight, the petite Sea Witch was not
very strong.
Undeterred, Tycon continued placing his ear on the cup held to

the door, "Have you considered respecting your Captain's privacy,
Eilean?"
"Hald yer wheesht, ye boak potato."
Tycon poked the back of the woman's orange head, "What does
that even mean?"
"It's a starchy tuber 'at ye can shove up yer arse, err... yer
laerdship. Now shoosh yer gob!"
Tycon grimaced. There was another reason he missed Aurala.

The princess would never suggest shoving a root vegetable up his
arse.
The two remained at the door, catching bits and pieces of Hai's
and Chantal's conversation. There was a bit of moaning, but
Tycon highly doubted anything of a sexual nature was happening
behind the closed doors.
Eilean, however, remained both positive and giddy, "OooOoh I

hoop the wee Cap'n can take the Lady out on the skite."
Tycon sighed, "As reluctant as I am to admit this, I also hope he's

doing well."
...
Fleet Admiral Chantal, the Grand-Capitaine of the Darktide Fleet,

gazed up at the 12 fulm tall Lang Hai. The twerp had transformed
into a strange needle-mouthed hybrid fish, complete with swirling
tentacles and black, beady eyes.
Half of the words the Little Captain spoke, he immediately made

excuses for. The other half... as absurd as his phrasing was, she
could not deny his honesty. As much as she wanted to loathe the
Marine-Captain, she found his true form quite handsome and his
straightforwardness *almost* charming.
She looked at the pitifully small pistol in her hand, again clicked on
the safety and holstered it. It was useless against a Sea Wolf--
she supposed it was a force of habit.
The Beaurte Fleet had transformed into an entirely different beast

after several years under Grand-Capitaine Lang Hai. The Sea
Wolf Curse had no small part in the change, a gift Hai had
brought, himself, from the rumored Sea Wolf Hidden Sect. But
Chantal now saw that the boy had a sense of duty and honest
charisma-- it was no surprise that he had attracted powerful allies
like the Sea Witch, Eilean, and the Golden Crow, Shao Ran.
Chantal sighed. Perhaps she had been too hasty? Lang Hai's
unselfish actions had nothing to do with his predecessors and the
unjust death of her father.
He was too stupid to be a part of such an immoral plot.
...
Lang Hai focused to keep from shivering. Releasing his form

usually came with relief, like a business-person taking off his
restricting coat at the end of the day. Hai forced his muscles still,
his fins retracted, and his naturally writhing tentacles down and
straight.
He didn't want to clumsily knock any of his surroundings down.

And he was miserable because of it.
Chantal rolled her eyes with a deep sigh, "Very well, Capitaine. I
appreciate your courtesy."
Each of her words dripped with displeasure, stabbing Hai's heart

worse than a rusty knife.
She made a soft motion with her hand holding a wisp of mana.
BANG. CRACKKKK.
Hai lost control of his body, dropping to both knees immediately.

He heard the bones crunch against the hard, wooden deck, but
with the adrenaline pumping crazily through his body, he felt no
pain. His head went down and his lidless eyes stared at the floor.
Not looking her in the eyes and making his huge body as low to
the deck as possible relieved the unfamiliar pressure immensely.
"Be advised, Marine. I don't know where the Saltspray Kings keep
their base, but I do know a resourceful adventuring company that
can be of use to you. I promised I'd help them. You'll be the one to
make good on that."
He listened intently to every seductive whispering uttered by

Chantal's tongue, his heart racing to comprehend it all.
Chantal walked over to her desk and placed her ink quill to paper.
Hai kept still for at least a quarter-bell before she finished writing.
"Here. Now get out of my office," Chantal sighed again.
Hai stole a glance upward to see her lovely chest heave and the
longing gaze as she pouted.
Hai received the slip of paper, his massive clawed hand tenderly
pinching the edges of the holy decree. The focus he utilized to not
tear the tiny missive was not small.
Success? Mission Success. The mission was a SUCCESS!
AHAHA! There was no way this human woman would be able to

resist his charm! Lang Hai was so great! And he didn't even get
shot!
"Th-thank you, Lady-Capitaine Chantal!" Hai yelped miserably,
"I… Lang Hai… Will always be your ardent admirer."
And so, the sailboat-sized mass of scaled flesh that was Lang Hai
speed-crawled out of Capitaine Chantal's office.
...
One of the double-doors opened quickly, just enough to allow the

5 fulm, 4 ilm High-Captain Lang Hai to low-roll out.
Bam. He quickly slammed the door behind him.
Phew. Ouch?
Ow. It. Hurt. Ow. He vigorously rubbed his knees. Ouch. They had
shattered moments ago but were healing quickly enough as Sea
Wolf blood coursed through his legs.
Lieutenant Eilean and that nerd, Tycon, sat no more than a dozen
feet away, comfortably conversing. Hai could have sworn he heard
the two bickering at the door. He stood up and dusted off his
horrifically torn coat and trousers before approaching. Maybe they
wouldn't notice? They were both pretty stupid.
Eilean giggled bubbly, flashing a vivacious grin, "Earn yeself a

fornacket and a half in thar, Cap'n?"
What did that even mean? Hai had learned to ignore half of what
Eilean said. Thus far, it hadn't caused any problems.
"You didn't last very long, did you?" the green-haired idiot raised
an eyebrow.
Whatever those two idiots were thinking, it was probably incredibly

stupid.
"We're good, you two," Hai held up the piece of paper he'd
attained.
Tycon, squinted his eyes, "What's it say?"

Hai grinned and looked at the paper, "It says the Sea Wolves are
gonna get help by an Iron-Rank guild called Sol Invictus! All we
gotta do is taxi them someplace! Ahaha! This day's going
GREAT!!"
The noble fool went off into a corner and smashed his head
against a wooden wall. Is that what nobles do to celebrate? Weird.
Hai turned to Eilean, "Lieutenant, we'll prepare a gift for Grand-

Capitaine Chantal's cooperation. Prepare the funds!"
"Aye, Cap'n!" Eilean beamed. "I 'eard some spraff 'at Grand-
Capitaine Guilliame fancied vanilla ice cream."
"Excellent," Hai grinned, walking towards the exit with confidence.
He'd send that domineering, overripe-melon woman a message.

Hai was a petty person! He was determined to have the final
laugh.
"We'll send her chocolate."

Chapter 135 The Elizabeth
Dare
ycon checked the oven and prodded the beef roast. Everything
T
was coming along well. He removed the roast and set it aside-- it
would finish cooking as he allowed it to rest.
He was granted permission to utilize the kitchens at the inn...

the... 'Vertically-Challenged Person Defecating Into A Bucket Inn,'
he believed it was called. On the following morning, Dragan was
going to travel by Sea Wolf ship west towards Bael Turath.
Sending word to the Gatekeepers was an unfortunate duty that fell

to Tycon and Sol Invictus as first-responders. It would be socially
irresponsible not to. Tycon was going to send Taree with him.
From Bael Turath, the pair could head to the Free Nation, where
Dragan could nurture Taree with the resources he commanded
there.
She wanted to become strong. The Free Nation-- some would call
it the Beast Kingdoms, would provide her with that opportunity.
Tycon was preparing a decent meal for Invictus (and for the inn
goers that came in for the lunch rush.) It was his way of thanking
the silver-haired whelp, Kimura Taree, for accompanying them. He
and Lone were working on a full picnic basket for her and Pale, to
be full of sandwiches, side dishes, and a cotton cake.
"Mister Lone."
"Yes, chef!" Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, brandished two

kitchen knives, one in each hand.
Tycon glared with incredulity, "What... are you doing?"

"I uh... I was cutting the tomatoes like you asked, Boss?"
Walking over, Tycon looked over to a pile of unevenly cut, pointed

chunks of red, "Mister Lone. I *have* told you we were making
sandwiches, yes?"
"Yes, chef!" Lone shouted, his face full of confidence and pride.
Tycon grabbed a filet knife from a rack, "Then why didn't you cut
the tomatoes into thin slices, capable of being placed onto flat
sandwiches?"
"W-wait, Boss! Don't stab me!" Lone pleaded.
"This knife is better suited to slicing," Tycon picked up a

whetstone and began to casually sharpen the blade.
"W-w-waaaaait! Hold on!! I-- I..." Lone reached over and grabbed
a mixing bowl, "I melted the butter and whisked the cake batter
like you asked!"
Tycon examined the bowl and felt his heart break. Instead of a
smooth, creamy batter, the mixing bowl was full of rock-like
chunks, "Mister Lone... Did you melt the butter?"
"Boss! I did! Just like you asked! I let it warm up on the double-
boiler and then I mixed it in!"
Tycon took the bowl and cradled it like it was his injured child, "Did
you melt... the butter... until it was completely liquefied?"
Lone opened his mouth, then his pupils dilated. It appeared that
he understood the mistake he had made.
Tycon tightly gripped the handle of the filet knife. He had to be

mindful of his technique when using it.
...
After Tycon deposited the Lone Shadowdark at a local infirmary,

he wore his shiny Kingdom armor to meet with High-Captain Lang
Hai at the port, boarding the Beaurte fleet's flagship, the Elizabeth
Dare.
"So this is my ship! Don't touch anything! You probably don't

know any sea stuff, so don't pretend to!!" Hai insisted.
The boy had replaced his torn Marine uniform with an older, saltier
set. The young man, by his attire alone, looked the part of a
veteran professional.
Tycon pointed, "That bundle of ropes look rotted through."
Hai stood in front of Tycon, blocking his view, "Ahaha! That's SEA
WOLF Rope! The roughest, toughest, meanest rope on the
western continent-- nay, in all the realms!!"
"I... see." Tycon forced a smile, "Where is your First Lieutenant?

Perhaps I should talk to her, instead."
Hai growled, pointing angrily, "I'm the Captain, nerd! I know

everything that goes on in my ship and everything my very
professional crew knows! I'm the one you talk to about missions
and quests!"
Tycon leaned to the side, looking over Hai's Captain's hat, "Did
you give one of your men a quest to 'professionally' fornicate with
a fish."
Hai immediately turned and dashed over to the end of the ship at
an impressive speed. He used both arms to pick up the man, hold
him over his head, and toss him overboard.
The man's trousers remained on the deck.
The blue-haired boy dashed back, "Ignore that. What were we

talking about?"
Tycon smiled weakly. He took solace in the fact that he wasn't the
only guild leader of a company of fools. He decided to take a
different approach in talking to the boy-Captain.
"Ahem." Tycon cleared his throat and spoke measuredly, "As
High-Captain of your Sea Wolf fleet and of your very impressive
ship, I'm certain you are quite busy, Lang Hai."
Hai crossed his arms and nodded, "Oh, yeah! Real busy! Always
busy, Uh... What was your name again... Ehh. Baron?"
"Tycon. Just... Tycon."
Tycon tried to ignore the various crewmembers milling about

aimlessly, pretending to work. One was pretending to count
cannonballs without note-taking gear. Another was scrubbing a
barrel. The young girl, Rico, had drawn squares on the deck with
chalk and was playing a children's hopping game.
"Then perhaps someone less-busy should lead me around the

ship? Like Eilean, perhaps." Tycon remained hopeful. Talking to
the boy-Captain was... a chore.
"Oh, right! Yeah. That makes sense," Hai averted his gaze,
nodding to himself. "I err... First Lieutenant Eilean is currently out
purchasing supplies... Ahem. So I've taken time out of my busy
schedule to show you around!"
Tycon nodded. The Sea Witch had ditched her Captain to do

actual work... which begged the question of why Lang Hai
remained on the ship.
...Perhaps it had to do with the boy's penchant for destruction and

the fact that the insurance policy Eilean had purchased likely
wouldn't cover additional damages.
"So that's the poop deck!" Hai declared with an illogical sense of
pride, "What's next? The bilge pumps? The metal box where we
put Rico when she misbehaves? Ooh, I can show you the
cannons! 5 of them work, for sure!"
A gentleman Marine with a shield on his back hurried to Lang

Hai's side and mumbled something into the boy-Captain's ear. Hai
scowled, punched the man in the gut, and then threw him off of
the ship.
"Psh. Who needs 5 working cannons, anyroad! Ship to ship
combat is too easy with those!" Hai laughed, "Ahahaa! The
Elizabeth Dare needs no such handicap!"
Tycon glanced over the deck railing at the quickly-sinking Marine,

"That man was wearing a shield and heavy armor."
"Let me show you to the Captain's quarters! We even have a

map!!" Hai began to hustle down a set of rotting stairs, skipping a
few choice steps.
Tycon grimaced and followed, taking care to not step on the stairs
the young man avoided.
Chapter 136 Magic Ring
ai had removed his Captain's hat as he descended the stairs,

H
revealing his dark blue hair and unfortunately losing several
inches of height. Journeying with Dragan, Maximus, and even
Lone, Tycon was silently pleased to travel with someone shorter
than he was.
Belowdecks, the Elizabeth Dare stank of bilge and sea rot. The
general state of the ship was marked by disrepair and somehow...
poverty. The Marines and Sailors on board didn't seem to mind
their surroundings, so Tycon kept his remaining complaints to
himself.
The silver-armored Tycon was greeted by sharp salutes and

greetings from the younger crewmembers and apathetic half-nods
from the older veterans. Tycon did notice that nearly every single
veteran was a Bronze-Rank, surpassing the numbers of even the
Darktide sailors. And they were led by Lang Hai, an Iron-Rank,
(with the childish Rico being even higher.)
When Tycon heard that Lang Hai had 4 ships, he assumed the
squad he saw at the Couture estate was the strongest collected
from all of his men. Sighting familiar faces on the Elizabeth Dare,
Tycon discovered that Hai only chose from the Marines of the
Elizabeth Dare.
If the Sea Wolves were an adventuring guild instead of part of the

Royal Navy, they would be ranked even higher than Guild Trayus
on the number of Bronze-Ranks alone.
Considering that the Abyssal Sea Wolf curse granted an obscene

amount of strength and damage regeneration, a single Bronze-
Rank Sea Wolf could tear apart normal Bronze-Ranks as easily as
a normal Iron-Rank adventurer.
The boy wasn't boasting about the lack of anti-ship weaponry
being unnecessary. If the other 3 ships in port had a similar
makeup of crewmembers, Tycon hypothesized that they would be
able to raid ships and settlements five times their size and with a
far smaller percentile of casualties.
Tycon could not explain how the Captain's Quarters looked even
more impoverished than the rest of the ship. The room was
sparsely decorated. Lang Hai used a net hammock like the rest of
the crew. The room was clean, save for an organized pile in the
corner of the room made up of weapon parts and various pieces
of navigation equipment.
...Tycon respected that the boy-Captain, as arrogant as he was,

did not use his station to afford himself far better quarters... But
then again, with the Sea Wolves' lack of coin, Tycon realized that
this may have been borne of necessity instead of choice.
With the assistance of the oil lamp lighting the room, Tycon noted
two proper decorations. Pinned to the far wall was an old
desiccated map depicting the Kingdom's coast. Nailed on the wall
beside the Captain's hammock was a water-damaged wooden
plank covered with colorful shells. The name RICO was scratched
onto it in large, rough script.
Hai walked adjacent to the map, "Anyroad! This is the--"
The boy-Captain followed Tycon's eyes. He dashed over to the

wooden plank, tore it off of the wall, and stuffed it into a nearby
footlocker, "Thanks for pointing that out! I've been meaning to put
it away! Ahaha! Haha!"
Tycon hardened his expression to avoid further embarrassing the

blushing blue-haired boy, "Right... The map, Captain."
"Ahem. Right! The map! Ahaha! The map..." Hai laughed.
Composing himself, he pointed at the map at a few inked X's on

some nearby islands, "These are the location of known islands
with caves or otherwise can hold a settlement and a few ships."
His voice faltered, "We uh... We don't have any leads on the
slavers... but we have 4 ships! So we'll just do a bit of micro! And
then... somehow meet up again!"
He perked up, scowling and crossing his arms, "Capitaine Chantal

said you'd help! So... help!"
Tycon pursed his lips... "I'm uncertain as to what you would have
me do."
Hai sighed, allowing his arms and head to droop, "We've been
hunting down the slavers for the better part of 3 moons, now. I'm
at the end of my rotten rope, noble."
"Tycon."
"Right, Tycon. I was hoping to find some sort of link to the

Saltspray Kings in Caractere, but..." Hai shrugged, "I don't exactly
have a crew full of skilled trackers and... I dunno, anyone with...
skill?"
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "The... Saltspray Kings, you say?"
"Yeah, stupid name, I know." Hai gnashed his teeth, "When I get
ahold of those losers..."
Tycon reached into a pouch on his waist. Activating his spatial

ring, he removed the ring formerly worn by the slavemistress,
Francesca Couture.
« System, bring up the information for the ring. »
[Saltspray Ring. Elementary Magical Ring. Reveals a map when

exposed to fire.]
"Catch, Sea Wolf," Tycon tossed the ring up towards Lang Hai.
With impeccable reflexes, the boy-Captain snatched the ring out

of the air. He examined it with a frown, "If you're showing me
some kind of pity by throwing money at me--"
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Why the hells would I do that? It's a magic
ring, you stupid pup."
Lang Hai looked at his feet for a moment. He held the ring in an
open palm forward, "If this is a dowry for my Lieutenant... I... can't
accept this. I still need her."
The boy stamped his foot down, suddenly angry, "You can't have
her! I don't know why you like her, anyroad! Her butt is huge! It
knocks into things all the time! Did I mention she has a penis?!"
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "The ring... is the solution to your

problems, Lang Hai."
The boy-Captain took his palm back, "This is for me?! I don't
swing that way, dude, but no take-backs! I can fence it to buy
supplies! Maybe even a new sword!"
Tycon crossed his arms and took a deep breath, "I see now that I
made a mistake in not being forward."
"I'm not gonna marry you, nerd!" Hai shouted.
Tycon stared at the ceiling, "Just put the magic ring in the fire
before I-- ugh. Just do it."
"Haha! Before you'd what? I can take anything you dish out, you
boak potato!" Hai grinned arrogantly.
Tycon frowned and pointed at the oil lamp, "Ring. Fire."
"Okay, okay. Lighten up, Ty," Lang Hai placed the ring over the
lamp's flame.
"Don't call me that."
"Egh, very well," Hai frowned... "You know I'm older than you."
"You are not."
As the ring heated up, the sweet smell of Hai's burning flesh
suffused the small room. Before Hai could argue back, a golden
light emanated from the ring's gem, displaying a map on the ship
wall it was pointed to. A bright X was clearly defined on one of the
nearby islands.
Tycon smiled, "I propose we begin our search there, Sea Wolf."
The Sea Wolf Captain grinned and nodded, "As good a place as
any, Invictus."
Chapter 137 Together Forever
arza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, helped shove Dragan through

B
the entrance-way. Dragan had to duck low and struggled to
squeeze through the doorway-- it was not an uncommon
occurrence.
The small prison was run by the local Darktide enforcers and was
notorious for keeping a light population.
Public execution was popular in Caractere.
"Is that Dragan? You ugly bastard! I see you got rid of the arm
cast!" A sailor heartily greeted, "And Lone, too! What brings you
two fella's to these parts?"
Several more sailors greeted the pair with nods. Lone and Dragan
frequented the public houses, carousing with the locals. Dragan,
in particular, made fast friends with the Darktide prison warden.
"Heyyyyy, Jules!" Dragan stretched the fingers of his hand, "Yeah,

it's feelin' a bit better, thanks."
Lone smiled with chagrin, "Hey, Jules. We heard you got a, uh...
wolf-person."
"Wolf? We don't have any Sea-- Oh, you mean the Weretouched
kid? He's been rottin' in the cells for a few suns, but uh..." The
sailor grimaced.
Dragan furrowed his brows, "What'sa matter, bud? Somethin'

wrong with him?"
The sailor placed a hand on the back of his head, allowing his
crossbow to hang from the strap over his shoulder, "Well, just
between you fella's an' me, the kid hasn't been having it easy in
there."
Lone and Dragan exchanged worried looks.
Lone grimaced, "Can you explain that? Is he... okay?"
The red-haired half-giant gave a broad, friendly smile, "Hey, listen,

Jules. We're here to post bail. What're the damages, man?"
Jules sucked in air through his teeth, "I'll tell you what, big man.
We can't accept bribes. But eh... you know. Me and the boys
could use a drink."
Dragan smirked, both eyebrows raised, "Howwwww about a keg

from the Slutty Siren?"
The sailor took on a look of disgust, "That swill? Come on,

Dragan. Y'might as well wring a whore's bath towel into a barrel."
"I didn't think it was that bad..." Lone mumbled under his breath.
The big man shrugged, "Take it or leave it, bud. You didn't have an
issue with either the swill or the way you sucked on that whore's--"
"Whoa, whoa-- hold on there, big man." Jules held his palms
forward, glancing around nervously. The other sailors on duty
averted their gazes, pretending not to have heard. "I never said
no."
Dragan scoffed, "Ch'yeahhh. Lone, wanna go grab that so the

fella's aren't kept waiting?"
Lone rolled his eyes, "Yeah, alright."
Jules pat Lone on the arm, "Still mad about losing all that coin last
night, Shadowdark?"
"Psh, no." Lone denied it, "My game isn't dice... It's the field of
battle. And the wager is my life."
"Oooookay," Jules pursed his lips... "Anyroad, big man, follow me
and I'll take you to yer guy."
...
Both Pale and Kimura Taree were ecstatic to have a picnic meal
cooked by Sir Tycon. That morning, Tycon gave explicit directions
for how to combine the Alizeaun bread sandwiches for minimum
sogginess and maximum deliciousness.
Pale forgot most of it. And he had a feeling Taree didn't pay
attention, either... but he figured they'd manage somehow.
The two had managed to find a secluded beach on the outskirts of

the city. The rocks were too steep to climb for normal people, but
Taree was a Martialist of the Ivory Judge sect and Pale was the
future guild leader of Sol Invictus. Piece of cake.
Lunch was delicious (but probably not as delicious as Tycon had

intended.)
The pair played in the seawater, looked at cool and interesting

fish, compared shells, and even drove back a giant reefclaw the
size of Corporal Horse.
They told stories from when they were younger... Pale told Taree
more about his dad and his dad's stories of his mom. Taree talked
about both of her parents, about Uncle Kakui, and about some of
the drama she had with the other Martialists in the sect. She even
managed to talk a little about her brother before she cried a little
about it.
As the sun began to set, the pair sat on an unrolled mat on the
rocky beach. Pale had wrapped a blanket around them both,
keeping them warm.
"Pale?" the silver-haired girl looked up with hesitant eyes,

"Everything feels like a dream."
The half-elven boy grinned, "Mhm. The ocean's pretty cool,

especially how the sunset reflects on the water."
The girl snuggled into Pale's shoulder, "I mean... everything.
Finally defeating Muto Hisato. Saving my sect. Oh my gods,
leaving the sect... And then... Yeah."
Pale stroked the girl's head, "I know. Bad things happen. But good
things happen, too."
Taree smiled, "Yeah, I know... I think... You're the best thing that's
ever happened to me, Pale."
Pale laughed, playing with the girl's pigtails, "And you're the
coolest person I've ever met."
Taree tackled Pale to the ground to hide the fact that she was
blushing, "Beighhh!! Who told you to sweet-talk me, huh?!"
Pale was getting handier at wrestling. He shifted his body weight

to unbalance Taree and rolled to the side, using the momentum so
he'd be on top. It was a technique he'd learned from her.
"I'm pretty sure you were sweet-talking me, first," Pale grinned. He
poked Taree on the tip of her nose with his finger.
Taree laid underneath Pale without struggling. She looked away,

her face flushed.
"Huh?" Pale furrowed his brows, "Are you okay, Taree?"
"Pale... Are we..." She gulped.
"Uh huh?" the boy prodded.
Pale smiled. He sincerely enjoyed hanging out with Taree. He

didn't mind it, at all, that Boss Tycon kept assigning him to keep
her company.
In a small voice, Taree whispered, "Are we gonna be together

forever?"
Pale scoffed, "Pshh. Yeah! Definitely!"

The silver-haired Martialist looked up at Pale, her eyes bright, and
her smile just as radiant, "Really?"
Pale nodded, "Yeah! At least until tomorrow, anyroad."
"Wait, what?"
"At least until tomorrow."
Taree's face fell, her smile disappearing, "What... what do you

mean until tomorrow? What happens tomorrow?"
Pale put a hand on his chin in thought, something he'd often seen
Tycon and Dragan do, "Well, you and Mister Dragan are heading
to Bael Turath tomorrow morning."
Taree kicked and punched, but Pale hurriedly stood up to avoid

her strikes.
"Wh-wh-wh-hhhhwhaaaaat?!" Taree got to her feet, yelling, "What

do you mean?"
"Uh, did I explain it wrong? You and Dr--"
"No! I mean-- Yes! I mean-- why didn't anyone TELL me?!" Taree's
entire body was trembling.
Pale grimaced. He didn't know what to do with his hands, so he

just placed them behind his back, "I... didn't think it was
important?"
"WELL, IT WAS!!" Taree screamed.
Pale bit his upper lip, "Well... now you know?"
Tears began running down Taree's face, "I-- I can't believe you!!"
Pale didn't know why, but there was something about the way she
was yelling that made his chest tighten.
In a burst of speed, she ran up the rock wall and scrambled up the
rest of it-- up and away.
Pale stood and watched her depart. He knew he had f*cked up.
...Somehow, he got the feeling that Boss Tycon was going to

punish him for this.
Chapter 138 Stronger Than
Dragan
arly the following morning, Guild Invictus arrived at the docks to

E
see off Dragan Ashlord and Kimura Taree. Their mission was to
inform the Gatekeepers of the incursion attempt by the Flamebriar
Monarch. The fate of the world would be decided by an existence
beyond that of the Iron-Rank adventuring guild, Sol Invictus.
High-Captain Lang Hai agreed that it would be best to send the

Calypso towards Bael Turath. The Elizabeth Dare and the other
two Sea Wolf ships would be enough to hunt for the slavers, the
Saltspray Kings.
Tycondrius, Pale, the Lone Shadowdark, and even Levi Wolfrider

accompanied their allies to see their departure.
"We still thinkin' Flamescars for the girl's development, Boss?"

Dragan asked with a grin. The "new" curved blade Dragan wore
on his back was as tall as Lone.
Tycon nodded, "The Flamescarred Martialists should be more

suitable for the young lady's offensive fighting style. Why do you
ask?"
Dragan smirked, "Ehh. I might have another idea. But it depends

on what the girl wants."
Tycon pursed his lips, "Agreed. Most conducive to growth is

desire. Whether the girl wants to develop her Skills, her raw
power, or even her paltry intelligence-- as long as she grows, so
too will Sol Invictus."
Dragan saluted with his fist to his chest, "Sounds good, Boss."
Tycon returned the salute, "Where is that little whelpling,
anyroad?"
"Ehehe," Dragan grimaced, "It looks like she and Bucket got in a
fight. She's already on the boat."
"Tss. Of course, they did." Tycon scoffed, "I'll reprimand the boy
with some training."
...
Taree huddled behind a barrel, hugging her knees. She felt so

betrayed. She still couldn't believe that Pale knew they were being
sent on different missions and didn't tell her.
Stupid! Stupid stupid stupid! Why did she like such a stupid boy?!
A shadow loomed over her and her barrel, but Taree only curled
up tighter.
"Heyyyy... What'cha doin' there?" Dragan's curious voice boomed.
"Go away, Mister Dragan..." Taree felt her own voice crack,
sounding pathetic. She really didn't want to talk to anyone, so she
buried her face in her knees.
The Titanblood squatted down, his great height still towering over
her, "I know you're pretty upset right now, but you're not gonna
see Bucket and the rest of 'em for a while."
Taree peeked her head out, revealing a pouty, tear-filled face.
Dragan gave a broad smile and offered the girl his humongous
hand, "You gotta say what you need to say, while you can say it,
kid."
With some difficulty, Taree nodded and took Dragan's hand. She
rushed to the railing to see Pale still on the docks-- the ship had
lifted its anchor and it was beginning to sail away.
She cupped her hands over her mouth and yelled. Even though
she cried and sobbed and sniffled and coughed, she needed to
say everything she needed to say. She needed Pale to know how
she felt.
Pale yelled back... but he was too far away and she couldn't hear
his response.
She felt Dragan place a comforting hand on her back. She looked
back to see the gentle Titanblood nod stoically.
She hugged him and cried.
...
"Mister Dragan?" Taree asked.
"What's up, kiddo?" Dragan asked, as cheerful as ever.
"I want to be strong."
The Titanblood chuckled softly, "I know."
"Will you... help me?" the silver-haired girl looked up, trying her
best to keep the strength in her voice.
Dragan smirked, "Y'know, Boss had a plan for you to follow. And
he's a real smart guy. Heh. And it probably won't be as painful or
as difficult."
Taree hesitated... but only for a moment, "I want to be stronger

than anyone else... Stronger than Pale... Even stronger than you."
"Hahaha!" Dragan laughed, "You serious? You with me, then? You
can't change your mind after you decide."
Taree nodded, resolve clear in her eyes.
Dragan grinned, his eyes flashing red with mana, "Don't say I
didn't warn you."
...
The rest of Guild Invictus sailed on the Elizabeth Dare towards the
pirate base of the Saltspray Kings.
Tycondrius of Charm. Invictus Pale.
Lone Shadowdark and Levi Wolfrider.
The voyage was relatively uneventful. The Sea Wolves were

incredibly adept at hunting large and varied fish for food. Tycon
remained in good spirits.
The gentle rocking of the Elizabeth Dare inflicted Levi Wolfrider

with a horrible nausea. Tycon assured him that the effects were
temporary and he'd grow used to it... That was what he hoped,
anyroad.
In an ironic twist of fate, Pale, the prodigious spearman was... not

good at being on a ship. The boy's sense of balance became
nonexistent, and he constantly tripped and fell. Every time the Sea
Wolves would cast their nets to catch fish, any fish that dropped
onto the deck would somehow manage to bite him. He even
dropped his water canteen overboard when a high wave splashed
him and... only him.
The superstitious Sea Wolves said that the sea god hated him.
Tycon was tempted to agree.
As for Tycon's experiences, he spent his days trying to decode

Eilean's speech and playing games suitable for children with
Rico... The girl was remarkably astute for a 3-year-old.
The Lone Shadowdark had become suspiciously good friends with

the Sea Wolf Sergeant named Garret, a man who Tycon had
previously identified as 'Hammer'. Captain Lang Hai had informed
Tycon that Garret was their newest, youngest Sergeant.
The two were rather alike, both of them being idiots. But if
Sergeant Garret was capable of melting butter, he'd rate the Sea
Wolf as superior.
As the Elizabeth Dare sailed closer to the island identified on the
map, Hai maneuvered the ship to approach with vision blocked by
some steep cliffs. As they set anchor, the sun began to set off the
starboard bow.
...
A team of Sea Wolf scouts climbed aboard the ship, dripping wet.
A gaunt, familiar man with daggers strapped to his belt saluted
Lang Hai.
"Cap'n."
"Welcome back, Corporal Jacque." Hai nodded, "Report."
The man saluted, "Aye, Cap'n. 3 frigates and 6 corvettes in port, a

seventh corvette out in the waters-- probably as a scout. We
spotted a walled camp and a fortified structure beyond... They're
flyin' the flag of the Seaspray Kings, Cap'n."
Lang Hai whistled, "If those ships have full crews, we're looking at
1,500 men, at least. We've got less than a third of that."
"Is that a problem, Sea Wolf?" Tycon smirked.
Hai scoffed, "Tch. Yeah. We only need 3 kills per Marine? My men
are gonna be bored."
He turned to Jacque, "Good job, Corporal. Prepare a team. Two

bells 'till dawn, I want every pirate on that scout ship dead."
"Aye aye, Cap'n," Jacque saluted before hurrying off.
"Lieutenant," Hai called.
"Here, Cap'n!" Eilean saluted sharply. Tycon was both surprised

and respectful of the woman's sudden lack of coquetry.
"Once dawn hits, I want to be on that beach while the tide is rising.
Inform the men."
"Aye aye, Cap'n," the Sea Witch grinned.

"Invictus?" Hai looked up at Tycon, smirking derisively, "You
gonna help out? Not that it matters if you do or don't."
Tycon scoffed, "Tss. Of course, we will. Lone Shadowdark, you're

on the assault team."
Hearing his name, Lone suddenly began to pay attention,

dropping a hand of cards onto the deck, "Wait, what?"
Chapter 139 Rising Tide
he moon hung high in the sky, calming the waters below. The
T
blue glow of dawn had yet to warm the horizon. Barza Keith, the
Lone Shadowdark, grasped the rope with his wet hands. If he
hadn't developed his grip strength, he'd have died in the hills of
the Mosswood Wilds. He climbed in silence, using only the
strength of his arms.
Garret pulled Lone up onto the deck of the scout ship. He kept his
voice low, "You good?"
"Yeah," Lone nodded.
He unbound his two wolf-hammers from his chest. Their squad

needed to clear everyone that could raise an alarm on the top
level... which meant that Lone couldn't use his weapons' Flame
On technique.
He'd have to silence his targets traditionally.
Lone crept to the wall beside Garret, "What've we got?"
"Two bodies," the bald man whispered, no mirth in his voice.
"I call right."
"Left."
The two nodded to each other.
Lone dashed out of the shadows, crossing the distance with a

leap. He smashed one of his wolf-hammers into the man's temple,
the dull crunch of a fractured skull collapsing the man.
One strike. The action was smooth, just as he'd practiced. The
pirate lay on the deck, his body still twitching. Lone scanned his
surroundings while also watching the downed man.
The man's temple was dented inward. After a few more moments,
he laid still.
Lone was a weapon.
It was not the time nor the place to mull over what he'd done. He
grabbed the pirate and dragged him back to cover, away from
possibly prying eyes.
Shortly after, Garret dragged a second man around the corner. His
target had died in agony, his face swollen, and his neck shredded
to the spine. Both Garret and his target were soaked in blood.
He, too, was a weapon.
On this battlefield, there was no mercy. There was no chance to

surrender. Every pirate on the scout ship was an enemy... Any
other considerations could possibly jeopardize the mission.
But still, Garret trembled, his eyes unfocused.
"Hey. Snap out of it," Lone whispered.
Garret did not respond.
Lone shoved the man, who glared back angrily.
"What?" Garret growled back in a hushed tone.
"We're not done," Lone peeked over the corner.
"Y-yeah. He just... I just..." Garret gulped, "I knew this man."
Lone came close and pressed his forehead to that of the dark-
skinned man, "Shut up. Don't think. Right now, it's them or us."
He didn't know what exactly was bothering Garret, but now wasn't
the time to care. There were still dozens of pirates on the ship that
needed to be killed.
Without waiting for an answer, Lone left Garret behind, stepping

into the shadowy darkness. Keeping low, keeping quiet, he
descended the stairs to below-decks, leading 3 other Sea Wolves.
Carefully activating the mana in his weapons, the dim red glow
guided their journey.
The sailors slept peacefully, unaware of the predators that stalked

them in the night. Lone unsheathed a sharpened dark iron dagger.
It would be best if they never woke.
Lone was a weapon.
...
The end of the horizon glowed a ghost of fiery orange. Dawn was
fast approaching.
The forward scout team had returned successfully, reporting only

Unranked and Bronze-Rank resistance. If there were any Iron-
Ranks, they were killed in their sleep.
High-Captain Lang Hai had collected the crew in a semi-circle.

Most of the Marines would participate in the sea-to-land assault,
along with a number of combat medics. A few Marines and the
rest of the sailors would remain on the ships.
"Lieutenant Eilean will be piloting the Elizabeth Dare onto the

beach. Our initial assault will be on the docks, in order to prevent
too many ships from trying to escape," the boy-Captain smirked.
"We're outnumbered at least 1 to 3. And then two of our ships on

standby with their skeleton crews-- I ain't gonna do the math for
you all, 'cuz if you went to school, you'd probably be smart enough
not to end up here. All of you cunts better pull your weight, you
hear me?"
The Sea Wolves resounded-- "Yes, Cap'n!" "Aye, Cap'n!" "We

hear you!!" "Yessir!"
"Any questions, Sea Wolves?" Hai glared.
Eilean raised her hand, a cheeky red-lipped smile beside the dark
cloth over her face, "Cap'n! Are we allowed to die?"
The blue-haired boy scoffed, "Good question, Lieutenant. The

answer: F*ck no, none of you have my permission to die, unless I
kill you, myself."
A low chuckle from the Sea Wolves rose up from the crowd. Tycon
found himself smiling. With a few simple sentences, the crowd's
anxiety visibly dissipated.
"Well, that's your gods-damned safety briefing. Now... BLOOD

AND THUNDER!!"
The crowd raised their weapons and their voices, "VICTORY AT

SEA!!"
....
First Lieutenant Eilean stood at the bow of the ship, raising both of
her arms out. A Sea Wolf with a heavy shield stood at her side,
ready to protect her from danger. With the Sea Witch's magic, the
Elizabeth Dare cut through the water, rapidly approaching the
beaches.
Pirates from the nearby camp were yelling-- likely scrambling to

get their weapons and armor. Sea Wolves shouted "Blood and
thunder!!" as they dove off the ship carrying spears, nets, and
cutlasses.
More than a few jumped off with bulging, transformed

musculature. Tycon expected that Lang Hai's full transformation
would be far more developed.
Tycon stood by Eilean as the ship's hull hit the sands.
"Want tae kiss fer good luck, yer laerdship?" the blind Sea Witch
puckered her lips.
"And how do you know I'm joining the battle, young lady?" Tycon
teased.
"Coz ye want to show off in front've me crew. Men're all the same,
tryin' tae impress a bonnie lass like meself!"
The man with the shield moved forward to intercept a crossbow

bolt, "It's not safe up here, ma'am."
Eilean began floating in the air, surrounded by a sphere of water

mana, "OH, FER F*CK'S SAKE!! F*CK OFF, YE F*CKING WANK-
STAIN CUNTS!! F*CKING HELLS!! F*CK!!"
As the woman yelled, dozens of mana-formed spears of ocean

water lifted out of the drink. With each wave of her hand, the
spears launched towards the pirates running on the beach, as fast
as ballista bolts. As inaccurate as each shot was, the crossbow-
wielding pirates seemed intent on keeping behind cover.
"CUNTS!! OY!!!"
With each barrage of water spears, the pirates' boulders and

barricades began crumbling away. As for Eilean... she didn't seem
to be running out of seawater.
Tycon took a deep breath of the sea-misted air. He estimated that

the entire Sea Wolf crew, including the terrifying Sea Witch,
Eilean, were to be treated a rank higher than the System had
rated... as long as they were near water, anyroad.
"I'll be going, Eilean." Tycon smiled, "Blood and thunder."
"Vict'ry at sea," she said, blowing a kiss. "Do be car'ful, mate. Ye

dunnae wot they've got in that camp."
"It's probably fine," Tycon shrugged. He pulled the dark hood over
his head and hopped off the ship's bow.
Chapter 140 Battlefield
ycon ran across the hard-packed sand of the battlefield, reverse-

T
gripping a dark iron short sword.
Normally on a battlefield, Metal-Rank adventurer teams were held

in reserve, in order to conserve their mana and stamina. They
would only be fielded to counteract Metal-Rank threats fielded by
an enemy force.
Under Captain Lang Hai's reckless orders, every participating

combatant was important to the Sea Wolves' success and survival
as a whole.
Tycon ran past an axe-wielding pirate, slashing his blade through

the man's side with little resistance. Unranked. Weak. Tycon cut
down 3 more pirates utilizing only his speed-- admittedly only
average in Invictus.
Pale, wherever he was, was likely cutting down the Saltspray

pirates in swaths.
Rushing past the hordes of weaklings, Tycon spotted an Iron-

Rank, a pirate wielding a heavy staff with two spiked ends. The
man whirled it over his head, knocking back two Sea Wolves and
battering back a third.
Two pirates were in Tycon's way.
He raised his blade horizontally to block a downward sword slash,

then sidestepped and stabbed the man deep in the abdomen.
Cruelly wrenching the blade, Tycon was rewarded by the look of
pure agony on the pirate's face.
That was... not his best work. He shoved the man away and
swiped the blood off of his short sword.
The second pirate swung horizontally, so Tycon took a measured
backstep to dodge. With his sword pointed forward, Tycon lunged.
The very tip of his blade pierced the man's throat.
That kill was more satisfying. If only all kills were so easy.
The quarterstaff pirate turned with a bloodcurdling yell and began

barreling towards the youthful murderer. Tycon smiled knowingly,
swapping his sword to his offhand and raising up a lightly
clenched fist.
Sergeant Garret came from behind the pirate, smashing his

sledgehammer into the man's back, "Got'cha, bitch!"
Tycon snickered softly, "Kehe. Well~ done."
Garret looked over with a look of confusion, "What the? I didn't do

it to--"
Tycon saw the moment the surge of mana hit him. Garret's eyes
glowed abyssal black and a growl escaped his lips. The bald man
kicked the back of the pirate's knee and smashed his hammer into
the man's spine.
Tycon snapped again.
Garret lifted his hammer to the sky and smashed it down with full
force into the back of the man's skull.
After a brief second, his eyes gained clarity, "What the... hells was
that?"
Tycon patted the tall man on the shoulder, "It was a respectable
young Sea Wolf defeating an Iron-Rank with ease."
The man shook his head adamantly, "Baron, I ain't stupid. You did
something."
"...How you swung your weapon... how you utilized gravity to

increase your force... the muscles that activated in your arms and
core and legs... It felt wonderful, did it not?"
Garret rubbed the back of his bald head, "Y-yeah... It did. Did I...
really do that?"
"Let us continue, young Sergeant." Tycon smiled. It was a gentle

smile considering he essentially sentenced a man to death by
broken spine, "Perhaps you might learn something."
"I uh... Yeah. Let's go," Garret nodded, obediently following Tycon
towards the next fight.
...
"PROTECT THE BARON!!" "PROTECT THE BAAARONNNN!"

The Sea Wolves yelled.
Baron Tycondrius had taken a red sash and tied it around a

crossbow injury on his right arm. He had wrapped a torn blue flag
of the Kingdom around a spear and held it up as a banner, "SEA
WOOOOLVES!! BLOOOOD ANNNNNND THUNDERRRRR!!!!"
"VICTORY AT SEAAAA!!" Came the howls of the dozens of Sea

Wolves within shouting distance.
[Commander's Strike activated. Commander's Strike activated.

Co...]
The System's messages ran in Tycon's mind like the glorious

music of triumph.
Guild Invictus was participating in the Sea Wolf raid as a favor to

Lang Hai. Tycon still needed to head to the Holy Country to finish
his quests... But that didn't mean he didn't enjoy the one-sided
slaughter.
"Come, this is no place to die," Tycon picked up a fallen Sea Wolf.

[Inspirational Surge activated.]
The Sea Wolf winced as he pulled a curved scimitar out of his gut,
"Thanks, Baron."
"Now, sod off and put that sword to use."
"Aye aye, Sir!!" The Wolf ran off while screaming and raising the
bloody scimitar in the air.
Tycon pointed, chuckling, "You are INVINCIBLE!!"
[Jumping Knee Counter activated.]
The Lone Shadowdark deftly dodged an overhead strike from a

greatsword. He planted his knee into the man's gut before
braining him with a wolf-hammer.
"Thanks, Boss!!"
"Shut up and keep killing."
The battlefield was chaos, as they all were. Tycon's senses were
filled with swords clanging, firearms blasting, and the desperate
prayers of the dying. Occasionally, cannons would fire-- either
from the beaches or from the Elizabeth Dare, and flashes of
magic would tear through the sky.
It was glorious.
The moving platoon of some 30 Sea Wolves moved quickly and

lethally through the battlefield. At the center of the death ball was
Baron Tycondrius, shouting orders and activating his support
Skills. It didn't matter the number, single men or scores of them,
the pirates died without complete corpses. It didn't matter the
rank, the horde mowed down even Iron-Rank pirates with
impunity.
However, Tycon discovered something he had surmised but had

no evidence of. The Sea Wolves could die. Marines and sailors
fell and those remaining raged to avenge them. Tycon accepted it.
It was impossible for every Sea Wolf to have the same level of
accelerated healing as Lang Hai.
The tide of battle had turned against the Saltspray Kings and
many of the pirates were beginning to withdraw towards a large,
defensible wood and stone fort.
On both sides, casualties were inevitable. Too many casualties

were unacceptable. For the guild leader of a small company like
Tycon, even a single loss was deeply felt.
"Where's Pale?!" Tycon yelled in order to be heard above the din

of battle.
Lone pointed, "Over there! That side!"
Tycon yelled back, "The west wing, you idiot! Just say the west
wing!"
"The west wing, Boss!!"
"Go find him!!" Tycon tossed Lone a pouch full of healing potions.
"Can I have one??" Lone yelled back.
"Stop asking stupid questions, you dunce. GO!!"
...
Corporal Jacque of the Beaurte Marines was assigned a special

mission by Captain Lang Hai. He had been ordered to shadow the
Guild Invictus half-elf, Pale, and keep him out of trouble.
Jacque didn't know what business the boy had on a battlefield.

The kid didn't even look 10 years of age. Still, Jacque wasn't one
to question clear orders.
Anyroad, the Captain looked only a year or two older than Pale...
and Rico was literally 3. Age wasn't a good way to judge combat
prowess.
Upon debarkation, the boy was unfortunate enough to have
landed in a burning coral reef from when he jumped off the ship.
When he'd made it to the beach, he dropped and broke an
expensive healing potion in the process.
The sea god hated the boy.
Jacque made a mental note to get the crew together about it. The
kid needed to be lent a charm or five to ward off the bad luck.
Jacque thought that perhaps his mission would be cut short and
Pale would ask to reboard the ship. A coral-cut wound was prone
to infection and was painful as hells, to boot. He recalled that
Lieutenant Eleven of Seven used coral-blades for that very
reason.
The injury seemed to only anger the boy.
The boy cut through the battlefield with his spear, like a stabby
crimson whirlwind. He moved from target to target almost
effortlessly, accurately piercing throats and hearts. Jacque could
barely keep up with the boy's speed-- and he got the feeling that
the boy was holding back on his account.
Three skirmishes and over a hundred men dead later, Captain

Lang's predictions were beginning to come true. The boy began to
slow due to injury. After a fourth skirmish, though the boy killed
near 30 men on his own, he earned a crossbow bolt pierced
through the meat of his left forearm and he suffered a bleeding
gash in the leather armor on his chest. He was in no condition to
continue.
The Sea Wolves they were with had either rushed ahead or were
killed, leaving him and the boy surrounded by more than a dozen
pirates. Jacque flourished his two daggers and focused on
calming his labored breathing. He wasn't in his best condition,
either.
"Got any bright ideas, kid?"

Chapter 141 To Kill A Sea Wolf
Like the other Sea Wolves, Corporal Jacque practiced the cursed
Sea Wolf Body Art. However, his growth had taken a strange turn.
He didn't gain swollen muscles and raw, nigh unbridled power like
Captain Lang. Jacque's abilities were more reminiscent of Rico's.
His body grew thin and his movements became graceful. Further,
his senses were greatly magnified when exposed to seawater.
Captain Lang Hai was the former Patriarch of the Sea Wolf
Hidden sect... a title he'd abandoned in order to join the Royal
Navy. Following Admiral Langqiang's death, the young Captain
took over the fleet and shared the cursed Sea Wolf body art with
his men. A few short years later, everyone in the Kingdom
understood that the Marines and sailors of Beaurte were
synonymous to the Sea Wolves.
According to Captain Lang, as Jacque raised his comprehension

of the Sea Wolf Body Art from Lesser to Middle Completion, his
abilities would begin to normalize. He had incredible perception
and his healing factor was above average, but his strength and
reflexes remained on a very human level. Jacque could see
strikes and bullets in flight as if they moved through molasses--
but he could only curse in regret that he wasn't fast enough to
react.
No Sea Wolf was useless-- not with their small numbers

compared to the rest of the Kingdom's fleets. Jacque was also the
only non-officer Marine with a high level of education and was
capable of reading, navigation, and advanced math. He had also
joined the fleet, slightly older thus markedly more mature than the
young Marines who only sought glory and battle.
It was that trust that landed Corporal Jacque into his current
special assignment and the mess he was currently in.
He glanced at the battered half-elf guarding his back, "Got any
bright ideas, kid?"
Pale winced in pain. The boy was bleeding profusely and the
pirates that surrounded them were beginning to grow more
confident because of it.
"Ergh... I guess I'll take half and you take the other half?"
Jacque grit his teeth, "Was that a bright idea or a question?"
"I dunno," The boy lightly shrugged. "Let's just give it a try. What
have we got to lose?"
Jacque yelled as the boy rushed forward, "Your life! You could
lose your life!!"
He turned back to the pirates, who were beginning to attack-- Two

swords cut down at him. Jacque sidestepped one and rotated his
body to take a shallow cut on his side. He dropped a dagger,
grabbed a man's sword arm, and repositioned himself to keep his
new hostage between his opponents.
Half a dozen times. He shanked the pirate swordsman repeatedly

underneath the man's unarmored armpit, before shoving him
away into his attackers.
He had to get to the boy! Jacque sprinted towards where Pale

was fighting.
The boy had killed three men in the time it took Jacque to kill
one... and he'd slashed open the neck of a fourth while he was still
running.
"Pale! Behind!" Jacque yelled.
The boy winced in pain but obediently rolled to the side, managing
to just-barely dodge the cleaver-blade of a guisarme.
Jacque skidded to a halt, accurately stopping at the perfect

distance. 3 thrown-knife revolutions. He tossed a whirling dagger
at the guisarme pirate's neck, confident that it would hit.
The pirate twisted his body, and the knife stuck in the meat of the
man's tattooed shoulder. He pulled it out with impunity, "Gahaha.
Little toys, Sea Pups. The Saltspray Kings aren't afraid of you."
Jacque's heart fell to the pit of his stomach, "Metal-Ranker!!"
Sea god's spear, Jacque wished he had at least another Sea Wolf
to hold him off. He and the injured Pale were at a disadvantage
against a Bronze-Rank... And if the tattooed pirate was an Iron-
Ranker, they were done for.
Jacque picked up a cutlass and charged through the sands at the

Metal-Ranker, "Blood and thunder!!"
...
Pale leapt away from another sweep of a red-headed pirate's

halberd. Rolling to his feet, he vaulted up with his pole to round
kick the pirate's ear. With a quick downward stab, he claimed
another kill.
Phew. He was so tired that his chest hurt when he breathed-- only
a little bit, though. He couldn't catch his breath just yet. There
were too many enemies.
A pirate edged closer defensively, holding a thick wooden tower

shield. Pale stabbed the man in the foot and twisted, then dashed
to the side and stabbed him in the side of the neck.
With mana powering Pale's vision and boosting his reflexes, he

slipped under a pirate's cutlass swing. Dropping his body low, he
held his spear firm underneath his arm. Rotating his hips, he
slashed his spearblade into the side of his attacker's neck.
Turning back, he deflected a sword's downward swing, knocking

the weapon away. With the momentum, he used his spear-end to
jab at a different axe-wielding pirate's chin, knocking him back.
Pale stood up straight and took another deep breath, his chest
heaving, and humid sweat dripping everywhere. Wielding the
Lifedrinker spear, he enjoyed its effect pretty much all the time.
Each enemy that fell, he'd leech a small amount of stolen mana
that improved his ability to dodge and deflect attacks. But even
still, the battle was taking a toll on his stamina.
Well... training was worse. He hadn't even vomited yet.
Pale guessed he'd better keep fighting until someone told him to
stop... It was just like training.
...
The stabbing blade of the guisarme was not Corporal Jacque's

friend. He had a good 4 holes on his chest and one on his thigh.
Jacque grinned and performed a rude gesture, "Come on, you

rotten whoreson. It'll take more than that to kill a Sea Wolf."
The pirate grimaced in worry. Good. Jacque may have claimed the
worst of their exchanges but the pirate was bloodied by a cutlass
for his troubles.
The hesitation was welcome. 5 stabs were a bit much for Jacque
to handle well. The more blood he lost, the more he slowed and
the more he wanted to lay in the sand and sleep forever. If he got
his head lopped off, he'd get his wish.
The pirate kicked up sand, causing Jacque to make an error.
He blinked.
The cleaver-blade of the guisarme stuck into Jacque's left side,

biting deeply into his abdomen. He felt his body, weightless, as
the pirate picked him up with his weapon. With a groaning heave,
Jacque was thrown... and he rolled and tumbled on his side, in the
hard-packed sand.
Dizzy. Cold. Wracked with painful injuries... He tried to reach down

with his left arm only to discover a new shock of agony. His left
arm was broken, too.
Corporal Jacque blinked the sand out of his eyes, powering his
will to not go into shock. He smashed his good hand into the sand
and focused on dragging his broken body back to Pale.
He could still survive his wounds. The boy would not.

Chapter 142 Blood & Sand
ale deflected the pirate's guisarme, but his hands shook from the
P
force.
The pirate wasn't as strong as Lone, but Pale was exhausted,

sweaty, and the cut on his chest started to bleed more. He needed
to end the fight quickly.
Pale rocketed a spear stab towards the man's neck, but the pirate
was able to bring his weapon haft up to deflect it.
Unbalanced! Pale took the shot.
He dashed forward, sliding low. He scissored his legs around the

man's legs and twisted his body and pushed with his arms as hard
as he could.
Yes! The man fell down, his back crashing into the sands. Pale got
to his back, aimed his spear, and plunged it into the side of the
pirate's neck.
Good. Now he could rest.
...No, wait. No, he couldn't. Crap.
"You're a gods-damned monster, kid."
Pale struggled to his feet and looked up to the voice.
Aw, butt. Eight more pirates. Where was Jacque?
The voice belonged to a pirate who was approaching warily, his

trident pointed forward, "Put down the weapon, kid. We'll make it
quick and painless for you."
Pale grit his teeth. Just eight more... He'd lost count of how many
pirates he'd defeated. A hundred, maybe? Eight more was no big
deal... He sure was tired, though.
"BLOOD AND THUNDER!!" Jacque leapt up on one of the pirate's

backs, sinking a dagger in.
"What the--" The pirates turned.
Oh, good stuff. Pale sank his own spear into a pirate's neck.
Running and sliding to the side, he slashed his spear at the back
of another pirate's thighs, severing both of their hamstrings.
Summoning strength at the end of his limits, Pale lifted his spear
up high and whacked the haft into a third pirate's collarbone-- the
man crumpled to the ground.
A net covered Pale, almost comfortable, like a blanket. But Pale

couldn't yet rest-- it blocked his vision, it constricted his
movement. He struggled to get it off.
A sudden shock jolted through Pale's body and he spat dark red
blood.
Awwwww crap.
Pale looked down and a trident was piercing into his stomach.
Pale tried to stab, but the end of his spear was grabbed by one of
the pirates.
"Ehehe! We got you now, you li'l monster!!"
Pale grit his teeth as his eyes filled with hot mana, "Magnum
BREAK!!"
A geyser of flame erupted from Pale, soaring 10 fulms in the air,

disintegrating the net, and blasting the surrounding pirates back.
The fire withdrew in a flash, collecting around the Lifedrinker

spear. With a heated slash, he cut off the metal haft of the trident
still stuck in him.
Dashing forward, the flame-wreathed spear cut easily through a
pirate's metal armor and into his chest. Rotating his body, Pale
slashed a different pirate's leg, completely rending it below the
knee.
He leapt forward and stabbed a fleeing pirate in the back,

dropping the man dead on the sands.
Not enough. There were too many.
He reached for his pouch and unfurled a scroll.
His eyes glowed cool blue with mana, "Lightning Circle."
...
Jacque ran over to Pale, who had finally collapsed on the ground,
"Hey, kid. Kid! You still alive?"
"Y-yeah... I think so," Pale groaned.
"What in the hells did you do?" Jacque grabbed the boy's pouch
and emptied its contents onto the sand.
The boy was a monster, just as the pirates were saying. In a

circular blast of lightning magic, the boy had felled all the
remaining pirates. Jacque fastidiously cut their throats before any
of them could recover, then immediately knelt at the boy's side.
"Spell scroll... Last one I had, heh."
"Sea god's beard, you're a Mage? I thought you were a

Spearman?" Jacque found a bundle of bandages and immediately
began to unravel it.
"I'm both, I guess?" the boy's eyes were unfocused, "Why... why
are *you* okay?"
"Every Sea Wolf carries a canteen of sea water. The stuff helps us
heal."
Jacque had to work fast. He needed to bind Pale's injuries and
hustle him back to the ship before he bled out, "Hold still, kid-- I
gotta cut off your armor so I can patch you up."
"Can... can I learn to heal like that?" Pale asked with a hopeful
smile.
Jacque laughed derisively, "Probably not. The sea god hates ya,
kid. You're better off rubbing sand into the wound and walking it
off."
There was too much blood. The ship was too far off... and Sea
Witch Eilean couldn't patch up a corpse. The trident stuck in the
boy's stomach and tearing up his guts only hastened the boy's
demise.
The boy grasped at the sands, "Yeah, you're right... Water's no

good."
"Hey, listen to me kid-- focus." Jacque gulped. He lowered his

voice to a whisper, "I'm here."
He hadn't known Pale for long... but the boy had done remarkably
well. Jacque had heard the boy was a Bronze-Rank warrior... and
at first, he didn't believe it. But as it was, the boy was definitely on
the level of Iron... and he would fight any man who would discount
the boy's courage as anything less than Gold.
Jacque was a Corporal of Marines. He led men.
In battle, men died, and being a leader, many died under his
charge.
It was never easy losing even one.
Jacque clenched his teeth, tears running down his face. He tightly
held the boy's hand, "You... you got anything you need to say?
I'll... I'll pass word to Sir Tycon."
The boy picked up a clump of sand with his offhand and poured it
ineffectually on his cuts, "Healing Sands..."
Jacque furrowed his brows. What was the boy doing?
With an earthy orange glow of mana, the cut flesh on the boy's
chest began to visibly knit together.
He could scarcely believe it, "You... know healing magic?"
The boy pulled the remainder of the trident out of his stomach.
New blood splattered onto Jacque's clothing, but he didn't give a
single shite.
Jacque helped the boy up and helped steady him on his feet.
Pale smiled, looking up, "Just learned it right now."
Jacque laughed heartily, embracing the boy, "I thought you were
dead, kid! Sea god's socks, ohhh, I thought you were dead."
Pale hugged him back, patting Jacque's lower back, "Hey, come
on. We have to catch up with the rest."
"What?" Jacque stepped back, "Pale, you can't be serious. You

were just in a life and death situation!"
The boy bent over to pick up his spear, then he pointed behind
him, "It looks like everyone's still fighting, though."
Jacque grimaced, "You can be a little selfish, y'know. Aren't you

tired?"
"Yeah, I am pretty tired." The boy shrugged, "But my dad taught

me that as long as we can save even one more person, we can't
give up."
Stunned, Jacque's heart surged with pride. Wherever the boy's

father was, he'd undoubtedly be proud of him, "Well, alright. I'll go
with you."
The boy grinned, "Good. I need someone to watch my back."
Looking up, Pale stretched out his fist, "Blood and thunder."
Jacque tapped his fist to Pale's, "Victory at sea."
Chapter 143 Monster
igh-Captain Lang Hai towered over the pirates, standing at 11

H
fulms tall. In his hybrid Abyssal Sea Wolf form, his muscles bulged
with power, his unblinking fish-eyes were clouded an abyssal
black, and his needle-like teeth were as long and wide as swords.
The pirates pockmarked Hai's hard, shimmering scales with spear

stabs, crossbow bolts, and bullets... but the wounds closed up as
quickly as they opened.
He was a monster.
His tree-trunk sized arm slashed horizontally with long, razor-

sharp claws. In the single swipe, he felled 5 men.
"PENTAKILL, F*CKTARDS!!" Hai bellowed.
Rearing his head back, he howled the deep crescendo cry... It

was reminiscent of the Abyssal Sea Wolf, but louder-- angrier, "I
DEMAND VENGEANCE!! BLOOD!! AND!! THUNDER!!"
He ran through the pirates, the tentacles on his back lashing out,
pulverizing men's spines and raking the flesh from their bones.
"Dear gods! Shoot him! Shoot him!!"
"IT!! WON'T!! DIE!!"
"Retreat to the gods-damned fort!! The f*cking Sea Wolves are

att--ARRRGHHHH!!"
Lang Hai laughed as he picked up a man and sank his teeth into
his torso, cruelly tearing him apart like biting into a hollow-boned
quail. He spilled the man's guts onto the ground and spat the
man's upper body onto the sands.
"GAHAHAHA!!" Hai cackled with glee, "RUN AWAYYYYY!! I'M
REALLY F*CKING STRONNNNNG!!"
...
Tycondrius met up with both Pale and Lone before heading to the
impromptu Sea Wolf war camp.
"Blood and thunder, it's Sir Tycon!!" "Ahaha! We showed those

bastards, didn't we?" "Welcome back, sir!"
A round of Sea Wolf cheers erupted when Guild Invictus arrived,

with compliments showering upon all 3 of them. Tycon
acknowledged the men with polite smiles and nods.
Several tents had been repurposed into field infirmaries. Cook

tents were erected, serving hot meals. Other Sea Wolves
maintained their weapons. A few veteran Wolves wisely took the
downtime to nap.
Lone leaned towards Tycon, "Boss... Why are there wounded? I

thought the Sea Wolves were immortal?"
Tycon grimaced, "No one is immortal. The Sea Wolves merely

heal faster than most... and it seems not everyone has the
monstrous regenerative ability of their Captain."
...
A pirate screamed-- crying, sobbing, begging for mercy. The little

freckled brunette, Rico, twisted and pulled a pirate's head off of
his body. The screaming stopped. She widened her eyes and
gasped in surprise. She tried to put it back. When it fell off of the
man's shoulders into the sand, she pursed her lips in
disappointment.
The battle had finished, with the survivors of the war camp fleeing
towards a fortified structure.
Corporal Jacque was reporting to Captain Lang Hai, "At least 19

Marines have been killed... And at least 47 have taken injuries
that sea water can't heal, Cap'n."
Hai placed his hand on his chin and nodded, "Between you and
me, Corporal, those are actually better numbers than I was
expecting."
He turned to face the fortified structure in the distance. The Sea

Wolves had slaughtered their way through several hundred men,
maybe nearly 1,000. The Spear of Selena and the Thalia Grace
had sunk two escaping ships, as well.
...The remaining ships would be added to the Sea Wolf fleet,

provided they were victorious in the coming battle. Attacking a
fortified structure was tricky, even moreso that the enemy had held
their captives hostage.
Hai heard from his men about the rallying cries of Tycon, and the
effectiveness of both the young spearman, Pale, and the hammer
warrior, Lone Shadowdark. Altogether, Guild Invictus provided
substantial help in lowering the Sea Wolf casualty rate.
Baron Tycon was a strange character. With his build and his
manner, Hai immediately judged the fool to be weak-willed,
highborn trash. Sure, he was good at talking, seeing the way he
managed to charm Eilean... Rico loved the guy, too-- but then
again, Rico was traitorous scum who would sell out her Captain
for a bite of pork jerky.
Hai owed Tycon for helping him get out of trouble when they
destroyed that cartography shop in Caractere. Then there was
that time when he just happened to have a map to the Saltspray
Kings hideout. And there was the undeniable fact that dozens of
Marines and sailors witnessed him carrying the Kingdom's flag as
a banner, rallying the men-- even using the banner and a short
sword to score some sweet kills.
The guy was a living, breathing, badass.
More telling of his character was the fact that Guild Invictus didn't
need to put themselves at risk. The Saltspray Map that Tycon had
provided was more than enough to fulfill the terms of the contract.
Chantal had asked the Baron to help-- she hadn't ordered him to
fight alongside the Sea Wolves.
Lang Hai didn't want to admit it, but he had grown a grudging
respect for the green-haired nerd... He just hoped it didn't go to
the nobleman's head. Every noble Hai had worked with prior had
a weird sense of self-entitlement.
Steel and spear, spell and pistol-shot did not differentiate between
noble and lowborn.
Eilean stood on her toes and began to wave in the distance,

"Cap'n, haer comes Invictus the noo."
As badass as Tycon was, Lang Hai still had to let the guy know
who was in charge.
Lang Hai cross his arms and frowned at the approaching group,
"Tycon, where the hells were you?"
"Captain," Tycon saluted, fingers flat, palm down, and touching his
forefinger to his brow. It was a perfect salute by the Royal Navy's
standards.
Lang Hai stared at Tycon held his salute. What the hells?
Eilean poked Hai, "Cap'n, are ye nae gonna salute back?"
Lang Hai suddenly widened his eyes, snapping out of his

confusion. He quickly saluted Tycon, allowing the noble to place
his arm back at his side, "Ah, yeah. Sorry-- Anyroad, you uh...
take any casualties... Sir? Tycon?"
Tycon's facial expression didn't change at all, "No casualties,

Captain Lang. Invictus is three for three."
Hai pursed his lips, "What about that... dog-person?"
"Och! I kin answer that, Cap'n," The Sea Witch interjected. "He
was still on the ship, when I'd depaerted."
"Tch!" Hai scoffed, "I didn't know Invictus employed cowards!"

"Neither did I," Tycon said solemnly, "I will deal with him, myself--
unless you'd like to save me the trouble and charge him under
military law."
Hai was caught off guard again. He bit his upper lip, "N-no, no.
That's fine. You can handle it. I have faith in you."
Egh. Instant and willing obedience. Hai got the peculiar feeling
that Tycon was a former soldier-- maybe in the Holy Country?
"Anyroad," Hai continued, "Guild Invictus, Corporal Jacque,

Lieutenant Eilean, come with me. I want to discuss how we're
gonna take the fort and rescue the hostages."
Chapter 144 Gifts
Hai stared at his food bowl.
Gruel.
A lot of boiled water, not enough corn meal. Those two things
together made gruel. The Sea Wolves could scarcely afford
better... But the slop kept the Marines and sailors under his
charge alive. Those freeloaders could spend their own coin if they
wanted better food.
Sea god's shorts! Where in the hells was Tycon??
Bah! Whatever! Hai tossed the clay bowl aside, spilling the gruel.
AHHH!! Hai panicked. He just wasted food! He knelt down into the
hard-packed sand and tried to recover any still-palatable gruel.
"Captain Lang..."
Hai placed a spoonful of sand and gruel into his mouth. Ugh. Salty
and sandy. It was disgusting!
"...Lang Hai, are you crying?"
"NO!!!?" Hai turned his head up, "WHO'S ASKING??-- Oh, it's
you."
The noble bastard, Tycon, was standing right in front of him. He

had the worst timing... Lang Hai stood up and dusted his trousers
off.
Oh, right.
Lang Hai spun around and wiped the tears from his face.
Hai turned back to the patiently waiting Tycon, "You're back."
Tycon stared blankly... "I am."
Hai nodded, "Well. Uh... Report!"
"First off, I managed to find a basement dungeon. I wasn't able to

get close, but I estimate them to hold over a hundred slaves in
captivity."
Hm. The number was smaller than Hai was hoping... but any
number over 0 was worth fighting for.
Tycon continued, "The Saltspray Kings have hundreds of pirates--

I counted at least 200 but explored less than half of the keep.
There only appears to be one entrance and it's lined with
improvised traps, barricades, and defensive siege weapons. And
their storeroom just exploded."
Hai nodded, walking away, "I see... traps, huh. We're going to lose
a lot of--"
He stopped.
Lang Hai grabbed Tycon's by the collar of his dark hood and lifted
him up, "What the hells do you mean the storeroom just
exploded?!"
Tycon glared, "Captain..."
Lang Hai placed him back down, "Sorry. I uh... Please tell me
about the storeroom."
The green-haired noble smoothed the creases on his cloak, "I had
a small cache of explosives, courtesy of the Ivory Judge sect.
With them, I destroyed several barrels worth of food and drinking
water."
..."Got anything else?" Hai tried his best to smile innocently.
"Lang... Whatever type of face you're trying to make, please stop."

"Fine then! Nerd!" Hai crossed his arms, scowling, "Did you find
anything good? I know you have a storage ring! I'm a Hidden Sect
leader, you know! We know these things."
"I didn't exactly hide it," The noble waved his hand... a barrel and
a few sacks appearing from his storage ring.
Hai knelt down, tears streaming down his face. He grabbed a

sack. Wonderful, delicious rations.
Oh, wait, that was corn meal. Hai tossed it away.
He grabbed the second bag. Sweet, wonderful, delicious not-corn-

meal rations.
Wheezing in excitement, Hai grabbed another bag. Salt! They had

salt! Their meals could have a tiny, tiny bit of flavor! He held it
close-- or he could sell it and buy... weapons so his men didn't
have to use meat-hooks and butchers' knives.
"The salt will be used for food, Captain," Tycon chided.
Sea god's pants. Hai cursed inwardly. Was he really so

transparent?
He grabbed a heavy jar and cradled it to his face, "Sweet tree

sap... I've-- I've never been able to afford you, before."
"One of the sacks is full of copper forks and spoons, as well,"

Tycon offered.
"You have done... a great service for the Beaurte fleet," Hai said
tearfully.
"...You're beginning to scare me, Lang Hai."
Hai embraced the single barrel Tycon had summoned, "Tell me

what's in the barrel, great benevolent Baron."
Tycon grimaced, "The barrel is full of pickled cucumbers."

"SWEET! WONDROUS! BLESSINGS OF THE SEA GOD!! Hai
screamed, his voice two octaves too high. "We have PICKLES!!"
Tycon was covering his ears, "Hai, really? The whole camp's
probably heard you."
Hai wiped his tears, "Yeah, sorry. It's an old sailor's tale. So the
Sea God turns himself into a pickle-- funniest shite I've ever
heard. Blessed by the Sea God, pickled cucumbers stave off
scurvy."
"Scurvy stems from a dietary deficiency. You could also dry and
pulverize the peels of citrus fruits-- lemons, not limes."
"Yeah, whatever." Hai scowled, "They work, alright?"
Tycon stood patiently.
Hai crossed his arms, grinning, "So, what now?"
Tycon shook his head, "Why are you asking me? You're the High-
Captain of the fleet, Lang."
...
Captain Miloslav of the Saltspray Kings had no clue how in the

hells the Sea Wolves did it. Their storage room had literally
exploded. The food they had accumulated to last them weeks had
gone up in a puff of smoke. The job was done well-- enough
explosives were used to level a fortified bank, much less a room
where they kept food.
Did they have a Mage that could cast invisibility? No, they
couldn't. If the Sea Wolves had a Silver-Rank Mage, they wouldn't
have bothered with subterfuge. And there were so many pirates
around, that it was impossible for an Iron-Rank Rogue to get in...
Did they really have a Gold-Rank stealth class?
Impossible.
Out of 100, maybe even 200 Iron-Ranks, there'd be a single Gold-
Rank. In his life, Miloslav only met one, a Bone Knight from
Rekkenmark back in his home, the Sleeping Country.
There was a traitor in the ranks of the Saltspray Kings. It was the
only explanation Miloslav would accept.
Over the past 2 suns, he had hung 20 men from the top of the
fort's walls... Pirates who he knew didn't like him... Men with shifty
eyes. Men who wore glasses... He had to be sure. The other
Kings-- his Lieutenants all agreed.
His stomach growled from the lack of food. He wanted to hold out
just a single sun more-- more ships would come soon... ships that
would be purchasing the slaves.
The Saltspray Kings could cut a deal. They never lost out when
they cut deals.
A knock came on the door.
Miloslav threw one of dozens of empty grog bottles, shattering

green glass all over the floor, "You!! F*ck off!!
A pirate with a well-kept silver beard opened the door, "Cap'n...

They sent another Sea Wolf to negotiate."
Negotiate? Pah. Never. The Sea Wolves are rabid... hungry for
blood. They wouldn't let them surrender. They were pirates.
Surely, everyone knew that Marines never negotiated with pirates,
especially Marines from the Sea Wolf fleet.
"F*ck off, Liber!!" Miloslav grabbed ahold of the table and tried to
stand, "Show me the Sea Wolf. I'll cut his balls off and hang him--
*hic*.... Hang him..."
Liber had walked close, "Captain... You are drunk. Again."
Miloslav tried to focus his eyes, grabbing at the pirate's collar,

"Liber, listen to me. We cannot... negotiate! We are.... The
Saltspray KINGS!! We CAN NOT... negotiate."
Miloslav needed to convince him. He needed to convince
everyone. They knew it in their hearts, but if their Captain didn't
convince them, the fools would try to surrender-- try to take the
easy way. It would lead to their doom.
The cool touch of a metal barrel touched the bottom of Miloslav's

chin. The sound of a pistol safety clicked off.
Miloslav narrowed his eyes, again steadying himself on the table

beside him, "Liber... What is the meaning of this?"
Liber shook his head, "It is not me, Captain. The crew has chosen
to mutiny."
Chapter 145 Hear Me
hree new men were strung up dead on the walls of the Saltspray
T
Keep. A Captain's hat was pinned to the center man's chest with a
crossbow bolt. It was obvious to any informed onlookers that the
Saltspray Kings had undergone a change in leadership.
Neutral ground was agreed upon between the fort and the outside
camp, in order to negotiate terms of surrender. Tycon sat at a
table across from a silver-bearded pirate, an empty paper contract
between them. Off to the side was the young Pale, sitting quietly
in his wizard robe and hat.
Several hundred miserable pirates warily watched. On the other

side was a similar number of sea Wolves, in good spirits and
fattened by fresh fish and stolen storeroom goods.
Liber of the Saltspray Kings tapped his finger on the table, "The
only issue I have with the magic contract is the non-encroachment
period."
Tycon grimaced, "Your guild give us all of your captured slaves.

My guild leaves you alone for 90 suns. That should be plenty of
time for you and your men to sod off into the ocean blue."
The bearded pirate raised an eyebrow, "Mister Sea Wolf, the

Saltspray Kings have a commodity you need. You, as well have
specifically stated in the magic contract, not 'many,' and not
'some,' but 'all' of our captured slaves."
Tycon scoffed, "Tss. Mister Liber, are you trying to turn a profit? I
have on good word that your peers could use a bit more 'oomph'
in their diet."
Liber smiled, "My peers have no issues consuming human flesh--

and we don't even have to eat our own. Come now, Mister Tycon,
90 suns are not enough time to rebuild. Give us 5 years."
Tycon glared as he gave his counter-offer...
...
...After nearly two bells of deliberation, Liber and Tycon agreed on

the duration of the non-encroachment period-- 3 years. Pale
drafted the contract using his elementary magic and half-a-bottle
of magic ink. The pirates had a few amongst them who could
read... but not well. At Liber's behest, Tycon read the contract
aloud to the pirates, patiently explaining the dozens of clauses
besides the non-encroachment period.
They were satisfied-- and for good reason. The terms the
Saltspray Kings had bargained for, sharply leaned in their favor.
Besides non-encroachment, they also demanded non-aggression-
- a difficult concept to enforce. Liber knew how to leverage their
hostages... and Tycon's debate with the intelligent man left him
mentally fatigued.
Fooling Liber was a tiresome job.
It took over 2 more bells for the Saltspray pirates to free some 110
captured slaves. A significant number of prisoners were injured or
had gone with untreated injuries for weeks. Nearly all of them
were malnourished to some extent.
The gruel would be a logical meal for the civilians until they
convalesced enough to eat normal food. If the situation weren't so
troubling, Tycon was certain that Hai would be ecstatic that he
wouldn't have to waste the "good stuff."
Out of both boredom and curiosity, Tycon decided to visit the

infirmaries to assist with the triage. He wasn't particularly skilled at
medicine, but he was familiar with basic procedures. He
interviewed patients to inform the medical staff, carried people
and equipment, and served as a calming presence for all parties
involved.
"Sir Tycon, we could use your assistance, over here," a bald sailor
with a musical voice called for him.
Tycon checked the System-provided name over the sailor's head,

"Petty Officer Milo. What seems to be the issue?"
The bald man smiled worriedly, "Sir Tycon! I'm gonna have to be
honest, I saw you use magical healing on a few of the rescuees
and was wondering if you had more of the juice."
Tycon did indeed have more of... 'the juice.' Tycon granted the
sailor a smile, "My Skill rapidly accelerates natural healing for
several seconds-- somewhat reminiscent to how a Sea Wolf
recovers, actually. Is there a patient having difficulty?"
"Not exactly... It'll probably be best if I just show you."
Milo escorted Tycon to a larger tent, separated from the others.

Upon entering, Tycon first noticed a young woman with disheveled
hair, staring at him blankly. A thin trail of saliva had dried down the
side of her mouth and she wore nothing but a torn robe.
Tycon waved a hand in front of her face, but the woman didn't
even flinch.
...The tent was full of men and women in a similar condition.
The sailor grimaced, "They're unresponsive... I don't know if it's

something wrong with their heads or if there's some sort of spell,
but I figured that you might know something..."
Tycon gently took the woman's arm, "I'll see what I can do. I
believe you've made the right choice."
He guided her and she walked obediently as Tycon directed.

Sitting the woman down on a cot, he looked into her eyes for pupil
dilation and checked her pulse-- even though he was using his
System, he'd at least appear professional.
« System, inquiry: What is afflicting this woman? »

[System response: Target's mental capacities are reduced by a
Third-Circle enchantment.]
Third-Circle... Normal humans rarely had access to Third-Circle

magic-- and if there was a Gold-Rank Mage allied to the Saltspray
Kings, they would have some sign of it, by now.
It was likely that a ritual was involved.
« System, inquiry: How do we reverse the spell's effect? »
[System response: The enchantment can be nullified by a

restoration spell of Third-Circle or higher.]
Tycon shook his head. The cost and effort of finding a spellcaster
for that were not within his best interests-- and especially not for
so many people, "Petty Officer Milo, are there any other
anomalies about these victims?"
The young man flushed for a moment but kept his

professionalism, "Yes, sir. Everyone with these conditions has
shown signs of abuse and torture..."
Sex and torture were the components of the ritual. Tycon didn't
enjoy the thought of it. The victims had experienced sexual and
physical depravities and were ultimately forced to surrender their
minds.
The ritual was moderately cruel-- enough that a person or a group

in the Saltspray Keep has grown considerably more powerful.
"Is there anything we can do?" Milo asked hopefully.
Tycon hesitated, "I'm doubtful. I will discuss exploring the fort with
Captain Lang. It will be our best hope at reversing this spell."
...
By late afternoon, Captain Lang Hai had arranged for everyone to

collect around a raised platform at the impromptu war camp. Hai
stood with Baron Tycon, surrounded by the Marines and sailors of
the Beaurte fleet. The recently rescued civilians watched on.
Hai leaned over to the green-haired youth, "Remind me to never
let you draft a magical contract for me, you... snake."
Tycon chuckled lightly, "I'll take that as a compliment, Captain."
"Are all nobles as insidious and sneaky as you?" Hai inquired.
"I'd say I'm only average."
"Guh... Not the answer I was looking for," Hai crossed his arms.
Tycon picked up the banner of the Sea Wolves and raised it high,
rousing a round of cheers and applause.
Hai addressed the crowd in a loud voice...
"We have completed one of our goals on this sun... Guild

Invictus!! OUR ALLIES! They have returned to us our kinsmen!
But in doing so, Baron Tycon was forced to compromise... Sir
Tycon."
Tycon stepped forward, "I have drafted a magical contract with the
Saltspray Kings. In return for the safe return of the prisoners... I
have promised that my guild was to depart on MY ships as soon
as we were able."
He raised his arms up, "And MY ships are banned from

encroaching upon Saltspray territory for 3 years!!"
A confused murmur rippled through the crowd until a single

shameless girl gasped aloud in her realization.
"But you don't own any ships, Mister Tycon!!"
Tycon pointed at the voice's owner, Rico, "And that, ladies and
gentlemen, is the smartest girl out of the lot of you."
The Sea Wolves began to roar with laughter. Apparently, Rico was
well known amongst the crews of the 3 ships. (Amidst the noise,
Rico was proudly showing off that she was 4.)
As Tycon stepped back, Lang Hai again stepped forward...

"We have ANOTHER goal to fulfill! Hear me, Sea Wolves!!"
The crowd roared back, echoing throughout the island. "WE

HEAR YOU!!"
Hai was not convinced, "I said-- HEAR ME, SEA WOLVES!!"
"WE HEEEAAR YOUU!!!!!" The Wolves began stomping their feet

and clanging their weapons together as they called out.
"I want EACH and EVERY single pirate in that fort RIPPED!!
TORN!! DEAD!! HEAR ME, SEA WOLVES!!"
"WE HEAR YOU!!"
"I want that entire gods-damned fort RAZED TO THE GROUND!!

DO YOU HEAR ME, SEA WOLVES!?!"
"WE HEAR YOU!!!"
"RIP AND TEAR!!" Lang Hai screamed.
"RIIIP AND TEAARRRR!!!" The crowd returned his fervor.
Captain Lang Hai nodded to Tycon.
Tycon unsheathed his sword and raised it to the sky. With a deep
breath, he bellowed, "BLOOD AND THUNDERRR!!"
"VICTORY AT SEEEEAAAAA!!!" The Sea Wolves unsheathed

and raised their own weapons. Dozens among them howled their
strange, haunting songs, adding to the cries.
Tycon pointed his blade towards the keep... and the Sea Wolves
surged forth, a roaring, howling tide thirsting for blood.
Chapter 146 All Shall Fall
ilhelm was tired. He'd spent a majority of the sun helping carry
W
food supplies back to the fort. Folks needed to eat, after all.
He was thankful, though. He'd had spent too damn long rotting in
the Saltspray Keep with a fat lot of thieves and brigands. Without
food, the fortress was a keg violently full of Orkish sugar, tottering
closer and closer to the flame.
The Captain and his Lieutenants started executing rando's. That's

when everything started falling apart. Mutiny, they said--
traitorousness or whatever. They tried to shift the blame like it
wasn't their fault everything was going to shite.
It really didn't matter none, the reason why things had gone the
way they had. Everyone was in the shite. Wilhelm knew it. His
buddies knew it. Their leadership knew it. But instead of just
surrenderin' the prisoners, they figured that rope and a bit of sky
dancing was the fix-all to the f*cked up game they were playing at.
Finally, one of the Iron-Rankers had enough. Someone was

bound to, eventually. A man from the Holy Country, a guy named
Liber, was the front for the common opinion-- that the 'Kings' of
the Saltspray pirates no longer had the right to rule.
Wilhelm was one of the men that strung old Captain Miloslav atop
the walls. It was funny. It was his idea to pin the Captain's and
Lieutenants' hats to their chests so the Sea Wolves knew exactly
what went down. Didn't want 'em to get the wrong idea.
Scary bastards, the Sea Wolves were. Folks came back tellin'
stories of how they'd stabbed a Wolf through the heart and they'd
get up and go on to kill another ten men. Smash a man's skull
right in. Tear his arm right off. Tooth and tentacle, that sort of scary
children story shite.
If Wilhelm heard a Sea Wolf beat a man to death with his own
spine, Wilhelm would probably believe it. Hm. Maybe he'd spread
the rumor himself. That'd earn a bloke buyin' him a drink, easy.
The worst thing about being a sailor was that all the stories were
true. Ghost ships, leviathans, merfolk-- and quite obviously, Sea
Werewolves.
Apparently, one of the Sea Wolves' Metal-Rankers can turn into a

20-fulm tall giant that was nothing but tentacles and claws. And
another was a giant dire wolf with a sword in her mouth, cuttin'
across the battlefield like a bolt of lightning. And their leader was
an undying god of battle carrying a flag and walking around with
30 guys chanting 'Blood and Thunder' like a gods-damned cult.
Scary shite. Wilhelm was fine lugging around sacks of cornmeal

and whatever, if it meant he wasn't on the front lines.
Their leader, some green-haired kid, signed a treaty with Liber.

The Wolves got their slaves back, Saltspray got a non-aggression
pact for 3 years. Shite was worth it. Liber's a smart fella to have
gotten all that. He even made the noble-looking bastard read it
aloud.
Things were starting to look up... but contract or not, Wilhelm

wanted to get the hells off of the island. He had a feeling there'd
be no good ending for the Saltspray Kings.
...
Wilhelm and the rest of the crew had finally arrived at the docks.
He gazed longingly at the ship he and his called home, the
Bloodsail Bucket. The sun was soon to set and they were a meal
and a night away from setting sail, away from the cursed island.
Over a dozen Sea Wolves stood on the docks, blocking the way.
Sea god's beard... Wilhelm wanted nothing to do with the freaks.
A uniformed guy with slanted-eyes walked up, a halberd resting

over his shoulders. He had a face Wilhelm wanted to rearrange
with his fist-- he must've been a Marine.
The prick grinned toothily, "You boys tryin' ta' head out?"
Wilhelm forced a smile, "Yeah, we are. The Cap'n says we ain't

comin' back, neither."
He felt like a bitch, but what the hells could he do? The guy's
halberd blade glowed orange with mana. You don't screw with a
guy like that.
"Hahaha!" The Marine laughed, "Yeahhh~ that's a pretty good

idea. Wouldn't want anything bad happening to ya."
The guy moved back and forth, allowing the sun to glint on his
shiny badges. Yeah, even worse. The slant-eye was an officer of
some sort. All officers were pricks. It was a golden rule. Wilhelm
focused every onze of his willpower just to not punch him in the
mouth.
Wilhelm looked back at his fellow crewmen. He'd get no help from
those worthless cunts-- they were just as terrified as he was... He
was the only one with the stones to be a coward, "You uh... you
fella's mind if you let us through?"
Slant-eye had jammed his pinky into his ear, picking out the gunk,
"You say somethin? I haven't heard volume so sweet since my
daughter was born-- and she was still louder than you."
The Sea Wolf's eyes shone gold, "Get. Back."
Wilhelm subconsciously stepped back. Sea. God's. Shitebox. He

was a sliver away from breaking down into tears. He just wanted
to head to the ship and sleep in his thrice-damned cot. He didn't
want to deal with a dozen sea monster cunts with weapons that
were literally on fire.
"Wh-what? Isn't there a treaty? Could you... could you please just
let us go?"
Yeah. He was being a total bitch. Wilhelm didn't care. He just
wanted to live.
"Not hard, boy. You either have the steel to go through us or..."
The guy motioned around him, "You go for a swim."
Seven hells. There wasn't any space on the docks to walk around
them. They'd have to jump into the drink to get around-- and then
do some fancy maneuvering to climb back onto the dock.
"Hey, fuck you, Sea Wolf," Lenny shouted in anger.
Wilhelm turned to glare at the thrice-damned idiot.
'What in the seven gods-damned hells do you think you're doing?'

--that's what Wilhelm wanted to say.
But Lenny would not speak again. Dark blood ran down the
sailor's mouth and onto his neck. 6 whitish points were sticking out
of his chest, with more of his blood spilling onto the rotten-wood
docks.
Both sides of Lenny's chest exploded in a rending of flesh and rib

bone. Disbelief still marked on the man's face, he fell. Standing
behind him was a set of armor, just 4-fulms tall. The iron helmet
on the guy was made to look like a mocking bull shark, and he
was just slathered in Lenny's blood and guts.
A glowing pearl set into the shark helm glowed as it spoke-- a

deep, echoey, inhuman voice. "Lieutenant Shao Ran, the first has
fallen."
Shao Ran clutched at his stomach, cackling at the blood and gore,
"Lieutenant Eleven of Seven, 'fallen' doesn't do it justice! More like
'eviscerated'! 'Eliminated with extreme prejudice'! Hahaha!"
"A kill has been secured without resistance. Your bitching is

irrelevant," Eleven swiped the blood off of his blades, sharpened
coral.
Wilhelm felt his bladder immediately empty its contents. The Sea
Wolves never intended to let them go, in the first place... "But-- but
the treaty?! There's a TREATY!!!"
"Many remain," the short metal man chided.
Shao Ran grinned, wiping a tear of laughter, "All shall fall."
The man spun his halberd's haft around his neck.
As Wilhelm flew through the air, the last thing he saw was his
headless body still standing on the docks.
...
Lang Hai ran ahead of his men, his body morphing and twisting.
He completed his transformation within seconds, bounding
forward as a 12-fulm tall hybrid Abyssal Sea Wolf.
He set his claws into the gate and with bulging muscles, pried the
barred wooden doors apart. He tore one of the doors off of its
heavy hinges and slammed it down, the sheer weight of it rending
an unexpecting pirate into two.
What an unlucky fellow.
No one was around to stop the Sea Wolves, much less Lang Hai.
Everyone in the fortress seemed to be resting or had returned to
their ships in the docks... The crews of the Thalia Grace and the
Spear of Selena would ensure they would not sail away. First
Lieutenant Eilean could take the wind out of their sails. Tycon had
seen it.
"Impressive, Captain," Tycon complimented. "Do you work out?"
Ravenous and frothing Sea Wolves, wielding claw and cutlass,

ran past him and Hai and into the keep. It was a stark contrast to
the leisurely walking Baron Tycon.
The hybrid-formed Lang Hai shrugged. "It's more of a grip-

strength thing. We practice by crushing banana tree wood," His
voice was echoey and garbled as if phlegm was caught in this
throat.
"Hm. Effective."
"Please." The Abyssal Sea Wolf motioned ostentatiously for Tycon

to move forward, "Age before beauty."
Tycon rolled his eyes as he walked into the fort. "You're such a
gentleman," he said sarcastically.
Chapter 147 Praises In Blood
ycondrius hadn't felt so safe on a battlefield, as he did following

T
Rico and Lang Hai.
Every Sea Wolf that Tycon had seen, regardless of Metal-Rank,

were swift and efficient slayers of men. The Captain/PFC pair
proved especially terrific exemplars of the killing art.
Private First Class Rico had returned to her sleek and beautiful, 4-
legged form. Her powerful bite crunched into a man's torso. Her
razor-edged claws slashed a Bronze-Rank's face into ribbons,
spilling the contents of his neck and ribs. She pranced with speed
and grace, handily dodging every attack. When the pirates'
attacks struck true, her wounds quickly closed-- seemingly
unaffected by the distance away from the beaches.
Captain Lang Hai's hulking bipedal form waded into the pirate
crowds. After so many hours of hammer-smashing with his fist,
Hai had begun to grab the running, screaming pirates. He
smashed them like insects onto normally-unreachable parts of the
walls or onto the ceiling.
The carnage and savagery from Rico, Hai, and the other Sea
Wolves occasionally splashed bouts of blood and guts onto
Tycon's cloak and boots. It was messy but within expected
parameters.
Upon entering a larger room, a squad of nine Saltspray pirates

hurried to the front, gutting an unfortunate Sea Wolf who had
scouted ahead. They wielded a variety of unique weapons, each
of them wrapped in a blue mana-glow.
Bronze-Rankers.
Hai pointed to the pirates, crushed and nigh-liquefied remains still
evident between his fingers, "More MEAT to play in the
GRINDER!! Gahahaha!!"
"BLOOD AND THUNDER!!" "VICTORY AT SEA!!" --The Sea

Wolves howled, their collective voices shaking the walls.
"Rawr, BITCHES!!" Rico yelled. The 4-legged Dire Sea Wolf bared
her teeth in a smile. Her out-of-place snaggletooth jutted out of
her maw, further diminishing her majesty.
...Tycon was slightly curious as to why Rico's voice was exactly

the same between her original and human form.
« System, inquiry: What is the source of the mana-glow on those

weapons? »
[System response: Tidespray Weapon. Second-Circle

Transmutation. Enchanted weapons deal a small amount of frost
damage.]
Tycon spoke aloud, his eyes scanning the area, "Captain Lang,
there's a Mage backing them. Remain vigilant."
A thrumming of clicks emanated from Lang Hai's massive chest,

"Got it."
A young blonde pirate pointed forward with his greatsword,

"Chaaaaaaaarge!!"
Hm. Perhaps that one was a squad leader.
Lang Hai crouched, the muscles on his thighs and calves bulging
with power. Before the group could charge, Hai had already leapt
through the air. He smashed into their formation and grasped at
the greatsword-wielder.
Rico dashed in and with a quick slash, the leader's right bicep was
nearly rent in two.
The pirate was useless, injured and entrapped by Hai's fingers--

he would not be able to escape. In his desperation, he
unsheathed a dagger with his offhand and sank it deep into Hai's
knuckle, "The Saltspray Kings shall rule FOREVER!!"
It was an impressive feat, garnering hope in such a precarious

situation. Tycon recalled an aphorism from the Holy Country.
"Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment," he snapped

his fingers.
With mana enhanced-speed, Lang Hai smashed a clenched fist

against a second pirate who was wielding a cutlass. Hai then
splatted the contents of his fist against the floor. The four tentacles
on his back wrapped around three more pirates, while the 'teeth'
on the remaining tentacle dragged across a fourth pirate's
abdomen. The fourth did not survive his evisceration.
Tycon nodded, "Hm. Very well."
A pirate rolled out of the way of Rico's quick and clumsy rush. In
the kneeling position, the woman held a long curved blade at the
ready.
"Young lady," He turned to Rico and snapped his fingers.
"IT FEELS SO GOOD, MISTER!!" The Sea Wolf yelled. With a

downpour of slashes from the girl's front claws, her kneeling
opponent transformed from a human into strips of meat barely
held together by bone.
Tycon held his hand out, consciously halting a third snap. He

would no longer cast Commander's Strike on Rico. He would seal
it as a Forbidden Skill. He dropped his hand back at his side to
watch the slaughter.
An Iron-Rank Aquamancer attempted to attack with surprise from

around a corner. They had summoned water lances similar in size
and shape to Eilean's, if a second or two slower. Tycon shouted
the universally understood order, "Geek the mage!"
The mage was quickly buried underneath a Wolf pile, interrupting

his spell.
Following Hai's initial strike to the center of the Bronze-Rank

squad, their teamwork was harshly disrupted. Without teamwork,
they were unable to deal a substantial amount of damage and
eventually succumbed to their hardy opponents.
Hai strode up to their single casualty, the Marine gutted by an

elemental weapon, "Tch. We got so far without casualties and you
just had to run ahead."
"B-b-blood.. and thunder, Cap'n..." The dying woman gurgled.
The hatchet-wielding girl's voice had a familiar nasal tonality.

Tycon tapped her side with his boot, "Get the hells up, Marine."
« Blood and thunder. »
[Activating. Victory at sea.]
Hai's unblinking black-sclera eyes glowered over Tycon, "Have

some respect. Loretta can't regenerate such a severe wound."
Tycon scoffed, "Tss. Captain Lang, I advise you as one leader to

another, to never underestimate your subordinates."
The hatchet girl sat up, coughing blood, her wounds visibly
regenerating, "Y-yeah. Requesting permission to not die, Cap'n?"
Hai reared his short-necked head back to laugh, "GAHAHA! SO IT

WAS TRUE!! You're a healer, you scummy noble!!"
Tycon pursed his lips, "Empty night, Captain. If you were curious,
you could have just asked."
...
Tycon examined a thick set of double doors. They didn't budge
and they had no lock. A powered kick by Lang Hai was more than
enough to solve the issue, breaking through the improvised
barricade.
After a hasty observation of the room beyond, Lang Hai ordered a

single squad to remain on standby. The rest of the Sea Wolves
were to join the other squads in sweeping the remainder of the
fort.
The room was dark and the floors were slick with blood.
Most of the walls and floors of the fort were decorated in gore,
courtesy of Tycon's traveling companions... but none had yet
graced the room before them.
Hai entered first, followed by Tycon and Rico.
Tycon's eyes adjusted quickly to the darkness. Corpses were

arranged throughout the larger room in a geometrical pattern.
Runic symbols in clumsily-drawn script were painted in blood on
every accessible surface.
"Oooooh, preeettty," Rico admired the walls. "Cap'n, can I draw on

the ship when we get back?"
"Don't even think about it, Rico," Hai growled.
Rico froze where she stood, staring blankly... How troublesome.

Was there some sort of magical Paralysis effect in the script on
the walls?
She blinked and resumed her movement, "Kayyyy."
...Oh. The fool girl was making an attempt at not-thinking.
Tycon approached a paragraph of text on one of the walls, "I'm

assuming you two have no issues seeing?"
"Not as easily as in the depths, but we'll manage," Hai snorted, his
throat full of phlegm. "Is there a deeper meaning behind these
dead pirates beyond saving us the trouble?"
Hai examined a scrawled text closely. It appeared to be in
draconic. Troubling...
« System, translate. »
[Translating... Translation complete.]
A small display of the passage appeared in Tycon's mind.
The purring Rico rubbed her blood-covered head against Tycon's

arm, "What does it say, Mister? Rico can't read!"
Tycon frowned, "Praise the snake god."

Chapter 148 Blood
Empowerment
Tycon discovered that there was a snake god.
Of course, there was a snake god. Why wouldn't there be a snake

god?
When Tycon awoke in the world, he remembered himself-- but not

the people he knew, nor the relationships he had. If he didn't have
the letter from Aurala in his pack, he may have just aimlessly
wandered around the Kingdom for moons on end.
He knew about classes and Skills and various martial

knowledges. He knew of the realm and of its nations and cultural
etiquette. He knew of religions.
There were three religions in the realm. Thirteen gods made up

the main pantheon. People prayed to the 'good' gods for blessings
and to the 'dark' gods for mercies. Dominant in the Sleeping
Country was a belief in self-reliance, developed enough to call a
religion. The Holy Country crusaded for an ever-burning Eternal
Flame, its will translated by their High Oracle.
No snake god.
Tycon was missing a large portion of necessary knowledge

concerning medusa culture. Though the System allowed him to
meld into human society, it remained that according to Dragan,
Wroe, and Aurala... he was a Prince of the Free Nation-- though
one of many.
He also recalled how Ananta the Endless addressed him during

their chance meeting. She called him the Ivory Prince. He did not
know whether it was a pet name or that was another of his titles.
"Hey-- Tycon," Hai loomed over him, "Snap out of it. What's it
mean?"
Tycon shook the unnecessary worries out of his head.
"Inane ramblings praising some snake god," he said, sweeping

back his green hair. He was sweating.
"What's a snake??" Rico asked, her tongue hanging out the side
of her maw.
"It's like an eel, but it lives on land and is very handsome," Tycon
responded, gently scratching the side of the girl's neck.
She purred, "Rico... loooves snaaakes."
"She means she loves eating them," Hai explained. "During two
separate occasions, we invested in a talking parrot and a Bronze-
Rank chicken Wizard to translate for Lieutenant Eleven of Seven.
Rico ate them both."
"I... see," Tycon nodded warily.
« System, add a prompt if I'm about to transform into a snake

within 30 yalms of Rico. »
[Understood.]
Rico sat back on her haunches and howled, "Rest in peace,

Kentucky!!"
Hai flicked her on the snout, "You. Ate. Him!"
"I'm sowwy, Cap'n!!"
"You're not allowed to be sorry!!" the massive werecreature

bellowed.
Tycon crossed his arms, "I'd like to continue to the boss room--
that is... if you two are quite done?"
Lang Hai turned his head and hmphed.

Rico bared her teeth in a slightly-threatening smile, "Ehehe."
...
Tycondrius stepped over the wooden debris from the door Lang
Hai had smashed in, shortly followed by Rico.
"Sea Wolves... I was beginning to wonder when you would arrive."
Liber stood up out of the copper tub, rivulets of the blood he was
soaking in running down his naked body. His muscles were clear
and defined, a body like a chiseled marble statue.
"We were takin' our sweet time-- you know, decking the halls with
Saltspray," Lang Hai chuckled.
"Hmph. Yes, it will prove difficult rebuilding the Saltspray Kings."

Liber stepped forward, leaving bloody footprints that boiled and
bubbled into the wooden floorboards, "Perhaps I'll start a new
crew... How does the Wolf Eaters sound to you?"
Tycon did not like how casual the pirate was speaking. In his
situation, the man should be a squealing, cowardly mess. The
Sea Wolves were a veritable disaster for the man and his men...
and he had nowhere to escape. Instead, he openly taunted both
Hai and Rico without armor or a weapon.
« System, inquiry: Basic information. »
[System response: Liber, Iron-Rank Human Warlock]
Tycon surmised that whatever the ritual circle had done in the
previous room had greatly solidified the man's confidence.
Lang Hai clicked in annoyance, "Give it up, pirate. And maybe I'll
let you die without knowing what it's like being torn apart by teeth."
Liber ignored him, "Mister Tycon... How did you do it? We drafted
a magical contract. Your guild can't violate the terms of
agreement."
Tycon shrugged, "They didn't."

"Of course..." The naked man stroked his beard, reddened by
blood, "Well played... The reason you focused on the specificities
of the terms was to take away attention from the fact that you
never belonged to the Sea Wolves in the first place."
Tycon elbowed Lang Hai's thigh beside him, "The pirate's smart.
Do something."
Lang Hai clenched his fists and howled loud enough to shake the
walls, "RICO!! BEAST MODE!!"
Rico's eyes glowed red with mana as she bounded forward. She
tilted her head to the side and clamped her jaws around Liber's
side, her teeth sinking into his chest and back. Liber winced in
pain as he used his well-defined arms to prevent her from biting
him in two.
Grabbing onto Rico's teeth, Liber kneed the girl in the side of her
jaw-- something that only made Rico angrier. She lifted him up
and smashed him against the side of the wall, then she whipped
him around, knocking over the copper tub in the process.
Almost suddenly, Rico seemed to lose her strength, collapsing to

her side onto the bloodied floor.
"What the-- RICO!! What's wrong?!?!" Hai yelled.
"Cap'n..." Rico groaned.
Liber stood up, revealing his body-- Rico's teeth hadn't pierced his
skin. Thin lines of mana glowed on his body, reminiscent of
scales.
The pirate shrugged, "If that is all, Sea Wolves, I'm afraid it's not
enough."
Tycon placed a hand on Hai's arm, "We should withdraw. You're at

a disadvantage here with your size."
Hai glowered down at Tycon, "I will NOT abandon Rico!!"

Tycon grit his teeth. Hai's course of action was unwise, but it was
a conscious choice. Tycon could only advise in a way to be most
advantageous, "Force him into the main room."
"I will tear you LIMB FROM LIMB!!" Lang Hai bounded forward,
reaching his massive, transformed arm towards Liber.
Liber's entire body lit up in a green flame as he stopped Hai's grab

with a single hand, "Funny. I was going to tell you the same thing."
Chapter 149 Reason To Live
ycondrius and the two Sea Wolves had arrived at a difficult

T
predicament. The Saltspray King, Liber, had become empowered
by a Dark Ritual.
The power Liber was utilizing was clearly above his rank. The
ritual had already been completed, so disrupting the ritual circle
was not an option. As there was no flowing source of power,
Tycon hypothesized that the ritual had a limited duration... or may
have been chained to a location.
Lang Hai wanted to charge forward like a gods-damned hero,

drunk on getting his vengeance. Convincing him to withdraw
would be antithetical to the boy's nature. If Tycon withdrew on his
own, he risked losing Lang Hai and Rico both.
The situation had gone to shite, bringing Tycon to a fact he

already knew intimately.
Warlocks were nothing but trouble.
"Eldritch Blast," Liber flicked his hand, a green bolt of dark

energies smashing into Lang Hai's chest. Hai stumbled backward,
but the tentacles on his back smashed into the walls and floor to
steady him.
"Bah! You shite-eating mage-bastard! Come over here and fight!!"

Hai growled.
"How does it feel, Mister Tycon? To watch your companions die

while you can do nothing?" Liber raised an eyebrow.
Tycon smiled, "Admittedly, not very good, Mister Liber. Perhaps

you'd consider attacking me, as well?"
There was an important clause in the contract. If a Saltspray
pirate was to attack Tycon or someone from his guild, the non-
aggression agreement would be nulled-- at least for that instance.
Liber lightly shook his head, "No, Mister Tycon. I don't think I will."
"Very well. I only offered out of politeness, after all."
Tycon turned to Lang Hai, who continued to be struck by green

bolts of energy. His scales withered and flaked. Parts of his body
were discolored by a gangrenous rot. The boy-Captain's
regenerative abilities were being taxed heavily.
"GrrrreEEAAAGHH!!" Hai picked up a nearby table and hurled it at

the warlock.
Liber wordlessly held up his hand, a spherical green mana shield

surrounding him. Upon contact, the table's movement abruptly
halted, and it fell harmlessly to the ground.
"If it makes you feel any better, dear Captain, I like your
enthusiasm," Tycon offered.
Hai snarled, his viscous saliva dripping from his maw, "When we
get done here, I'm going to skin you alive, you stupid--"
"Captain," Tycon interrupted.
"WHAAAAAT?!" Hai was incensed.
"Geek the mage, if you would be so kind."
"THAT'S WHAT I WAS--"
[Lamb to the Slaughter activated. Support ability. Allies within

range are compelled to simultaneously charge the user's chosen
target.]
Tycon saw the exact moment Hai's body began feeling the effects
of Tycon's Skill. His fins raised up, his black-sclera eyes widened,
and the muscles on his thighs and calves began to tremble.
"Oh." Hai closed his mouth, "Got it."
Lang Hai rushed towards Liber, still being pelted by Eldritch

Blasts-- but as long as he was affected by Tycon's compulsion,
the spells' stopping-power was nonexistent.
Hai smashed an elbow into Liber's face, knocking him back into a
wall. He picked up the table and began to smash it repeatedly
against the warlock's staggered form.
He really wanted to hit Liber with that table.
Tycon sighed. It was an inefficient use of mana to utilize his Lamb

to the Slaughter Skill with only a single ally, but Hai needed to get
within range of Liber to threaten him.
"Central hall, Captain!!" Tycon called out as he began walking, "I

will see to Rico."
"BESTIAL LATCH!!" Hai grabbed onto the Warlock. Bluish mana

sheathed his fist and he crushed harder, causing Liber to yelp in
pain.
Hai wound up his arm and threw Liber into the central hall,
bounding out of the room after him.
...
Tycon knelt down beside the fallen Rico. The horse-sized Sea
Wolf was lying on her side, looking ten shades of pathetic. The
poor girl had vomited and even urinated on the floor. She
whimpered and lapped at Tycon's face.
He wished she hadn't. The smell was atrocious.
« System, analysis: Rico's negative status effect. »
[Analyzing...]
"Rico, how are you feeling?"

"I... I don't feel so good, Mister Tycon," Rico whined, pain
apparent in her voice.
[Analysis complete. Poison. Third-Circle Necromancy. Greatly

reduces target's life force.]
Rico could have better shrugged off a poison effect from an Iron-
Ranker... But Liber cast at this spell at a higher level than his own.
This and the barrier he had were likely the reasons why Liber was
so confident.
Tycon wasn't a proper healer, but his Skill, Desire Trigger, could
help Rico resist the spell's effect. However, it would require the
girl's willpower... But judging by the girl's hyperactivity and the fact
that she had the tendency to cry and urinate when she went for
too long without food, (he had seen it,) Rico needed a push.
Tycon held up the girl's snout, "Rico... Listen to me."
"Am I gonna diiiiie?" Pools of tears had collected at the corner of

Rico's eyes.
"No. Shut up for a moment, young lady," Tycon scolded.
"Kayyyyy."
Lang Hai always treated Rico as a nuisance... but Tycon had only
ever seen obedience from her. Rico was a good girl.
"Rico, tell me something you like very much."
"I... I like you, Mister Tycon," Rico nuzzled her snout into Tycon's
chest.
"Rejected," Tycon lightly bopped her nose, "Something else."
"I like... eating... with my friends," Rico managed to puff out her
cheeks, an impressive feat considering her form.
"Is that what you like most, young lady?" Tycon scratched under
the girl's chin.
"I wanna... be with Captain forever," Rico whimpered in a tiny
voice.
There it was. Tycon could work with that.
"After this, then. We'll all have a big meal. We'll have everyone we
can get... and I'll make sure that Captain Lang Hai is there."
Rico's body started vibrating with how fast her tail was wagging,
"But... but... Cap'n doesn't eat with everyone else. He says it's not
something officers do."
Tycon smiled gently, "Which is why it's going to be special... just

for you, young lady."
The Sea Wolf gasped, "Just for Rico?"
"That's right. So you have to get better, okay? You have to stay
strong."
[Desire Trigger conditions met. Activate? Y/N?]
Rico blinked the tears out of her large eyes, "It really hurts, Mister
Tycon..."
Tycon raised an eyebrow. It sounded like the girl wasn't finished

speaking, "But?"
"But it... hurts more thinking that a different Sea Wolf might eat
with the Captain, instead of with me."
Ah. Very well. So Lang Hai was ignoring the girl's feelings. Tycon
was going to beat the shite out of the boy after this.
« Activate the ability. »
[Desire Trigger activated. Support ability. Targeted ally is

compelled to envision an existing incentive, moderately boosting
target's ability to resist detrimental effects.]
Tycon unstoppered a borrowed waterskin and poured it into his

hands-- he'd filled it with seawater just before, "Drink."
Rico obediently lapped up the water.
"Rest for awhile, young lady. I'll go help your Captain with that
rude fellow," Tycon stood up.
"O... okay, Mister. Come back soon."

Chapter 150 Doing His Part
ang Hai swatted the Warlock away, but the green sphere
L
surrounding Liber greatly reduced the impact. Sustaining combat
in his dire hybrid form increased the drain on his stamina. And
much more of it was being taxed by regenerating injuries from
being hit by every gods-damned Eldritch Blast the Warlock threw.
"I had heard tales of the strength of the Sea Wolf Marines," Liber
mocked. "Frankly, I am not impressed."
"Gehehe..." Hai's barrel-chest thrummed as he laughed. The

man's taunts meant nothing, "Soon, the shell will break. And then
I'll tear you apart and chew on your insides."
Liber frowned, seeing that a crack had developed in his mana

shield. He raised his arms at his sides, mana collecting in green
flames at his palms, "Glory to the SNAKE GOD!!"
Hai placed his arms in a cross to guard his chest and face against
the eldritch barrage. He couldn't remember a time where brute
strength hadn't been able to solve his problems in combat... not
since he raised his comprehension of the Sea Wolf Body Art to
Major Completion.
He snarled in frustration-- he needed Rico to be okay. The three of

them could escape... Then Hai would bring all 3 of his working
cannons and the tens of working rifles he had and blast the
Warlock to oblivion. He'd bring Eilean too! That shield might be
able to stop a punch, but it probably wouldn't stop a hundred
Water Lances!
What was that green-haired nerd doing? Why was he taking so

long?
Hai desperately wanted to believe that Tycon could save Rico.
She was too strong to just die-- even though Liber's spell was
really weird. If she did die... Hai would ensure Liber would suffer
far worse fates than death.
He felt the rage growing, his blood pumping faster. He'd thought
he was fresh out of adrenaline, but he felt his energy returning
and his fear and worries melting away.
"I'll TWIST and TEAR apart your limbs from your body!!
"I'll CRACK your bones and DRINK the marrow!!
"I'll BEAT you to death with your OWN GODS-DAMNED SPINE!!
"HOW DARE YOU HURT RICO!!"
Hai dropped his guard and began barreling through the spell
blasts. Each spell burst against his scales, numbing and burning.
He could feel the dark energies twist and bore into his flesh,
eating away at him.
The pain was immense. And it remained.
He sustained more injuries on his body.
All of it hurt. Maybe even his soul was burning away.
He had taken so much damage and his injuries were so severe

that his healing factor could not keep up.
But it did not matter.
"Fall, damn you! FALL!!" Liber yelled, his voice frantic.
"RISING STORMMMMM!!!" The air hummed around Hai as his

five-fingered death claw met the resistance of Liber's mana ward.
With a crash of thunder, a thick blast of air burst outwards,
crumbling the stone of the surrounding walls and forming a web of
cracks on Liber's mana shield.
"Not enough, Sea Wolf!" Liber smirked. A thin trail of blood ran
fresh down the side of his lips.
"Oh, I'm just getting started," Hai promised. "Sea Wolf Sect:
THOUSAND WAVE CRASH!!"
Hai's massive arms blurred as he activated the Martialist Skill,

smashing dozens and hundreds of punches against Liber's shield.
The bearded man held up both arms, the life in his face visibly
draining away as he desperately channeled mana into his barrier.
Hai gasped for breath, ignoring the pain in his lungs and the
broken bones in his fists, "Blood. And. Thunder."
He kneeled down to steady himself and shut his eyes to

concentrate his mana. The teethed tentacles on his back raked
downward, shattering Liber's shield. The green sphere burst
outward, covering the entire hall in shattered mana shards,
sizzling and melting onto the pockmarked wooden floor.
"...How frightening." Liber's voice remained calm, "I must admit, I

am a little impressed."
Hai shot his eyes open enough to wince in pain. A painful shock
shot through both of his arms, followed shortly by the cool feeling
of numbness.
Hai gargled as he fell to his knees. Strength was quickly leaving

his body, "What... have you done?"
Looking down, he saw that from the elbow-down, Liber's arms had
lengthened and ended with the heads of snakes. The transformed
appendages bit down into Hai's forearms and were pumping him
full of venom.
This was the ability that Liber used to kill Rico...
"You... mage... bastard!!" Hatred seethed in Hai's black-sclera

eyes, "I will be avenged. This. Means. Nothing."
Hai's body began to reduce in size, his freakish muscles returning
to that once more of a 14-year old boy.
"Ahahaha! What's this?!" Liber cackled, his eyes glowing red with
madness. "A mere child!? What use is your strength now? You
kneel before the might of the--"
Liber's speech was interrupted by the whirring of a sword hurtling

towards him.
Blood spurted through the air. Liber pulled his arms back.
"Tss," Tycon scoffed. "My accuracy suffers, throwing from that

distance."
Liber cradled the bleeding stump of his left forearm, grinning,

"You've missed, Mister Tycon."
...
Tycon walked forward. Hai was in a sorry state, even reduced to

his normal form. It appeared the boy-Captain had been poisoned,
as well.
« System, analysis: Lang Hai's condition. »
[Analyzing... Analysis complete. Weakness Bite. Second-Circle

Necromancy. Greatly reduces target's strength.]
Tycon cursed inwardly. This encounter had become far more

difficult.
He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, "Indeed I did. I was trying to

end that poor fool beside you."
"Sod off, old man," Hai muttered.
"You're not dead yet, Sea Pup. Or are you trying to tell me that's
the best you can do?"
As weakened as Hai was, Tycon needed the Sea Wolf back in the
fight.
« Activate. »
"The poison has weakened me, Tycon. And my injuries are

severe," Hai spat. "But I've broken his shields. I've done my part."
[Inspirational Surge has failed.]
Liber stroked his blood-stained beard, "I'm curious to how you've

attacked me without suffering a magical backlash. Was the
magical contract a fake, Mister Tycon?"
"I took a splash from your mana ward explosion, sir. You should
be more careful."
Tycon charged forward but he had 10 yalms of distance to cross

to get to the Warlock.
Liber's right arm glowed with mana as several green-glowing

eldritch orbs hovered behind him, "Well played. But surely you
must realize the contract was the only thing that was protecting
you."
« Seven gods-damned hells! Activate Tumble! »
[Activating.]
Tycon ran on the side of a crumbled wall, flipping in mid-air, barely

dodging the face-melting barrage of spells. He smashed his boot
into Liber's chest. Then, he hopped up and kicked him with a
roundhouse to the face, staggering the man back.
Tycon glared at the kneeling Hai beside him, "You get the hells up
right now, you worthless piece of garbage. Since when has a
Captain-- no, since when has a Marine been allowed to give up?"
[Inspir--]
« Activate, gods damn you!! »

"I'm telling you I can't move my body!! I just can't!!" Hai's body
trembled. It was obvious to Tycon he was trying-- but it wasn't
nearly enough.
[Inspirational Surge has failed.]
Tycon snorted and he spat onto Lang Hai's face.
Hai's eyes shot open like he couldn't believe it, "What... the fuck,
you sick--"
"You're no longer worthy of my respect." Tycon shoved the boy to

the floor with his boot, "Fine!! I'll finish this fight my gods-damned
self. And when I'm done, I'll tell Rico that you died A SNIVELING
COWARD!!"
Chapter 151 Goodwill For
Humankind
" Your casting efficiency is superb, sir. Is that the result of your
ritual?"
Tycon complimented Liber as he cut down a green bolt of eldritch

energy. He dashed forward, aiming a round kick at the Warlock's
thigh.
"Thank you, but I must apologize," Liber tilted his body and
backstepped to dodge the swipe.
The Warlock sent a green-flamed front kick at Tycon's chest.

Tycon was forced to block with the flat of his blade, staggering
backward from the force.
Liber smiled, "My comprehension of the Eldritch Blast spell is well

into Major Completion. I can go on for bells, at the least-- and I
doubt you can continually dodge and deflect for even 5 more
minutes."
Tycon nodded, "That is unfortunate to hear."
"Do continue to struggle, sir," Liber pointed the bloodied stump of

his left arm forward. Abruptly his arm lengthened and its end
transformed into a snake-head, snapping at Tycon.
Tycon smacked the artificial snake in the top of its skull with his
sword pommel, "A few of the prisoners you released were brain-
addled and unresponsive. I suppose that was your doing?"
"It was!" The Warlock pulled back his arm, whipping his snake-
appendage across Tycon's face, "I offered the Snake God their
minds and bodies."
Tycon rubbed his cheek. It would bruise later, "The process seems
overly laborious for only so much power."
He reared his blade back and slashed in a full arc. As Liber

dodged, Tycon drew his crossbow.
CHNK!! The crossbow released a bolt that struck the warlock in

the stomach.
"Augh!!" Liber winced in pain, "Hm... Ohhh? Poison~?"
The poisoned bolt didn't seem to affect the man. Tycon was not
surprised, "Blessing from the snake god, I'm assuming?
Immunity?"
Liber nodded as he pulled out the bolt. A superficial amount of

blood dripped from the shallow injury, "Also correct. Infernal
Rebuke."
Tycon's skin felt hot as he leapt back. Green flames glowed

around him, burning his skin, "Arrrrghh!! Fffff*ck!!! Owww..."
Tycon tossed away his crossbow, grabbed the end of his cloak,
and swept it in front of him. Surging his mana outward, the flames
disappeared as quickly as they came.
"Tsk tsk," Liber pointed his sword with a limp wrist, "For the
record, I thoroughly enjoy using the bodies of young women as
my personal playthings. I believe every hot-blooded man is the
same."
Tycon shrugged as he unstoppered and drank a potion. It was his

last, "I'm a firm believer in proper, respectful courtship between
two partners. Shadowfang Strike."
Liber narrowed his eyes as Tycon stepped backward and melded

into the deeper darkness, "Your tricks will not help you, Mister
Tycon."
The pirate turned to the side and slashed at the shadows,

deflecting Tycon's sword. His eyes widened, realizing the force
was too light-- it was a feint! Tycon put his weight into the
downstroke, forcing Liber to block upwards.
The Shatterspike longsword neatly cut through the dark iron

blade, opening a vertical laceration down the Warlock's chest,
"Augh!! You gods-damned rat!"
Tycon thrust his longsword at the Warlock's throat, but Liber

disappeared in a gout of flames, reappearing 5 yalms back.
Embers of the green glow were scattered around the hallway,
dimly lighting the room.
Tycon swiped his sword with a flourish, cleaning it of blood,

"Tricks are quite useful for changing the status quo, Mister Liber.
You should not underestimate them."
The Warlock tossed away his broken sword and drew a line with
his fingers on the gash, closing the wound, "Well played, then...
Though I must say that you'd have won by now, had you used that
Skill earlier."
The two observed each other at a distance, weary from battle.

They both tacitly agreed to use the combat lull to regain their
stamina.
Tycon took a deep breath, "I had only developed the Skill recently.
It's quite unpolished."
"Then your mastery of swordsmanship and shadow manipulation

is respectable." Liber politely bowed, revealing a head drenched
with sweat, "When I offer your life to the Snake God, I will
undoubtedly receive a great boon."
"Thank you," Tycon retrieved his crossbow and loaded a new bolt,
"But really? Snake god? Have you listened to your own drivel?"
Liber tilted his head upward, his clenched fist smoldering in mana,
"Worship of the Snake God is a core belief of mine, Mister Tycon.
I have years of theological debate and discussion on the matter."
"Ah, I had spoken carelessly. Forgive my ignorance," Tycon
returned the bow. It was unfair of him to allow his prejudices to
interfere with his professionalism. "Theological differences aside,
understand that I wish to kill you due to your allegiances and
because I find your face to be tiresome."
The Warlock grimaced as he twisted his beard with his fingers, "I
quite pride myself in my appearance, sir."
"Oh, I'm certain you're very handsome. It makes me want to drag

your face against the broken floorboards."
"Have we devolved to personal insults, Mister Tycon?"
"Oh, no, Mister Liber." Tycon feigned offense, "If I knew of your
mother's location, I would gut her as an act of goodwill for
humankind."
The Warlock narrowed his eyes, raising his palm towards the
ceiling, "I've had quite enough of you, whelp. Nypacian Serpents!!"
A misty haze surrounded Tycon as dozens of mana-formed

snakes tore out and latched their fangs to his body. Tycon winced
as he pulled a snake off, crushing it into mana-dust, "Humorous.
I'd say the same thing to your mother if she were to spread her
legs."
Liber raised an eyebrow, "The Nypacian serpents have no effect?

Mister Tycon-- are you, perhaps, blessed by the Snake God as
well?"
"Astute observation," Tycon finished plucking the snakes from his

body. Other than the shock of their bites, the illusory snakes
hadn't caused him injury... "But I haven't the slightest."
"No matter," The Warlock rapidly gestured a series of seals with

his one hand, "I'll end you now and be on my way."
"A familiar quote from your father to your mother, I believe."

Liber began transforming his surrounding mana to a noxious
cloud, roiling and violent, "(Snake God, hear my will. Grant thy
loyal servant the flames of Witchfire!! The heretic before me, I
offer his soul to you!!)"
Tycon waved his hand to activate his spatial ring. A barrel

reaching up to his chest appeared in front of him.
Liber cackled, mad with power, "Gwahaha!! Are you trying to hide
behind a paltry barrel?! You underestimate my power!!"
"Well, yes. I had guessed as much."
Tycon grasped his longsword with both hands, channeling what

pitiful mana reserves he had remaining... "Iron... Dragon...
REND!!"
With a surge of mana, Tycon slashed the blade upward. The

wooden floorboards split apart, rending a deep crevasse in the
ground. Splinters, dust, and debris clouded the air.
Chapter 152 Respect
aced with Tycon's Iron Dragon Rend, Liber had canceled his
F
spell, leaping back and shielding his eyes.
As the dust cleared, he glanced down to see that he stood in the

dirt a few fulms lower, uncovered by the floorboards.
"...An impressive attack, Mister Tycon."
Tycon rolled his right shoulder. It ached terribly, "I dislike it. It
exerts far too much mana and stamina for its effect."
"As for its effectiveness... Does it merely split the earth?" Liber ran
his hand about his body, "I seem have gained no new injuries...
unless your intent was to stick me with a few slivers of wood."
Tycon raised his palms in a shrug, "It's unfortunate. Had you not
retreated, you'd have been well-battered by rocks and a few very
nasty splinters."
"It *was* quite terrifying." Liber clenched his fist, reigniting it with
the roiling flame of Witchfire, "Well, I still have the mana to
continue. And you, sir?"
Tycon shook his head, "My mana reserves are nigh depleted."
Liber nodded, "I see. You've done well. Had I not been recently
empowered by the Snake God's Blood Cleansing ritual, I would
have been defeated soundly."
"Ah, yes, an excellent tactic on your part, sir."
"I know this is rude of me, but I have quite enjoyed our duel.
Would you entertain the idea of joining forces, Mister Tycon?"
"...No, Mister Liber." Tycon shook his head lightly, "Though I too,
have enjoyed myself-- our goals and ideals greatly differ."
"Well spoken, sir-- very well spoken. Then, I shall not insult you by
offering mercy."
Tycon chuckled derisively, "I do wish you would."
Liber held his palm forward, focusing his mana into a

concentrated sphere aimed at Tycon's chest, "Speak your final
words, nonbeliever."
Tycon tried his best to hide a knowing grin, "Blood and thunder."
...
[A few moments earlier]
Captain Lang Hai lied on the floor, drifting in and out of

consciousness.
Stupid noble. Why did he say that?
What about Rico?
Rico was dying... Had Tycon... had he fixed her?
Why was the fight so gods-daaaaamned nooooisy?
Were they talking? Scummy noble. All they do is talk...
Hai wasn't a coward... Tycon was a bastard for daring to call him
that.
Marines don't surrender-- but what could he do without strength?

And against a magic caster clearly above his level?
He did good, though. He broke that Liber guy's shield. The mage
was pretty strong.
Tycon looked pretty weak, but the prick was handy with the sword.
Oh, wait. He threw it at the mage. Hah. Idiot.
Hai tried to lift himself up-- just so he could mock the green-haired
nerd.
Oh, that's right. He was poisoned and all his strength had left him.
What did he mean, though? Why did he say that he'd tell Rico?
...And why did the thought royally piss him off?
He wasn't a coward. Rico would never believe him, anyroad.
The stupid girl looked at him like he was a god.
She stuck around him, no matter what. She was super annoying
about it, too.
She showed him things like starfish and shiny shells and how beer
made her drunk.
Hai had to teach her how to wear clothes, so she wouldn't go

around the ship naked. He taught her how to count. He taught her
that it wasn't okay to kiss everyone she liked.
She'd never believe Tycon if the noble said Hai was a coward.
Aw, shite. What was he doing, lying on the deck?
He couldn't help it, so far away from the waters... His healing
factor was barely keeping him alive, so it wasn't a surprise he
couldn't stand.
Sea god's socks, he just wanted to die in peace, but his thrice-
damned healing factor wouldn't let him.
Screw it. Hai would just get up and stop dying like a gods-damned
coward.
Hai tried to push himself off of the floor-- it was no use.

He wasn't a coward! He scratched the floorboards, trying to force
his muscles to move. Mind over body! Heart over mind! Rage!!
Over!! Logic!!
Aw shite. Hai lost a fingernail. It hurt.
He wasn't a coward. He couldn't give up. Marines don't give up.

Sea Wolves don't give up.
The crash of a barrel landed nearby him, spilling seawater onto

the deck and drenching Hai.
Yes. Yesssss. What idiot left out a barrel of sea water?
Hai lapped up the water like it was piss from the gods.
Shite. Really? Hai got a splinter in his tongue. Bweughh~
Was this the actions of a coward? Slurping up seawater off of the

floorboards?
His strength was returning-- but slowly. Too slow.
Sea god's spear! It was too slow!
He needed to get up! He needed to punch that dickweed, Tycon in

the throat.
"Blood and thunder."
Hai's eyes widened, the Sea Wolf motto echoing in his mind.
...
Tycon had remained too long, hoping that he could defeat the
weakened Liber with pure martial skill. He should have withdrawn
as soon as Rico dropped.
Tycon smirked. This was his wager. If it failed, he would die.

« Do it. »
[Activating...]
Liber closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "Blood and thunder,
indeed. Unfortunately, sir, you will find no--"
A dark blue blur of a ravaged Marine coat rushed past.
The teenage form of Captain Lang Hai gripped Liber's throat with
both hands, "FUCK YOU, WIZARD!! I WILL MAKE YOU
EXPLODE!!"
Empty night. What kind of battlecry was that?
Hai ran forward, smashing Liber against a wall. Holding him down
with his right, he smashed his fist into Liber's ribs. "BLOOD!!"
"AND!!" Again he punched. Liber spat out blood.
"THUNDER!!" And again he struck, Liber's eyes rolling back in his

head.
Hai smashed his forehead into the man's face and kneed him in
the groin, "VICTORY!! AT SEA!!"
He bit Liber with his very human teeth.
Tycon walked over, grimacing, "You had some ten minutes to think
about what you'd say, and all you managed was 'I will make you
explode?'"
Lang Hai didn't appear to have heard him.
Hai took him to the ground and brought down his elbow on the
Warlock's eye sockets.
He broke all of Liber's fingers and twisted his right forearm

completely around.
Tycon crossed his arms, "Well, would you mind dragging his face
against the floorboards?"
"FUCK YOU TOO!!" Hai screamed, spraying saliva.
Tycon snapped his fingers, "Right, then."
Though the boy was indignant about it, he flipped the Warlock
onto his face and grabbed the back of his head. He dragged the
body across the floor, leaving a cruel streak of blood.
Several moments later, Hai stood up covered in blood, his

breathing labored. Liber's skull had been crushed, the pink of
brain matter spilled onto dirt-- as if his head had exploded.
He turned to Tycon looking up. He opened his mouth in a scowl to

speak, but quietly closed it, crossing his arms.
Tycon nodded, "You did well, young man."
Lang Hai furrowed his brows, his entire body still trembling, "Is...
Rico okay?"
Tycon glanced back into the other room. Rico was curled up into
herself, sleeping. She nuzzled her snout into her haunches, "She'll
be fine."
Hai grimaced and stared at the broken floorboards. With a sigh, it

appeared his fervor had left him... "Sir Tycon..."
"What is it, young Captain?"
"What... do I have to do to earn back your respect?"
Tycon chuckled as he placed his hand on Hai's shoulder, "I see no

cowards here, Lang Hai."
Chapter 153 Silver Scales
fter Lang Hai rested for a while (and healed his broken arm,) he
A
lifted up Rico's four-legged form onto his shoulders. It looked
absurd, the teenage boy carrying a tentacled Sea Wolf the size of
a horse.
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Has your strength returned, Captain?"
"Eh, not all the way," Hai admitted. "But I can at least do this
much."
Tycon found it strange. According to Lang Hai's personality, he'd

expected him to rudely awaken the young lady. Tycon surmised
that the battle had taken an emotional toll.
"I promised the young lady that we'd eat a celebratory meal if she
survived."
Hai rolled his eyes, "Then she tricked you. All she wants to do is
eat. We can't afford to feed Rico 3 whole meals every sun!"
Tycon smiled, "You will eat alongside her."
"Ugh. No thanks." Hai frowned, "She steals food from my plate,

sings and dances, and is just a general annoyance-- besides, it's
unprofessional for officers to eat with the crew."
"She has specifically requested it."
Hai hesitated... "I suppose one meal couldn't hurt."
He glanced at the double-doors, adjusting the sleeping Rico

snugly against the back of his neck, "I'm gonna get this fatty back
to Eilean and inform the men of our victory."
The sleeping Rico bit Lang Hai's head, causing him to yelp in
surprise.
Tycon chuckled amusedly, "Very well. I will remain for a short

while longer."
Hai pried off Rico's jaws before glaring at Tycon, "You're going to
investigate the weird snake cult stuff? Tch. You nobles and your
weird hobbies."
Tycon grimaced but could not refute the boy.
...
The central room was the location of the cellar door. Tycon had
discovered it when he had initially infiltrated the keep, and with
some patience, confirmed that it held the would-be slaves from
Beaurte.
Tycon sought more knowledge about the snake god. Perhaps he

could discover clues about his past. Some of the floorboards had
already been broken through from his Iron Dragon Rend,
revealing the spacious basement below.
He unlatched the trapdoor, examining the ladder that led down.
« System, Activate Small Snake Form. »
[Activating.]
Tycon hadn't sensed any enemies below, but the stealth effect of
his snake form would provide an added layer of caution. He
silently slithered down the ladder.
The taste of old blood and unwashed prisoners still hung in the air.
Metal bars made a third of the room into a prison. Inside, a few
rotting corpses still remained, stripped naked and piled in a far
corner. Outside, were well-used torture racks and tables, a
constant reminder to the imprisoned.
Prisoners could pray to their gods for sweet release. Or they
would endure horrors if their gods remained silent.
The burning floorboards above, once enveloped in sickly green

flames, had calmed into bits of orange embers-- the light of which
was enough for Tycon to see the color in the darkness. Besides
the drab browns of human waste, rusted iron bars, and
unvarnished wooden torture equipment... he spotted a sliver of
silver. It hid beneath a large, loose rock in the corner.
« System, inquiry: Target status? »
[Unranked Snake]
...Well, that was certainly nothing to be afraid of. The System

returned a target value, so the young snake was not a corpse--
unlike most everything else in the Saltspray keep.
He decided to approach in a less threatening form.
[Small Snake Form Cancelled. Returning to Human-Form.]
Tycon carefully knelt a few steps away. He cleared his throat

began to hiss in Parseltongue...
"(Wouldst thou reveal thyself? I am no threat.)"
Hesitantly the silver snake revealed herself. She was a thin snake,
not even a fulm in length, with a feminine tapered tail, "(Who...
might thou be, Lord? Thou who can disguise himself as a man?)"
Her voice was young, a child. This was a foul place for one so
young to live. On a soon-to-be deserted island, she would soon
run out of prey.
Younger snakes tended to be deadlier than others in their brood

as they could not well control the amount of venom they could
inject. Tycon had easily resisted a Second-Circle poison spell less
than a bell earlier. Even if the young lady had bit him by mistake,
Tycon was confident he would suffer no ill effects.
"My name is Tycondrius--"
The snake reared back, hissing in panic, "(The Ivory Prince! Lord,
thou must forgive Sasarame for her rudeness!!)"
Tycon smiled gently as the System's display changed the silver

snake's name to Sasarame. He reached an open palm to the
ground, "Come with me, (I will take thee from this place.)"
Sasarame hesitated, "(Can... she finally return home?)"
"Perhaps, young lady. But until then, you can be my traveling

companion."
The young snake shuddered lightly but did not approach.
"(...She hesitates. Sasarame is afraid.)"
Tycon nodded in encouragement, "(I will protect thee, beautiful

child.)"
Sasarame lowered her body, slowly slithering backward.
"(Nay, Ivory Prince... Sasarame is afraid of thee.)"
Tycon closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply, "I too, am
afraid, young lady. I fear the uncertain dawn. I fear for my friends. I
fear myself and the dark secrets that I know and know not... But
fear will not stop me from doing what I believe is right.
"(On my name as the Ivory Prince, on my name as Leader of Sol

Invictus, on my name as Slayer of Dragons... I swear to protect
thee, Sasarame.)"
Finally, Sasarame slithered closer, "(Do... do dragons truly exist?)"
"They do not," Tycon smirked. "I have killed a very large lizard,
though. Will that be enough, (beautiful child?)"
She stared at Tycon's outstretched hand, "(Sasarame is not a

beautiful child... She is a cursed child. The Ivory Prince knows
naught of her...)"
"(No child deserves to live in fear. If thou art truly cursed, I shalt
enslave the angels of the 11 heavens and command the denizens
of the 7 hells...)
Tycon inwardly admitted that there were plenty of cheaper and

less troublesome options he would try before waging war against
an outer plane. While pricey, Tycon would look into hiring a Cleric
or Cursemancer.
"(Then... Sasarame will trust thee...)" The young lady softly

hissed.
It had been difficult to convince Sasarame, but her distrust was

not without good reason. Whatever depravities she'd witnessed in
these chambers were certain to taint her worldview.
Slowly, the young snake slithered to Tycon's hand. She flicked her
tongue against his fingers... and his eyes began to grow heavy.
He felt his consciousness quickly fading. He struggled to stand, to

cry out... but his vision grew dark.
Chapter 154 Snake God
ycon opened the blue wooden shutters and walked onto the
T
balcony overlooking the rocky bay. He breathed in the ocean air,
placing his hands on the ornate metal railings.
"I wonder where my cute sister has gone..." he mused aloud.
Tycon smirked as he heard faint giggling noises behind him. Oh,

what a foolish little girl.
"Well, if she's gone..." Tycon sighed, overly dramatic, "I'm gonna

go raid her panty drawer!"
"You wouldn't!!" An olive-skinned girl screamed, revealing her

hiding spot on the roof.
Tycon hopped up and snatched the girl's ankle, pulling her down
and loosening some tiles. Keeping hold with both hands, he
dangled the girl over the balcony.
"Big brother! Let me go!!" the girl screamed.
Her short dress hung upside-down and her undergarments were

on display for the world to see. As she struggled, her hair wriggled
in distress to match her emotions.
"Very poor choice of words, Cass!" Tycon laughed, "The more you
move, the looser my grip gets!"
"Stars and stones! I'm sorry! Just pull me uuuuuup!!" Cass yelped,
trying her best to keep still.
Tycon pulled the girl up, straining a bit to do so, "By the heavens,
you're heavy!"
"That-- you're not supposed to say something like that to a girl!!
You're supposed to be a gentleman!!"
Cass swept back the green streak in her otherwise all-black hair.
Tycon was always amused how the green shade of it accurately
matched his own. She stood as high as his chest, but she was still
young. In a few short years, she would surpass him both in height
and in--- ugh...
"Psh N--ahhh.... Rrghhh..."
Tycon snarled in agony, taking a knee and holding both hands

against his pounding head.
"NO!! I will not stand idly while being forced to watch!! I am in

control of MY OWN FATE!!"
« I will refuse with every onze of my being. System, override: I

need control of this dream. »
[Force overriding... Override complete.]
Almost immediately, the pain halted as Tycon stood and took a

step forward. Looking back, he was surprised to see he looked
upon himself-- standing as he continued to talk with his sister. He
had stepped out of his corporeal body as a mana-projection of
himself.
It was a small victory, watching his past self from an outsider's

perspective instead of his own.
Examining himself, his first thought was, of course, that he was

very attractive. However long ago the dream was set in... his
dream-face was very similar to how it was normally. However,
Tycon felt he was far more professional than past-him.
He theorized a reason... perhaps he had yet to become a

murderer.
« System, inquiry: How much control do I have over... whatever is

happening? »
[System response: The user can skip to any point in time of the
recorded dream sequence.]
That was convenient. The System's response implied that the

vision Tycon was having was a finite sequence. He had no
interest in the minutiae of his past-- but he would glean what he
could from what little he was provided.
« System, display a visual search sorted by time. »
A transparent box filled with hundreds of tiny images showed

Tycon the contents of his dream.
He did not care for the endlessly white house, with its interiors'
pillows and low tables. Nor did he care for the medusa sister that
he had no emotional attachment to.
Tycon focused on a different memory... Time shifted forward, to a

new scene-- one where he was arguing the girl, Cass.
She held her elbow, turning away, "Mother is calling for you."
The medusa girl sounded distressed... fearful or regretful,

perhaps. Tycon narrowed his eyes at the young girl's image. This
wasn't the memory he needed-- but it was close.
Tycon needed questions answered. What was he trying to do?

Why was a medusa from the Free Nation working for Princess
Aurala of the Kingdom? He would free himself of his debts before
he could truly do as he pleased.
He found a different memory but hesitated. He did not have the

privacy provided by his Private Sanctum spell. Perhaps it was the
memories in his snake blood, but Tycon always remained wary of
being watched.
« System, inquiry: Is anyone watching this outside of me? »
[System response: 2 results, Sasarame; Snake God]
« System, remove viewers... »

[Understood. 2 viewers removed.]
« Empty night... System, change setting: Prompt before any

connections are made. »
Tycon focused his mana on accessing the memory...
Tycon saw a white snake with red eyes. The size of her form far
surpassed his. She was larger than Ananta the Endless... and
even larger than that pervert, Old Fool. She laid in the center of
dozens and dozens of males snakes, all vying for her sexual
attention, all while Tycon watched in his human form.
She stared only at him.
Though Tycon's mind was filled by an instinctual fear, he willed

himself to keep his thoughts. The massive female stared at the
past Tycon, and not him as he was. The memory had already
happened-- it was a mere recording. While he was certain the
giant white snake was nothing to be trifled with... in the arena of
his own mind, he was god.
Tycon fast-forwarded through the memories, shaking off his

nagging anxieties until he finally discerned the answers to his
questions.
Rylania, the Queen of Stone.
His mother.
She was the massive snake from his memories, more powerful
than anything he'd seen, thus far.
Queen Rylania had assigned him 3 quests in 3 cities... one for

Fairhaven in the Kingdom, one for Cersei's Rest in the Holy
Country, and finally, one for Vralkek in the Free Nation.
...He needed to go to the Holy Country, anyroad. Maximus of

Ezyria was the former Rex Gladiatores. Tycon would honor him by
reporting his death and recounting the tale.
He had seen enough from his own mind.
« System, command: Return me to consciousness. »
...
Tycon shot awake, immediately gripping his hand. He didn't want

to hurt the young Sasarame-- but he did want to throttle her
around a bit.
He kicked his legs into the air, using the momentum to stand.
"Sasarame!!"
Tycon placed his hand on the hilt of the Shatterspike as he

scanned the room.
A gentleman in a white peaked hood relaxed against a wall, as

silent as a ghost. The style of the figure's cloak and hood were
strikingly similar to his own.
"Yo," the man waved. "You were off-grid for awhile."
Tycon felt an annoying rumble in his stomach, somewhere

between disgust and an ulcer, "Who the hells are you?"
The figure approached, red eyes glowing beneath the shadows of

his hood, "Kehe. You always this rude to--"
The arrogant man's question was interrupted by Tycon striking his

nose with a lightning-quick jab, "Ow, what the-- why?!"
Tycon had half-drawn the Shatterspike from its sheath but

hesitated. The hood fell away and revealed the man's face. He
had a familiar-looking head of green hair, a handsome face with
symmetrical features, and red eyes with vertical pupils. If the man
wasn't an identical copy of him, then he was only slightly less
attractive.
« System, inquiry: Target status. »
[Target not detected.]

Troublesome.
« System, inquiry: Who is in this room with me? »
[System response: 1 result. Sasarame.]
Tycon replaced the sword in its sheath. Whoever he punched in

the face was no threat to him. (And if he was a threat, a mere
sword wouldn't be enough to stop him.)
The green-haired doppelganger wiped the blood spilling down his

upper lip, "Tsssss. Good hit, but did it have to be the nose?"
Tycon ignored the man's question, "How am I to address you?"
"Kehe... Well, since I doubt you're willing to call me Snake God...

you can just call me Zehr."
"I don't believe in you," Tycon explained simply.
Zehr placed his hands behind his back, nodding, "I know how you
mortals think. When a man appears from nowhere and claims to
be a god, you immedi--"
"You misunderstand. I don't believe *in* you."
The white-cloaked figure stopped abruptly... "That makes sense. I

usually keep track of my followers of Iron-Rank and higher... I'd
lost track of you for a few moons..."
Zehr cracked a smile, "What~ happened?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes and offered a hypothesis, "Perhaps I

realized I had no use for gods."
"Regardless, because of your bloodline, you still fall under my

domain." Zehr shrugged, "You needn't do anything. But I do help
those who ask."
"You bleed. You're not omniscient," Tycon was not impressed.

"What use are you?"
Zehr's eyes glowed with a dull red mana, "I am the poison that
breeds doubt. I am the flaw in thy careful plans, the secret thy
lover holds hidden, the insecurity that fuels thy passions."
Tycon sighed and betrayed a smile, "From doubt, I seek to

question. From my flawed planning, I begin anew. From secrets, I
trust-- but verify. And in my passions, I live truthfully."
Zehr's eyes widened and his jaw slackened, "...Then what am I?"
Tycon responded in Parseltongue, "(Thou art knowledge, that I

may overcome myself.)"
"Most interesting..." Quietly, Zehr closed his eyes and wore a

derisive smile, "Ask thy questions, Champion."
"Where's Sasarame?"
Chapter 155 Oracle
asarame was much changed since Tycon had last seen her. The
S
beautiful 10-ilm silver snake with a tapered tail had transformed
into a short girl with chocolate-colored skin and stark, almost-
glowing white hair.
She was lying face-down on the floor, trying to hide underneath a

torture table. Her size did not allow it, but she was trying her best.
Tycon crossed his arms and shifted his weight.
It was certainly Sasarame. The System had marked the young

girl's name over her head. Tycon hadn't noticed when it had
changed, but her name was marked with blue, the color of
absolute trust.
« System, inquiry: Target status. »
[System response: Sasarame, Bronze-Rank Snake Oracle]
Tycon narrowed his eyes and turned to Zehr, "You gave her a
Class?"
Zehr scratched his cheek, "Champion... why do you first inquire of

her Class rather than her form? Ah, no matter... She seems to
have gained the Oracle Class when she delved into your
memories."
The difference in ability between an Unranked and a Bronze-

Ranker was significant. A Bronze-Rank Oracle was capable of
casting First-Circle Divine spells. Sasarame was younger than
Pale, yet was a more powerful spellcaster. Human mages tended
to grow in power more slowly than mages of other species.
Further, due to their lifespan, true Third-Circle casters were rare
among humans, with Fourth-Circle mages and higher only
belonging to elves and other oldbloods.
However, an early Bronze-Ranker could still be killed as easily as

a normal person... and the young lady did not appear to be a
natural combatant. Initially, Tycon wanted to protect Sasarame out
of a decidedly non-snakelike sense of kinship. With her gaining a
Class, her abilities could be nurtured to improve Invictus' overall
strength.
"Tell me of her rank and form, then." Tycon raised an eyebrow.
"A side-effect from the contact from both my mana signature and
yours, it seems," the doppelganger offered.
Tycon knelt down and gently shook the dark-skinned girl,

"Sasarame, get up. As you are, you can't hide under that."
Slowly, she got to her feet, standing as tall as Tycon's chest and a
bit taller than Taree. Long bleached-white hair fell to below her
waist with two long elven ears sticking out almost horizontally. She
was nude, but Tycon was neither interested aesthetically nor
emotionally. She crossed her arms with chattering teeth.
"Snake god," Tycon addressed Zehr.
Zehr crossed his arms, "Yes, Champion?"
"Give her your cloak."
"...I beg your pardon?"
"You're a god. She's one of yours. It's cold," Tycon rolled his eyes.
What an asinine thing to question. If a child is cold, you offer them
a coat.
Zehr opened his mouth to argue... but kept quiet. He removed his
cloak, revealing a long-sleeved tunic underneath, and wrapped it
around the young elf-girl, "There we are, young believer... this is a
boon."
She shivered lightly, hugging the material of the cloak, "
(Sasarame is unworthy. Sasarame is cursed.)"
Tycon observed Zehr's reaction, "What's this about a curse? Is

this your doing?"
"It is not." Zehr grimaced, "Mortals curse their gods at the slightest
opportunity. Sometimes, it's fate. Oftentimes, it's blind luck."
"What about the sea god?" Tycon inquired.
Zehr hesitated... "The sea god's been stepping on everyone's tails

as of recent. I'm sure he'll be replaced soon enough."
Tycon mentally filed away the new information. Gods could be

replaced... and perhaps be killed.
Zehr walked around the young girl, examining her long ears,
staring into one of her eyes, and even checking her pulse, "I don't
sense any curses or magics on her... She does have the Oracle's
ability to see into people's pasts, though."
"Is your ability your curse, Sasarame?" Tycon asked with concern.
She shook her head and pouted.
Zehr placed a hand on Tycon's shoulder, "As one of my believers,

I was able to glimpse into her past... It is why she believes as she
does..."
Tycon calmly held up a hand, "When she feels ready, she can tell
me herself."
Zehr closed his eyes and nodded.
Tycon sighed as he mussed up Sasarame's hair. A fat clump of

white hair atop her head stuck up, looking out of place.
He did not fix it.
"The ritual," Tycon stated. He hoped he did not need to clarify.

"Liber did well..." Zehr offered no opinion on the man's murderous
ways. Tycon didn't expect him to.
"Can you return the afflicted to normal?"
"While Liber may have sacrificed their minds to me, the process
was symbolic." Zehr shook his head, "'Twas by mortal hands that
such atrocities have been wrought."
"I'd thought as much," Tycon twisted his lips into a grimace, "One
more thing... how much does my mother know?"
The corner of Zehr's mouth curled up, "Ah, dearest Rylania... She
has heard word of your exploits... You've made a big mess of
things in the Kingdom, taking down House Tavor-- both the Baron
and the Duke."
"That will do." Tycon nodded lightly. He'd heard enough, "We'll be
going then."
Zehr pointed at the chocolate elf, "Sasarame's faith is strong. I'll

be watching your exploits through her eyes, Champion."
"Whatever," Tycon flicked Sasarame's forehead.
As soon as he did, Zehr disappeared as he had never existed.

Tycon theorized that the snake god could only appear because of
the Oracle's presence. A level of the girl's concentration-- even if
involuntary, was necessary to hold the link.
The theory would explain why the snake god's form was so similar
to his. Tycon surmised that he held a very high position in
Sasarame's subconscious mind-- supplemented by the fact that
the System rated her at Trust.
Curiously, the white cloak on Sasarame remained.
She rubbed the welt on her head and pouted as if she'd been
wronged.
Tycon poked her soft cheek, "Return to your snake form,

Sasarame, and we'll head out."
It would be easier to have Sasarame travel in her snake form, so
he wouldn't have to explain why he had a fork-tongued dark elf
who only spoke in hisses.
"(Master... how... does Sasarame return to her other form?)"
Tycon sighed.
...
Ignoring the protests of Sasarame's and his empty belly, Tycon

and she only emerged from the fort half-a-bell later. By then, he
was thoroughly confident in her ability to transform, and just as
confident that he could eat a grilled salmon of moderate size.
Thankfully, Sasarame gained the same clothes-melding magic

Tycon had. Upon transforming from elf to snake form, her clothes
would meld away-- and vice versa. It was far more convenient
than the clothes slipping off. Unwelcome questions would be
raised if anyone was to discover that Tycon had kept a nude,
underage girl hidden from his peers.
For now, Tycon kept the silver snake warm inside his cloak. She
traversed his neck and arms with ease. She found a comfortable
resting spot, lightly curled against the back of his neck, hidden by
his dark hood.
The sun had already set, but it was about dinnertime. Tycon
hurried his steps, worried that he and his young charge would
miss the evening meal.
As he neared the Sea Wolf camp, the hairs on the back of Tycon's
neck stood up. Sasarame stirred, sensing the danger.
There was rarely a dull moment as the leader of Guild Invictus.
He closed his eyes and allowed his other senses to examine his
surroundings. He had recovered much of his mana since the fight
with Liber-- a pre-meal skirmish was acceptable.
There.
Tycon shot a back kick, accurately striking the assassin's groin
with his heel. Hopping up and quickly rotating his body, he
snapped a jumping roundhouse at the blue-haired figure's temple.
Chapter 156 Mission
Completion
ycondrius was not as acrobatic as Pale or Kimura Taree. He was

T
strong and had a good sense of balance, but his kicking accuracy
was unpracticed-- especially when counterattacking from surprise.
The initial kick to the groin made Tarquin Wroe keel over in pain.
The second kick was a heavy boot landing on Tarquin Wroe's
clavicle, causing the blue-haired Hexblade to crumple to the
ground.
Tycon frowned. The second kick was aimed at Wroe's temple.
He quietly observed his surroundings, making certain there were

no *actual* enemies, before seeing to the fallen man.
He crouched down adjacent to the man's face-down head, "Mister

Wroe, you seem to have improved your Shadow Walk ability. I
hadn't sensed your approach."
"H-hey, Boss." Wroe groaned in pain, turning his head to the side,
"I'm assuming I... ergh... deserved that."
"Indeed, you did. Are you... crying?"
"Please... just let me save some face, Boss."
"Though I don't believe I struck you so strongly-- if one of your

testicles have ruptured, you will require medical attention," Tycon
pat Wroe on the back.
"I'll-- I'll do that..."

...Tycon coaxed Sasarame out of her hiding spot, "This is my
adopted daughter. Sasha, say hello."
"(Hello, Shadow-Walker,)" she hissed.
Wroe, still curled up in pain, waved one of his hands, "Hey."
Tycon explained, "Mister Wroe is a daeva. According to popular

belief, he has angel blood flowing through his veins."
Sasarame nodded in understanding before retreating back into

the folds of Tycon's hood.
Tycon turned his attention back to Wroe, "What was so important

to seek me out instead of waiting patiently-- Are you just going to
keep lying there?"
"Y-yeah-- I mean, if that's alright with you."
Wroe was setting an awfully low precedent for Sasarame...

However, the angel-blood had just sustained a painful injury.
Tycon decided to show off his magnanimity, "Very well. I shall

allow it."
Wroe gave his report, "Wolfbanger's really sick... Lone needs to

talk to you. And I think Pale's learned a new skill."
Tycon grimaced, "Understood... I'll see them, shortly."
...
After dinner, Tycon asked around for Wolfbanger's location...

Entering the infirmary, he met with Petty Officer Milo.
"What's wrong with him, doc?"
"I don't really know-- I'm just a dentist," Milo responded with good-
natured sass.
Tycon offered an embarrassed smile to the gentleman, "The uh...

Sea Wolves don't differentiate between medical personnel, do
they?"
"They do not! Anyroad, I'm just happy to help."
Wolfbanger was in a sorry state... looking similar to how he did on

the ship, pathetic and three-quarters dead. He also looked thinner
and his wolf-dog-boy face was contorted in constant agony. Tycon
even felt the boy's mana spasm irregularly, like his very essence
was trying to pull him apart.
Tycon recognized the boy's painful symptoms without needing to

clarify with his System. The boy was suffering mana backlash
from breaching a mana contract.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "What. did. you. do, boy?"
The sickly weretouched boy blinked slowly, trying to focus. He

looked over to the sailor, "I didn't do it, Boss..."
Tycon sighed, "Petty Officer Milo, could you give us some

privacy?"
...
Tycondrius had to threaten the dog-wolf pup with physical

violence to get him to admit that he tried to steal from the
Saltspray pirates. As a matter of course, there were far too many
pirates for that to work well without a supernatural stealth ability.
He was caught and forced to kill one of their number. He had even
lost his stupid-looking greathammer in the skirmish.
Good. Tycon would get him a more reasonable replacement-

weapon.
With the way mana contracts worked... the magical backlash

would have been greatly reduced if he was unaware of the
contract's terms. Likely, he knew ahead of time, or he was
informed in the skirmish.
The development and use of magical contracts, popularized by

the devil-blooded mages of Bael Turath, led to an economic boom
in the past several epochs. Of course, magical contracts were
imperfect-- their terms were drafted by mortals, full of their own
inconsistencies, so loopholes always existed.
The young Wolfbanger was not cunning enough to utilize a

contract's loophole as Tycon had-- and he'd suffered for it. The
boy would be unable to fight for even longer...
...Tycon had hopes for the boy... once... long ago.
"(Master, who is that?)" Sasarame hissed curiously.
Tycon responded in a hushed hiss, "(No one of consequence,

beautiful child.)"
At the very least, Wolfbanger's blunder had led Tycon to an

interesting discovery. Besides slaves, the Saltspray Kings had
something worthwhile to steal.
...
Talk was abound amongst the Sea Wolves of how a ghost ship
had mysteriously appeared in port... Tycon immediately searched
for Captain Lang Hai to report that the ship was raised by his
Warlock, Mister Wroe.
It turned out that Lieutenant Eilean already knew as much. She

had asked the ship, directly.
Witch was a strange Class.
Afterward, Tycon collected the remaining members of Guild

Invictus for a meeting.
He introduced Sasarame as 'Sasha', an interim member of Guild

Invictus. The silver snake proved shy around everyone but Tycon,
preferring to hide.
The blue-haired daeva Warlock, Mister Wroe, recounted his...

mostly tragic tale of trying to get a ship. He succeeded, however,
and even brought the ghost ship to the Saltspray Island. Tycon did
not ask how Wroe found them.
The nose-and-cheek scarred, dark-haired human, Lone, talked
about how he was feeling frustrated that he had such a difficult
time against the Bronze-Rank Aquamancers amongst the
Saltspray pirates. Tycon ordered Pale to help the young man
understand why fire-element attacks have reduced effectiveness
against water-element mages.
The half-elf sandy-blonde spearman, Pale, told everyone he

learned a new Skill.
Tycon wasn't impressed until he heard it was a healing Skill.

Healing Skills were highly sought after.
After a light interrogation, Tycon was less enthused upon

discovering that Pale's Skill was incredibly limited in its
application. Its mana efficiency was poor and required a healthy
amount of sand as a spell component.
After mentioning Wroe's recent injury, Pale offered to sprinkle his

healing sand on the daeva's testicles, despite the mana-cost.
Wroe vehemently declined, for whatever reason.
...
Tycon sighed, "With Mister Wolfrider's injury, we will be returning

with the Sea Wolf fleet to Beaurte-- more specifically, to Port Saint
Guinefort. There, we may be able to get the boy some proper
medical attention..."
Only Lone of the 4 Invictus members showed concern for

Wolfbanger.
Tycon continued, "At any rate, I've a mind to see the captured
Beaurte prisoners back to their home."
Wroe and Pale were more onboard with the concept of ensuring
mission completion.
"From there, we'll depart from that port and make way to the Holy
Country-- perhaps utilizing air travel via the Windwright's Guild. At
any rate, I'd like to send word back to Gian Vanzano's family, if he
has any.
Guild Invictus agreed unanimously on the notion. The death of

Maximus was still felt by every guild member.
"For now, let's search around for the loot pile Captain Lang's
amassed. I believe Guild Invictus has done well enough that we
may be able to... requisition something."
Chapter 157 Dragon’s Breath
fter the guild meeting, Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark

A
retrieved an extra share of rations: a bowl of fish broth, some
grog, and some sea biscuits.
"I'm about to go see Mister Levi. Wanna come with, Pale?"
The 9-year-old half-elf was focused on oiling down his Lifedrinker

spear, "Nah, I'm good."
Lone hesitated. Pale didn't usually reject his invitations to hang

out (unless he and Dragan were going drinking or whoring.)
"Uh. Is there something wrong, man? Are you hurt? Err... do you
miss your girlfr--"
"Nah. I just--" Pale stopped, "Do I miss my what?"
"No, nothing," Lone caught himself trying to tease the boy... but he
realized he really didn't want to hear the answer.
It was entirely possible that Pale had made Taree his girlfriend.
99.99% of the time, Lone would cheer his friend on, supporting
him, no matter what. However... Lone never had a girlfriend in his
life! Pale looked up to him and respected him like an older brother!
He didn't want Pale to find out that he was a lonely loser.
Pale looked up from his weapon, looking concerned, "Are... you

okay, Lone?"
"Y-yeah," Lone averted his gaze to wipe the corners of his eyes, "I
just figured... Mister Levi could use some encouragement. Boss
said he was suffering a magical backlash and is really sick."
Pale focused his attention back on his spear, "No, thanks."

Lone felt awkward. Pale had gotten along with everyone in
Invictus... Besides him, Dragan, and Maximus, and the Kimura
siblings-- he also got along with Sorina, Horse, and Jeremy. He
even got along with Korr-- and she kidnapped him for an evil
Baron, once.
"Do you have something against Mister Levi?" Lone asked.
Pale looked up at the tent ceiling in thought, "Nah, not really. I

just... don't really have a good feeling about him? It's weird."
Lone grimaced. He couldn't argue against a gut feeling.
A series of footsteps approached their tent, not bothering to hide

their presence.
Boss Tycon's head peeked in through the entrance, "You two,

come with us."
...
Tarquin Wroe, master of seduction, approached the guard with a

calm swagger.
"Ne'er have I seen such a lady. Unbridled sass and shapely nose.
Even her manner of speaking has its own charm."
"But you..." Wroe flashed a lady killer smile, "--are far more than a
gaze-catching woman."
"Oh-- oh, wow! It's happening." The hatchet-wielding Marine

fanned herself with her hand, "Oh, Noblest Nobleman. Mine Gash
Grows Moist at Thy Verited Sight."
Wroe swept back his sky blue hair as the starlight lit up his pale
face, "Wouldst you honor me with your name?"
...After some exploration, Tycon and Barza located the large tent
that was guarded with no one resting inside. With some
information gathered by Pale and Wroe, they had confirmed that
the tent held the spoils looted from the Saltspray Keep.
Tycon sent Wroe to deal with the guard, a woman named Loretta
that had nearly died during the assault. Though Tycon could not,
at all, understand why women enjoyed Wroe's company, Loretta
was well-distracted.
Wroe continued with his babbling, "I have noticed something off,
Loretta... How does someone so simple as you, a very capable
Sea Wolf, fail to see the value and worth of yourself-- that would
rival even a goddess if you only realized."
"Oh, my gods. YASSSSS. Take me! Take me now, angel-man!!"

Loretta's nasal squeals of excitement were grating to the ears, at
best.
Dereliction of duty. Tycon made a mental note that the woman

was not to be trusted to guard sites of importance. He even
considered hinting as much to Captain Lang, if it suited his needs
to.
With Loretta distracted... Tycon, Lone, and Pale snuck into the
tent.
"5 minutes. Only grab what you can carry," Tycon gave his two
companions a gentle reminder.
"Got it, Boss." "Yes, sir."
The large, ten-horse-sized tent was filled with weapons and

armor, sacks of metal trinkets, and the superstitious charms that
sailors valued. Lone moved with Pale, utilizing the faint red eye-
glow from his Wolf-Hammers to see. Tycon, of course, could see
perfectly well in the darkness.
Tycon immediately picked up a creepy-looking box the size of two

fists. It took all of 20 seconds. Wroe would like it. He then began
to search for a cutlass similar in weight to his old short sword.
Pale picked up a helm with two horns-- each horn the size of his
head.
[Horned Helm. Second-Circle Magical Helmet. User may charge
into battle with a devastating effect.]
Tycon frowned. It looked ridiculous. As good as its effect was, the

helmet was so large that it would block his vision... "Put it back."
Pale picked up a pair of gloves that were stained with blood...
[Heartsnatcher Gloves. Second-Circle Magical Paired Gloves.

User may tear out the still-beating heart of a weakened target.]
They continued to drip, devoid of any obvious source. Tycon

shooed Pale away, "Unhygienic-- and possibly cursed. Put it
back."
Pale found a strangely small pair of sharkskin leather boots.
[Wavestrider Boots. Second-Circle Magical Paired Boots. User

may briefly walk across liquid as if it were solid land.]
Tycon had no idea how the boy found footwear that would fit him...
but it was a good find.
Tycon activated his storage ring. Within, he placed Pale's boots,

the cursed box he found for Wroe, and a cutlass he liked. Even if
a Sea Wolf searched them, they wouldn't be able to find any
stolen loot. (And Lang Hai would not be so shameless as to
request to search his storage ring.) Tycon had also limited
Invictus' haul-- a mere four items missing from a tent full of loot
was a negligible loss.
As Tycon was about to leave, he found 4 strangely shaped boxes,

each the length of his arm and as thick as his chest. Magical
symbols covered the boxes and they were surprisingly light.
« System... Analysis. »
[Box of Holding, Lesser: Opens into a nondimensional space of 2

cubic yalms and up to 50 ponze. The box is sealed by a
passphrase.]
« System, inquiry: What are the boxes contents? »

[System response: The box contains 50 ponze of Dragon's
Breath.]
Tycon checked the other boxes-- the contents were all the same.
Interesting... He signaled Lone and Pale to gather, "We're taking
these boxes."
"But Boss... how are we gonna sneak these out?" Lone asked.
It was a good question, admittedly.
"Just pick them up and follow me. The Sea Wolves will assume
we're doing legitimate work, as long as you don't act suspicious."
"I don't... think this is such a great idea," Lone whined.
Tycon smiled and pat Lone on the shoulder, "Your opinion has
been heard. As guild leader, I will ignore it. Pick up a box."
Chapter 158 Eilean’s Visit
arquin Wroe cast his Shadow Veil skill to invisibly move Invictus
T
away from the loot tent. After the spell's duration, the group
moved through the Sea Wolf camp, guided by the light of the
stars. They would store their ill-gotten goods on Wroe's ship, the
Unfortunate.
Tycondrius led the group, Lone and Wroe each carrying a box and
Pale insistent upon carrying two. The few Sea Wolves on evening
watch nodded in acknowledgment at the familiar guild. As Tycon
surmised, none of them bothered to question them.
Wroe sidled up beside Tycon as they walked, "Is there a reason

we didn't put the boxes into your storage ring, Boss?"
Tycon glanced over at his blue-haired angel-blooded friend, "The

boxes all have a light spatial enchantment, just like the ring."
Wroe nodded, "Ah, right. So combining them would tear a hole

through time and space."
Tycon furrowed his brows, "What? No. The lesser items-- the
boxes, would break, at worst. The items held within would spill
out, at best."
"That's... boring," Wroe grimaced with disappointment.
"As always, Mister Wroe, I question your logic. But I'm glad that
facts have dissuaded you from foolishness."
Upon reaching the ship, Tycon cautiously observed the rotten

gangplank, "Really, Mister Wroe? If this is any indication of your
ship's condition, the Unfortunate is worse from the Elizabeth
Dare."
Tycon inwardly admitted that it was only a half-step worse. All of
the Sea Wolf ships were in horrid condition.
Wroe smiled and tilted his head with his eyes closed, "I trust her.
And she will not betray my trust."
Lone audibly gulped.
Wroe continued, "The crew cannot easily leave the ship. Let's get
the boxes on board."
Tycon nodded warily. He did not feel at all comfortable about

Wroe's comment concerning the crew, "Right... Go ahead, then,
gentlemen."
Wroe and Lone stepped onto the gangplank, while Tycon watched
safely from the docks. He fully expected the rotten wood to
collapse... but the two made it onboard safely.
Tycon glanced over at Pale, who was carrying the 30 ponze boxes
over either shoulder.
Pale placed a single step onto the moist wood... and slipped. He
planted a knee into the hard-wooden docks. Tycon was able to
grab hold of one of the enchanted boxes, but the other slipped
and kersplunked into the blackwater below.
Tycon placed a palm onto his face, "Bucket, you must be joking."
Pale sat on his behind, rubbing his pained knee, "I'll-- I'll go get it."
« System, inquiry: Please tell me that these boxes are unaffected

by their surroundings. »
[System response: The Lesser Boxes of Holding are affected by

outside conditions.]
« System, inquiry: ...But they are... waterproof, yes? »
[Negative.]
Tycon felt his heart grieve. His eyes unfocused as he stared at the
waning moon and performed mathematical calculations in his
head. He had the System perform estimates of the market values
of the box's contents... of the illegal opioid, Dragon's Breath.
Pale's face took on a shade of panic, "Boss! I-- what's wrong?"
"The contents within each box can be sold for over 1.5 million
silver... with a 50% increase if we sell them illegally."
Pale's blood froze, his skin blanching, "I-- no way... but... how
would we--"
"We literally have a Rogue's Guild in Merylsward," Tycon swept

his arm to the side, activating his spatial ring. Tycon's halberd
appeared in his hand, its blade still wrapped in oiled leathers. It
was the weapon that Tycon used most when training Pale.
"Boss! I'm sorry! I just..."
"1.5 million silver, young man. Do you know how many

mercenaries Invictus could hire with 1.5 million silver?"
...
Pale received intensive training until morning.
The mind is weak. The body will remember.
Departure from the Saltspray island took a few bells, but the 3
Sea Wolf ships and the Unfortunate were soon on their way back
to Beaurte-- in particular, to the naval base on Saint Guinefort
island.
A gaggle of Sea Wolves, led by Corporal Jacque, gifted or lent

Pale a smattering of superstitious charms and trinkets. Though
Tycon could sense no magical effects from them, Pale was able to
far better handle the cutting of the Unfortunate through the waters.
...Tycon chose not to question it.

Wolfbanger continued to suffer from mana exhaustion, the
resulting condition of breaking the magical contract. He was
weakened, suffered severe migraines, and was generally
miserable to the point of being bedridden.
Further, upon boarding the Unfortunate, he again became

seasick. The weretouched boy pissed and vomited everywhere he
went. He occupied a permanent spot on the top deck, where he
could expel his fluids overboard. The crew tied his waist to a mast,
so he wouldn't roll overboard...
Rico and other Sea Wolves, like Corporal Jacque and Sergeant
Garret, would often climb aboard the Unfortunate, likely to avoid
their ship duties. Tycon was glad for their company, the women, in
particular. Sasarame was terribly shy amongst most people. Only
Rico, Eilean, and himself were able to talk to her with a sense of
normalcy.
Sasarame could understand but not speak the common tongue,

so Rico volunteered to teach her... It was likely a disaster in the
making, but Rico proved a decent language instructor-- as one
non-human to another.
As for Eilean... Tycon surmised that Sasarame did not know that
the Sea Witch was actually human. He chose not to inform his tiny
snake daughter of the fact.
Lieutenant Eilean walked the decks of the Unfortunate... While her

main body remained on the Thalia Grace, the Sea Witch was able
to project herself as a blue-translucent slime.
Upon seeing Tycondrius, she hurried over, her feet on the deck
making an unpleasant suction noise. Devoid of clothing, her
particular features were obscured, though her curves were
accentuated. Tycon couldn't help but notice that the woman
lacked a penis.
"Yer laerdship! 'Ow are ya this fine mornin?!"
Slime-Eilean tried to go for a viscous embrace. Tycon deftly

stepped out of her range. The Slime Witch compensated by
hugging herself and swaying cutely.
"Good morning, Lieutenant. All is well."
The two spoke for a short while about the ship's conditions. Each
sun, Eilean would project her Water-Clone to keep Tycon
informed, provide exotic fish, and to talk about nonsense.
However, it seemed that the current sun would be different.
Among their conversations was the fate of the Unfortunate once

Invictus had finished with their tour. Instead of remaining as Guild
Invictus' property, the ship would better serve being inducted into
the Sea Wolf fleet. Soon, High-Captain Lang Hai would visit for an
inspection...
Chapter 159 Inspection
It was a nice sun for a swim. High-Captain Lang Hai left his coat
and hat in his quarters and leapt over the rails of the Elizabeth
Dare. In the ocean waters, he had a casual conversation with
some passerby dolphins. He beat up a shimmerscale tuna that
looked at him funny. He swam circles around a terrified
hammerhead then scared it off.
After his workout, he swam toward the Unfortunate, the ship

belonging to Guild Invictus. As he drew closer, he spotted a rope
ladder hung from the ship's portside. It interested Hai-- he hadn't
taken any of Guild Invictus as the types to enjoy swimming.
He knew Eilean visited the ship every sun to harass Baron

Tycon... but she could use her Sea Witch powers to get on board.
Was there anyone else visiting often enough to warrant a ladder?
...Maybe it was for him? ...Hai couldn't remember the last time
anyone did anything nice for him. He didn't need a ladder, but the
thought was nice.
He climbed up to the deck, shivering and holding onto his naked

biceps, "Whew. It's pretty cold up here, is it wiiiiii--"
Hai dropped his jaw at the sight of the crew.
A nearby skeleton mimed cleaning a deck cannon, almost entirely

corroded away. Two transparent spirits were singing off-key while
mopping the deck-- a single verse of a sea shanty, over and over.
An 8 fulm tall growth of seaweed moseyed along, minding its own
business.
"GooOod mooOooRning, GrAande-CapitaaAaine--"

The voice came from within Hai's head, from behind him, from all
around him. He swiped a knife-hand at the nearest moving
object... beheading a skeleton holding some rope.
The skeleton-worker continued on. Hai relaxed his stance. The

crew of the Unfortunate had good work ethic-- he could not fault
that.
"...Um." A translucent woman hovered harmlessly in front of Lang

Hai, wearing the familiar officer's uniform of the Royal Navy. She
saluted sharply and spoke in a haunting tone, "Good moOoorning,
Grande-CapitaAine Lang Hai."
The ghostly sailor emitted a cold that Hai worried chilled his very
soul... It made him wish he brought his coat.
Lang Hai knew cold. It was cold all the time. Cold was normal.
Sailing on the sea, it got cold. Night was cold. The ice cream he
got in Port Caractere, because he was an officer and deserved to
try it once in his life, was cold.
It was financially irresponsible to purchase ice cream for his crew,

so he didn't. Rico cried. Stupid Rico, guilting him like that.
The ghostly sailor did observe proper decorum... And the fact that
she knew Hai was a High-Captain, even without his coat on,
meant she was cognizant of recent events.
So far on the Unfortunate, Hai had only seen good work ethic and
well-observed courtesies. He still felt slightly uncomfortable about
the lack of... life.
Albeit hesitantly, Hai returned the salute, "Good... morning. I've

come to inspect the Unfortunate... At ease, err-- what is your rank,
exactly?"
The ghost-girl offered a gloomy smile, "In life, I was knOoOown as

SecoOond Lieutenant Monet... MonsieuuUur-Capitaine."
"Very well... Lieutenant Monet. I uh... don't plan on demoting you,

so that's fine..."
Monet floated, staring expectantly. Why was she making this so
awkward? Was he the awkward one?
Hai forced a smile, "So... uh... the ship?"
"The UnfooOortunate welcoOmes you, siiir... The crEw awaaAaits

your orders~"
...
Around him, ghosts and skeletons and an oversized bundle of

seaweed worked tirelessly on the sails and rigging. The slime-
woman, First Lieutenant Eilean spoke amicably to her new ghostly
female friend, Second Lieutenant Monet.
Hai wondered if Monet earned her rank before or after she died--
it had to have been before, right?
Hai was certain he's had worse suns. He was used to bleeding
while assaulting a beach, or worried about the abysmally low
funding granted to the Sea Wolves, or trying to make sure Grand-
Capitaine Chantal wouldn't kill him.
Fraternizing with ghosts unnerved him a great deal.
Lang Hai spoke in his deepest, most Captain-like voice, "Ship

sails, Monet. Good job."
"Excuse us," He grabbed Slime-Eilean's arm, ignoring the viscous

gooey feeling, and dragged the witch away from Monet.
"Eilean, do we really~ reeeeally have to do this?" Hai pleaded in a

hushed voice.
The ship was in horrid condition. There were so many holes in the
sails that he didn't know how the ship was keeping up with the
others. Everything was rotting worse than even the Elizabeth
Dare. And while the ship had a skeleton crew, the term was very
literal.
He stared into the blue-translucent liquid where Eilean's eyes

were vaguely formed, "The cannons are all rusted over. There are
*barnacles* on them. And look, look at that!"
Hai pointed at a wriggling form on a deck cannon's opposite side,

"That's a tentacle! It's not attached to a creature, it's just growing
on the cannon!"
With a huff, Eilean quietly argued back, "Cap'n, ye cannae get

cold feet. Ye inspect each and every ship fer seaworthiness. Ye
made tha rule yerself."
"It's got a hole bigger than fatty Ambrose in the hull. It fails. Let's
leave," Hai turned towards the broken railing, fully intent on
leaping back into the drink.
"Och, Cap'n!"
The slime-girl melted into the wood, reforming herself to block

Hai's way, "It flooats. Ye cannae discount that... An' it's not thae
only ship in the fleet with a hoole the size of Mister Ambrose,
bless his wee meathook-and-chain."
Stupid chain-and-meathook Ambrose. Hai made a mental note to

put the oaf on half-rations.
"Okay, great. It passes-- Let's leave."
Slime-Eilean suddenly paused, a wide grin slowly appearing on

her face.
"Yanno, Cap'n," Eilean fluttered her slime-eyelashes. Hai stepped

back in revulsion-- he had very rarely seen his Lieutenant without
her eye-mask.
"...What is it, Eilean?" Hai frowned. That stupid smile, loved by

every Sea Wolf in the fleet, was something that Hai learned to be
wary of.
"Tha crew of the Unfortunate-- ye dunnae hafta feed them."
Hai tensed all of his muscles. That was certainly cost-effective...

The thought tempted him.
Eilean put a hand beside Hai's ear and whispered the sweetest
words he'd ever heard in his life, "Ye dunnae hafta even pay
them."
Lang Hai took a deep breath, "I will accept this ship into the Sea
Wolf fleet."
Eilean laughed, "Grreat ta hear! Let's go belowdecks and let Sir

Tycon and Mister Wroe know."
Chapter 160 Just A Game
elowdecks, a group of 4 sat around a card table. Barza Keith,

B
the Lone Shadowdark, kept tabs on everything that was going on.
A dozen other Sea Wolves sat around, resting, lightly conversing.
He didn't know why they were on the Unfortunate... but the Sea
Wolves were good people.
The dim light of a lantern hung above gleamed on Marine

Sergeant Garret's bald, dark-skinned head. He narrowed his eyes
at the sandy-haired boy across the table, "Your turn, kid."
Pale's cloth armor was adorned by dangling bones and bells, and
was covered with enough ribbons, feathers, and painted stones to
rival a peacock. In contrast to his garish coloring, the half-elf boy
reservedly revealed his cards, "So with these... I take all the cards
in the middle."
"Ughhh... I suck at this gaaaame! Can we play something else?"

Lone bit his upper lip, " Maybe Red Snake, Black Snake?"
Once Pale had been loaded with enough charms and trinkets to
ward off the sea god's wrath, the boy returned to being way too
good at everything, including card games.
Garret let his cards fall to the barrel they were using as a table,
"Ergh, we'd have a chance at winning if you didn't keep mucking
everything up!!"
"Oh, *I'm* the one mucking things up?" Lone placed his fists on
the side of his thighs, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "That's
reeeallll funny, Garret."
Shao Ran laughed, reaching across the table and patting Pale's
shoulders.
Upon meeting the boy, the Lieutenant immediately took a liking to
him. They looked almost like brothers-- they had similar colored
hair, similar weapons, and he'd even heard that they were similar
in using fire-element attacks.
"Ahaha! You fella's should just quit! Losers! FAILURES, even!

Spear Team wins AGAIN!!"
Lone and Garret had lost three times in a row playing Spades
against Lieutenant Shao Ran and the young boy, Pale.
A short set of armor with a helmet shaped like a shark's head

stepped out of the shadows, "False. Lieutenant Shao Ran, your
naginata-halberd functions more as a hafted sword than it does a
stabbing spear."
Shao Ran rolled his eyes, "Is that right, you bunch of sea rocks?
How about I break off one of your functioning arms and stab it
right up your arse?"
The group, as well as a few onlookers, looked to Eleven of Seven

for his response.
Slowly the shark-helmet turned to face him. The inset gem lit up,
emanating Eleven's voice, "I have concluded that your experience
at finding a hole in the dark is nonexistent."
The entirety of the belowdecks erupted in laughter, causing Shao

Ran's neck and face to flush red, "Why you..."
Eleven of Seven held out a metal-gloved hand to interrupt him,

"Stand by-- Good morning, Captain!"
A shirtless and lithe teenage boy descended the stairs,

accompanied by a slime-woman and a transparent ghost...
Everyone belowdecks on the Unfortunate knew who they were:
High-Captain Lang Hai and Lieutenants Eilean and Monet.
The boy-Captain let his glare drift over the collected gaggle, "What
the hells is going on here?"
...
High-Captain Lang Hai felt his mouth twitch.
Several crewmembers of the Elizabeth Dare were lazing around

on the Unfortunate, including Sergeant Garret who he had
specifically remembered was on latrine duty. The idiot managed to
accidentally gut himself on a set of stairs and left without cleaning
it up. For his negligence, the crew had suffered half a dozen
impalements and one sprained ankle.
Hai's gaze especially smoldered over Shao Ran and Eleven of

Seven, the Captains of the Spear of Selena and the Thalia Grace,
First Lieutenants by Marine rank.
He glanced at his two adjacent female Lieutenants, "Eilean,

Monet... head back. I might be a while, dealing with... our
subordinates."
"Aye aye, Cap'n." "AaAayye, CapitaAaine." --The girls turned and

headed back up to the top deck.
Hai crossed his arms, "Lieutenant Eleven of Seven."
Eleven of Seven was an anomaly similar to Rico, a non-human.
Beneath the armor was a mass of sentient coral that joined the
crew through Eilean's powers of sluttery. It took a two-armed, two-
legged form because it fit a set of metal armor that proved
stronger than its brittle exterior. Its three-pronged sharpened coral
claws cut painfully through enemies and it could regenerate its
parts when exposed to seawater. It was practically a Sea Wolf.
It couldn't speak on its own, only communicating through Sea

Witch Eilean. After two failed attempts at finding it a familiar to
translate, the Sea Wolves came across a magical gem that spoke
surface thoughts aloud in a weird, echoey voice.
It was cursed. Eilean was able to buy it for cheap.

"Captain Lang," the shark-helmeted Eleven pointed at Ran, "I am
here to observe Lieutenant Shao Ran and prevent him from
dereliction of duty."
Hai glowered up at Lieutenant Shao Ran. He was an interesting

addition to the fleet. Similar to him, Shao Ran was in line for the
patriarchy of the Golden Crow Hidden Sect. But where Hai was
the last descendant, Ran had plenty of siblings and cousins to
take the mantle when he left.
The golden-eyed Ran slackened his jaw, pointing back at Eleven

angrily, "I'm only here because this rusty scrap heap wanted to
have sexual relations with growth on the bottom of the
Unfortunate!"
Shark-helm looked back to Lang Hai, "The growth identifies as

female. And I am Coraletta's lover."
Ran was livid, his eyes glowing dangerously bright in the ship's
dim hold. "You're making that up!! You even put CORAL in the
name, you lazy hunk of junk!!"
"Forget it, you two." Hai ignored the bickering Lieutenants as he

turned to Garret, "And what's your excuse, Sergeant?"
"I uh... I'm here to... keep Lone out of trouble," Sweat dripped
down the bald man's face. "He uh... he can't win a game without
me."
"Ohhhh, really?" Lone rolled his eyes. After a curious second

glance, he cleared his throat, "I mean... Yes, Captain. I asked for
Sergeant Garret's help."
Hai crossed his arms, "And what makes you think that's okay?"
"My mercenaries can do as they please, Captain Lang..." Baron

Tycondrius emerged from the shadows into the dim lamplight.
Sea god's socks... Hai didn't even notice the green-haired bastard
approach. Did that nerd develop a new movement technique in
the fight against Liber?
"Good morning, Captain," Tycon nodded, his beady yellow eyes
narrowed.
"Tch," Hai scoffed. "Good morning."
He had more choice words to say, but he wouldn't say it in front of

his men and Tycon's subordinates.
The noble turned to the Invictus half-elf, "Mister Pale. Report."
Hai raised an eyebrow. He hadn't guessed that the 9-year-old boy

was more trustworthy than the adult Lone Shadowdark.
"Uh... Lone and I were playing Spades and the uh... the Sea
Wolves were doing a routine inspection."
"Yee! That's right, kid!!" "Routine inspection! Totally normal, you

could say!" "Affirmative." --Garret, Ran, and Eleven were
suspiciously quick to agree with the boy.
"Do you... do you want to play, Sir Tycon?" Pale asked.
Tycon frowned, "I'd rather not. I am unskilled at these types of

games."
Hai's eyes widened. That noble prick was bad at cards? He'd
been itching to one-up the bastard at something.
He kicked Garret in the chest, forcing the bald man out of his way.
He immediately took the open seat, "Alright. Deal me and the
Baron in."
Tycon furrowed his brows, "No, I just--"
"Come on! Don't be a wuss!!" Hai goaded.
Ran chimed in, eager to talk as usual, "Yeah, what're you scared
of-- it's just a game! Haha!"
Hai glared up at the man, "How about you carry on with your
'routine inspection', Ran?"
The sandy-brown-haired Martialist held the back of his head and
laughed, "Oh... oh yeah, haha... hah."
Pale smiled weakly, "I think... I'll sit this one out."
Chapter 161 Captain’s Gamble
Tycondrius did not enjoy most games played for leisure.
Concerning board games ruled for two players, he did not have
the patience to gain the skills to excel. Dice games and games of
chance, he could not take them seriously. What did it matter, the
luck of the die or the draw?
In card games, Tycon was ruthlessly destroyed by Dragan,

Sorina, Maximus, and Lone. He did have an advantage over the
Kimura siblings, back when they were both alive. Tamaki couldn't
read numbers. And everyone tacitly agreed to out Taree in any
group game, because she made amusing faces when she was
troubled.
Tycon had only agreed to a contest with Hai out of an illogical

emotional reaction... He'd much rather enjoy the company of Rico
and Sasha. He had left the two of them in the Captain's quarters
when he went to investigate Lang Hai's clamoring.
He would lose face if he were to suddenly back out... so he

decided to be patient. When the game grew dull, he would politely
excuse himself.
[Game 1; Tycon, Lone, Hai, Garret]
Tycon looked over the cards in his hand, "So the... sword cards
trump everything else. This symbol, then?"
Hai laughed, "Pshhhh! You don't even know that much?! This
game is gonna be in the bag!!"
Lone and Garret exchanged worried looks.
[Game 3]
Lone sucked in air through his teeth, "Boss... How about you--"
Tycon glared at him, "Not now, Lone. Come back when you learn
how to melt butter."
Lone promptly shut up.
Sergeant Garret grimaced, "Uh... Cap'n, are you sure you wanna
play that--"
"Shut up!" Hai snapped, "I know what I'm doing!"
Shao Ran laughed giddily, "Gahaha! Wow! You guys suck!! Real
bad! Terrible!"
Ran wasn't playing, but it didn't stop him from running his mouth.
Tycon didn't feel any particular way about the man, but could
easily see how his arrogance could repulse others.
Hai scowled, "Oh, yeah, Ran? How about you put your coin where
your cunt is?"
Ran grinned toothily as he politely replaced Lone at the table,

"Ehh? Alright, sure. But I'm warning you, I'm known as the god of
cards!"
Tycon lifted the corner of his mouth, "That's interesting. I've

always wanted to kill a god."
Ran flexed his pectoral muscles, "Ehhh?!! Is that a threat, noble-

guy? I'll take you out right here!!"
"In. the. card game, Lieutenant," Tycon sighed.
"...Oh. Yeeeeaah... That's what I meant."
[Game 6; Tycon, Ran, Hai, Garret]
Shao Ran slammed his hand on the table, "This game is

FREAKIN' STUPID!! Can't we just FIGHT?!"
"Play your turn, Lieutenant." Tycon scolded, "It's the only way
you'll get your coin back."
The golden-eyed Sea Wolf growled, "You're not even using your
own money! What the hells is that about?!"
Lang Hai shot Ran a glare. The boy-Captain had been

increasingly quiet, as time went on. Indignantly, Ran picked up his
hand, playing the next card to continue the round.
Tycon continued solemnly, "I'm utilizing what is available to me.

My guild assets are my assets."
Lone whimpered from nearby, "Boss... you don't pay me."
"I fail to see how that's my problem."
Hai frowned, "Ran, I'm cutting your pay."
Shao Ran's face turned bone-white at the mention.
Garret coughed, "Eilean takes care of the pay, L.T."
Hai turned to Garret, "Right. She might have issue docking a

Lieutenant's pay, but won't have issue docking yours."
Garret promptly shut up.
[Game 7]
"Boss, please-- please, stop" Sergeant Garret begged.
"Listen to your Sergeant, young Captain. You're already over 500

silver in debt." Tycon gently chided, "You've lost and you've
nothing left to offer."
Hai snarled, the muscles on his arms bulging, "Nothing to offer?!

NOTHING TO OFFER?!?"
He placed his ceremonial cutlass on the center of the card-barrel,

"I'll put my gods-damned RANK on the line!!"
Tycon took the cutlass and pulled it from its scabbard. Thin.
Flimsy, "This... is supposed to be a Captain's sword? The design
on the blade looked like it was smithed by a thumbless kobold."
Hai snatched the blade and scabbard back, "Sh-shut up! It does
not!"
Tycon crossed his arms and glared. Shao Ran crossed his arms
and glared.
Eleven of Seven shrugged, "I concur. Also, I was not issued such
a blade."
"WHATEVER!!" Hai shouted, "How about you take the gods-

damned Admiralty and then YOU can figure it out!!"
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Hai, you can't be serious. Take the sword
back."
Hai bared his teeth, "I'm the gods-damned Fleet Admiral! I can do
whatever the hells I want!!"
Suddenly, Garret fell backward. A dull clunk emanated from where

the bald man struck his head on the floorboards. The short figure
of Eleven of Seven climbed onto Garret's former seat, "I will fight
to keep this fleet in capable hands."
Ran narrowed his eyes with a dropped jaw, "Ehhhhh?! Eleven?

Wait-- that's not fair! This guy doesn't even have a brain!"
The metal man tilted his helmet, "Lieutenant Shao Ran, that has
not stopped you."
[Game 13; Tycon, Ran, Hai, Eleven]
The hold had grown quiet, with only the 4 of them being its living
occupants. Spirits and skeletons continued to shuffle around,
performing minor duties and providing background noise.
Tycon stared at his cards and glared at his opponents.

He gnashed his teeth. He didn't trust Ran or Eleven any more
than he did Hai. At least the boy-Captain had been running a fleet
for awhile.
Tycon refused to let the fleet fall into anyone else's hands! He'd
see the fleet headed by a snake if he had to!
« System, inquiry: What are the cards in everyone's hands? »
...
As a result of Tycon's cheat-ability, he easily won the remaining

games. He returned the Admiralty to Lang Hai, which everyone
seemed to (somewhat) agree was the best decision.
He got an honorary officer rank for his troubles-- it was a title

without pay, not that the Sea Wolves could afford to keep him.
Soon enough, the 4 ships reached an island off the coast of the
Beaurte territories. Young men and women from across the
Kingdom flocked to Saint Guinefort island hoping to be trained as
Beaurte Marines and enter the Sea Wolf fleet.
Tycon grinned at the prospect.
Training for Invictus awaited.

Chapter 162 Bloody Training
"Finally nice to get off the ship!" Lone exclaimed.
Pale nodded, "And with our feet on the sand."
"Welcome to Port Dog Shit, Sir Tycon," Marine Sergeant Garret

saluted Tycon as he got off the rowboat and stepped onto the
beach.
Tycon glanced back to the Unfortunate, anchored a bit off the

coast. He was told that the island's existing docks were in use,
mostly by ships that weren't as seaworthy. Recruits and most
inhabitants of the island were expected to swim from their ship to
the rocky beaches.
"Mister Garret..." Tycon grimaced, "I'm sorry-- you said... Port Dog
Shit?"
"Ehehe, yeah," The bald man smiled with chagrin, "It's a local
name, kehe. You can smell it in the air, can'tcha? Figured it best
you heard it from me, 'fore you heard it anywhere else."
Tarquin Wroe took a deep breath, shutting his eyes and smiling
radiantly.
Tycon did not do the same. It smelled of fish rot and sulfur, "Your
thoughts, Mister Wroe?"
Wroe tilted his head, "I love it. Not the smell, though... but there's
this feeling of familiarity."
Tycon frowned. That sounded like an absolute nightmare. What

was familiar? Rotting things? Ghosts? Creatures from the great
beyond?
A loud bubbling sound echoed across the waters. Sergeant Garret
looked over, along with Invictus members: Tycon, Wroe, Pale, and
Lone. In a rumble of bubbles, the Unfortunate began to sink
beneath the waves.
The group stared on for over two minutes, watching the ship sink
in its entirety.
Tycon looked to his good friend, the blue-haired Warlock, "Mister

Wroe... is that... supposed to happen?"
The daeva gently grimaced, "No, Boss. It is not."
...
It had been a few suns since the Sea Wolves' return. The blood
orange sun was swiftly setting upon the white sands of Port Saint
Guinefort.
High-Captain Lang Hai loved these sands, its bloody history, and
the fresh blood of his sea pups, shed each training sun.
"Swim faster, pups!" He raised his voice, snarling in anger, "Or

you'll run the course AGAIN!!"
A dozen Marine recruits swam as if their lives depended on it. The

pack emerged from the creature-infested waters, many of them
leaving bloody footprints in the rocky sand. The whelps shared
filthy grins. They had reached their training goal for the sun.
The young half-elf boy, Pale, led the pack, carrying a spear and
wearing thick sharkskin boots. Trailing at the end of the pack was
the Lone Shadowdark, encouraging a Marine recruit beside him.
Private Petit jogged with a haggard expression, three different
flesh-eating fish nibbling on his torn back.
"Stop crying, Petit. You'll live," Lang Hai said, without giving him a
second glance.
Lang Hai allowed them to catch their breaths as their training

instructor, Corporal Jacque, saluted and reported the trainees'
success. Each of the sniveling recruits could survive their
inhuman training at Saint Guinefort due to practicing the Sea Wolf
Body Art. Each wound would regenerate in time. Most wounds,
anyway.
Lone cautiously approached Lang Hai... "Captain Lang... There's

a problem."
Hai frowned. Lone and Pale of Guild Invictus had joined the
training over the past several suns. Both of them being obvious
combat veterans, they were allowed the privilege of being allowed
to speak. Any other recruit would be beaten for talking back,
"What is the issue, Mister Lone?"
The balding, slightly heavy-set young Petit yelled, "Sir! This recruit
is missing a finger, sir!"
"They'll grow back, Pup," Lang Hai rolled his eyes.
They'd grow back if he reached at least middle comprehension

with the body art, something that took years of practice. Petit's
injury wasn't severe enough to summon a doc. His training would
continue.
Hai gave a nod to Corporal Jacque. Jacque would make Petit's life
hell for speaking so informally to a Captain.
"Alpha Pack. Fastest in the company. Corporal Jacque, allow

them a decent meal and a full night's rest."
"Aye aye, sir!" Jacque responded, showing no trace of emotion.
Captain Lang Hai was pleased. He was shorter than all of the
male recruits, but they still paid him the proper respect his rank
demanded. Corporal Jacque had done well... He was well on his
way to a promotion.
"Oh, and Corporal-- have one of your peer instructors assume

your duties. Your wife gave birth a few weeks back, didn't she?"
"Captain?" Jacque hesitated, "The pups are still green, I can't just-
-"
"I understand your concerns, Corporal. Denied. Take the paid

leave."
Lang Hai walked forward to address the pups, "We take care of
our own, recruits. Enemies threaten our shores, each and every
sun. By my command, you'll charge until either *we* or the enemy
lie dead."
Hai glared at each of the recruits, making certain his words were
understood, "Take care of your friends. Take care of your family.
Take care of your brothers and sisters to the left and right of you."
He grimaced in annoyance... "And someone get those damned

nibblers off of Private Petit."
Pale was first to sprint to Petit, grabbing a fish and squeezing--

gently unlatching the creature from Petit's back. Lone and a
different recruit haphazardly grabbed the remaining fish, pulling
out painful chunks of flesh from Petit's back. A female recruit
cupped some sea water and poured it over his wounds. Though
Petit screamed in agonizing pain, the man's torn flesh began to
visibly regenerate.
Training the Sea Wolf Body Art to Lesser Completion was almost
necessary to survive training.
"Corporal, get the recruits back to their shanty and dismiss

Invictus to reinforce Sergeant Garret." Hai saluted, "Dismissed."
"Aye aye, Cap'n!" Jacque returned the salute.
After Lang Hai saw Jacque and his pups off, he sighed and pulled
his hat low. As the sun set, the cool sea breeze threatened a
biting-cold night. The recruits would not sleep peacefully.
Hai sighed wistfully, "They don't make them like they used to..."
That idiot Shao Ran could swim and run the course Alpha Pack
took in half the time. He had no idea how the man did it.
Baron Tycon-- err.. Lieutenants Tycon and Shao Ran approached,

armed and armored.
The short blue-haired Captain crossed his arms, "What took you
ladies so long?"
Ran laughed, "Hahaha! I had to keep going back for the nerd!!"
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Shao Ran insisted on running a circular

path instead of straight here."
Hai raised an eyebrow, "And you took so long, why?"
The corner of Tycon's mouth tilted up, "Because I jogged at a

steady pace, like a normal person. I'm not undergoing training. I'm
readying for combat."
Chapter 163 Central Beach
ycondrius, Captain Lang, and Lieutenant Shao Ran sat on a 20-

T
fulm rocky outcropping, overlooking the ocean. As the last
vestiges of the sun's light sank beyond the horizon, a foreboding
mist churned over the dark waters.
Tycon placed his wooden cup down beside the others, "Captain
Lang, from what I was told the island is attacked several times
each moon."
Hai shrugged. He poured the last of the bottle of rum into the 3
wooden cups he had provided for the occasion, "Yeah. This one
will be the worst we've ever had..."
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Oh?"
"Tch. Yeah." Hai scoffed, "Or else I wouldn't bother bringing *both*
you and Ran."
Tycon crossed his arms. He did not like how Hai was delaying his
clarifications, "Pale and Lone have withdrawn to the southern
beach along with Invictus' Warlock, Tarquin Wroe... But they
support two full Sea Wolf platoons."
Hai nodded, "I hope those 2 can help the casualty rate... You guys
helped out a lot during the raid on the Saltspray pirates."
Ran drained his cup, "Yeah. My men couldn't shut up about you
guys. Invictus this, Invictus that! Gahaha! I finally get to see if
you're all talk, Tycon."
Tycon ignored the man and groaned inwardly. Where were the
central beach's reinforcements? Where was Rico? Where was
Eleven of Seven? ...Where was Eilean? Surely any of those were
worth more than a single Shao Ran...
The man was the worst card player Tycon had ever seen.
"Can't you smell that, Tycon?" Hai pursed his lips.
Tycon licked his lips. There was a faint stench of beach-washed

fish carcasses that only grew stronger each sun. He shook his
head, "My senses are not as sharpened as yours, young Captain."
"Yeah, what gives, Cap'n?" Ran inquired.
The cold winds blew sharply, whistling ghostly wails off the
crashing rocks. The stench blew in with the waves, the reek of
rotting salt-shriveled flesh growing stronger. Its unpleasantness
made Tycon frown. Shao Ran gagged.
Lang Hai seemed unaffected. He stood up and swept the sand

from his coat and trousers, "It's about that time."
He hopped off the 20-fulm rock. Shao Ran laughed and leapt off
after him... Tycon sighed and walked the outcropping's decline, to
go around. He wasn't going to waste mana on impressing those
fools.
...
Hai and Ran were staring out at the dark waters as Tycon
approached.
Lang Hai's voice was deep and serious, "Ran, do you remember
much of your training?
"Eh? What about it, Cap'n?"
"There was one night, right about the middle of it... It was the
heaviest rainfall and most chaotic lightning storm Saint Guinefort
had ever seen. You and your peers were instructed not to leave
until morning."
Ran shrugged, "Yeah. I thought that's just so recruits wouldn't try

to skip out."
Hai glared, "Well... half-true. Tonight, I'll tell you why some of your
instructors never came back..."
High-Captain Lang Hai tilted his head back and howled. The song
of the Sea Wolf was deep, sonorous, a wail deeper and louder
than a whale-beast and more haunting than a land-wolf. From
miles away up and down the coast, other Sea Wolves let loose
their ghostly howls.
Hai shut his eyes, listening.
Ran saw Tycon's confused face and translated, "North and south
coast're accounted for. The instructors leading the defenses of
each beach are saying everything looks normal."
The sea howled back.
A chill ran down Tycon's spine as the sea's gargling wails howled
back, ten times greater in number. Enemies. So many enemies.
The hair on the back of Tycon's neck stood and adrenaline began
to pump through his veins.
Tycon armed his crossbow. He even took out his pistols and
loaded them with shaking hands, "Lang Hai, you mean to hold the
gods-damned beach with just the 3 of us? Isn't this area *larger*
than either of the other beaches?"
Lang Hai smiled with chagrin, "Lieutenant Tycon, the last major
attack... I lost nearly two entire platoons, most of them instructors.
Over 70 Marines and sailors died in a fifty-yalm radius of this very
spot."
Both Tycon and Ran grew quiet at the number. It was thrice the
amount of Sea Wolves lost during the Saltspray raids.
Hai grit his teeth and shut his eyes in contemplation, "You're a
leader, just like I am... just like Ran is. Every officer lost, every
senior leader lost-- every puking, snot-covered recruit lost is
unacceptable."
A certain blue-scaled dovahkiin came to Tycon's mind. He nodded
solemnly, "Unacceptable, indeed..."
The enemies began to emerge from the sea. First came rotting
seaweed-covered ghosts of men wielding broken and rusted
blades. Leaping onto rocks from the churning waters were thick,
heavyset sea wolves, their scales broken and shattered, intestines
spilling from their ghostly splayed-open ribs. Distant in the waters,
four misty green phantom ships flew tattered flags of long-
forgotten Pirate Kings.
Tycon's jaw dropped. Ghost Sea Wolves and undead pirates...

"And is this more than usual, Hai?"
Hai turned back to give Tycon a reassuring smirk, "That night I lost
70 men and women? There were 3 ships."
Lang Hai tossed off his coat and hat onto the beaches, revealing
the bare skin to the rain. His muscles began to twist and knot. The
smooth sound of flesh crunched together and broke apart as his
cursed body began to physically transform.
Hai gazed into the dark, stormy sky at the bright moon beneath
the clouds and grinned confidently at his two subordinates, "I
called you here because I need you to do what I could not do with
two entire platoons of Marines."
He put forward his musclebound fist, "My name is High-Captain

Lang Hai. Will you follow me into hell?"
Lightning struck, revealing the shadows of hundreds of angered

ghosts dragging their bodies towards the beaches. Tycon
gnashed his teeth. The man was a lunatic.
Ran looked to the creatures pouring from the sea. He planted his
halberd into the sand and, defiant of the rain, the blade erupted in
a golden blaze, "I am Shao Ran and I will follow you into the
bleeding gates!! As long as I live and Ferocity burns!!"
He frowned as he looked to the sands below... much of it had

turned to glass. If Ran was a little less precise with his mana
control, Tycon might have stabbed him in the gut... not that that
would greatly affect a Sea Wolf.
The two of them looked to Tycon expectantly. Tycon smiled

weakly and drew the Shatterspike longsword. He slashed it
against the 20-fulm outcropping adjacent to them, cutting a gash
into the rock the height of the transformed Lang Hai.
Ran stared with his mouth agape.
"My name is Tycon." He twisted his lips, "And I plan to outlive the
both of you."
Tycon cursed inwardly. If he didn't properly support the two idiot

Sea Wolves, he'd likely die on the beach.
"Eh, good enough," Hai chortled, "Lieutenant Shao Ran!

Lieutenant Tycondrius Charm!! I order you to hold the beach."
Chapter 164 Frenzied Chariot
Wheel
sharp crack resounded through the air as golden light flooded

A
the beach. Lieutenant Shao Ran of the Beaurte Marines took off
his uniform coat and hat before holding up his glowing halberd,
Ferocity.
He glared at the creatures pouring from the sea like slop spilling
from a bucket-- hideous zombified sea creatures and dead pirates
from clans exterminated epochs ago. Revulsion pooled in the
depths of his gut as he snarled, "As long as I am here, nothing will
happen to the Sea Wolf pups!"
Ran leapt into the air and through the heavy rains, slicing his
flaming halberd down onto a skeletal pirate. Cleaved into two, the
pirate's back burst with flame magic outward like wings. Skeletons
cracked and shattered while ghosts and zombies melted away,
steaming into the waters.
Every member of the Shao family was tested for the purity of the
Golden Crow's bloodline. Ran had the highest concentration of the
divine beast's bloodline in 10 generations. From birth, the favored
child was instilled with training in The Golden Codex... a
cultivation art marked by its reckless bursts of overwhelming
energy.
Ran performed the movements that had been drilled into him-- the
same movements his ancestors inscribed into their souls. With
each slash and spin, he easily dispatched the skeletal sea-eaten
creatures littering the beach. With each burst of his mana, the
sands lit up in pyres of gold. With each swing of Ferocity, he
smashed dead men into broken bags of flesh and rotten blood.
Shao Ran charged into a group of the repulsive creatures,
spinning into the air as he curled in on himself. A ball of golden
light condensed in his abdomen as he poured more of his power
into it. Using his mana force, he compressed the orb into a fist-
sized white sphere, shining as radiantly as the sun.
"Golden Crow's Frenzied Chariot Wheel!! BURN FOR ME!!"
Fiery wings erupted from Ran's own back and a circle of flames
erupted from the waters around him. The heat was so fierce the
rotting flesh on the creatures closest to him turned into
nothingness. The sphere of blinding light descended to the sands,
erupting in waves of inextinguishable flames. These flames were
so fierce that the waters they touched immediately evaporated,
turning the area 10 yalms around him into bright embers and
molten flame.
...
The 12-fulm tall Lang Hai waded calf-deep in the frigid waters.
Dozens of cuts and bruises marked his naked chest. He hated
ghosts. Their very presence made him cold-- not like the cold of
the abyss, but just... spiritually cold? Mentally cold?
He just didn't like it.
Lifting his leg up, he stomped down hard, knocking back a half-
dozen ghost wolves and spraying salt and ectoplasm onto his
wounds. The wounds healed almost instantaneously. The stinging
sensation of the salt water cleared any drowsiness he would have
felt.
Fighting off the ghosts was a chore. Hai made some mental
calculations for how many decent bells of sleep he could get if he
called a retreat... Of course, he couldn't really. Hundreds of
recruits would die if the line crumbled... as well as enough fully-
trained Sea Wolves to noticeably set the fleet back.
Hai trusted his instructors to hold their lines. His men trusted Hai
to at least delay their central force.
Shao Ran took the center of the beach. His sweeping fiery
halberd attacks covered his area in scalding-hot steam clouds.
Every few moments, Ran's obnoxiously bright sun-burst abilities
would temporarily blind all of his allies. Hai had the feeling the
steam clouds acted like a mirror or magnifying glass to somehow
make the radiance even more blinding.
Lang Hai had his eyes closed for a majority of the battle, relying
on the movement in the waves and his other senses to attack. It
was the only reason he'd been struck by so many attacks.
He'd have brought Eilean... but he wasn't comfortable with how

Ran acted around the Sea Witch. Why did he even like her? ...Hai
decided to inform him that she had a penis. That seemed to work
best when he wanted people to stop bothering her.
(Concerning bothersome people, Hai had lost sight of Tycon.)
As terrible to his allies as Shao Ran's abilities were, the man could
hold off against a veritable army as long as he had support...
which is the reason he kept the team size to 3. Tycon could
provide support Skills. And Hai wouldn't trust anyone else to
protect the both of them while simultaneously not dying.
It might have been the Golden Crow's fire that was especially
effective against the ghosts. It might have been the sun-type
abilities-- these ghosts didn't come out at night for whatever
reason. If not that, the range and radius of Ran's fire Skills were
more than enough to melt swaths of undead like melting butter for
a cake.
...Or maybe Shao's horrendous naming conventions for his

attacks made his opponents want to return to their eternal slumber
that much faster?
...
Tycon picked up his guisarme and aimed to swing down at a

zombie pirate. The pirate lifted its rusty cutlass up to block-- like
that was going to do anything. Tycon followed-through with his
swing, cleaving the cutlass and slicing into the pirate's skull down
to his jaw. Tycon unstuck his weapon with a twist.
Tycon was 100 yalms away from Shao Ran, but the brightness of
his skills still hurt the hells out of his eyes. After the Sea Wolf's
first spellcast, Tycon immediately realized that that attack was not
unique. Tycon tied a long strip of cloth around his eyes several
times to protect himself. He had to rely on his tremorsense and
sense of movement in order to target enemies-- it was odd, but as
a martially-practiced Iron-Ranker... and a snake, it was
manageable.
There were certainly enough undead to warrant his assistance...

but it was strange. Both Hai and Ran had practiced the Sea Wolf
Body Art to high levels... which meant their healing factor was
strong and their stamina levels were incredibly high. He couldn't
understand why his presence was requested.
Tycon took it upon himself to guard the back line. Anything that
rushed past the Sea Wolves, he'd thrust his guisarme through a
zombie eye socket or cleave through a brittle spine. For over a
quarter-bell, he'd only needed to dispatch 2 or 3 each minute...
Nothing had yet dared to threaten the Sea Wolves' rule over the
battlefield.
...Tycon hoped that it would remain that way.

Chapter 165 Dread Pirate
ycondrius sensed it before he saw it. There was a shift in the

T
rotting sea breeze and an increase in the mana suffusing the air.
Something stronger had arrived.
The massive form of Lang Hai immediately dove-- hiding in the

darkness of the night's waters. Tycon hid behind a rock on the
shore... he'd observe before acting.
"Hold, boy..."
A deep, rock-gargling voice whispered in Tycon's mind, the loud

echoing causing his head to ache. Stealthily looking out from his
hiding spot, Tycon saw an old ghost approaching Lieutenant Shao
Ran, walking on the waveless waters. Ran didn't escape, either
out of confidence or foolhardiness.
The ancient Marine wore his uniform coat, his breast covered in
service medals. The phantom was a hero of the Kingdom.
Stepping forward, the waves below his feet thrumming with power,
"Your flames burn hot, young Crow... but do you believe you can
burn the whole ocean?"
The other creatures moved... all as one. They walked, crawled,

and dragged their broken bodies back into the waters, returning to
the abyss.
Tycon grit his teeth as he analyzed the enemy.
[Gold-Rank Phantom Dread Pirate]
The phantom had the same Class as Lang Hai did... and wore a
thin, but well-kept beard and mustache on his blue, translucent
face... The ghost's eyes were slanted, similar to Ran's and Hai's,
and a dagger was implanted through an eye socket-- likely the
cause of his death.
Did the Sea Wolves know who this storied hero was?
Shao Ran paused his ferocious attacks and for the first time in the
battle, took a defensive stance.
Tycon silently cursed Lang Hai for getting him into this mess.
...
High-Captain Liang Qiang took off his coat, tossing it behind him.
White spectral hands reached out of the black waters to drag the
sea-rotted cloth back into the abyss.
"Honor... in all thy actions."
It didn't matter where he was. He was on the battlefield. Enemies

were before him. He had one goal: to kill.
"Courage... to do what is right... regardless of the consequences."
Qiang adopted a wide horse stance. The black waters churned

beneath him as mana pulsated outward. The blurry translucent
form he took solidified to a haunted bluish-green. The old man's
body was clear to see... A dozen wicked blade scars and
pockmarks from bullet shrapnel marked his pale flesh. The dagger
pierced through his left eye caused it to ache terribly.
"Blood."
The old phantom flexed, his clear-cut and well-defined muscles

rippled as if they would burst. Born of the Sea Wolf sect, born of
the sea, his body had been trained to peak physical perfection.
"And thunder."
Liang Qiang stomped his leading foot onto the water's surface and
directed his hands forward, ready for combat. In another outward
pulse of mana, he extinguished the flame on the Golden Crow's
sect storied weapon, Ferocity.
The boy stared at his naked blade and involuntarily gulped.
Qiang shot forward, faster than the boy could react. Striking the
boy in his abdomen, he wrenched his fist, "Grasping Tide."
"Shite!" Desperately, Ran tried to leap backward, but Qiang pulled

the waters at the boy's back to push him forward. He smashed a
kick into the side of the Golden Crow cultivator then placed a
domineering palm into his chest.
The broken crow spat blood as he fell back... but the waters
surged up, supporting him. The old man launched a dozen more
punches into the boy.
There was no mercy on the battlefield.
Wordlessly, Qiang grabbed the boy's bloodied face as he

channeled his powers of undeath into his flesh.
...
Shao Ran let loose an agonizing, pain-wracked scream as he fell

onto his knees, covered in his waist by seawater.
Empty night! The seawater didn't look like it was enough for Ran
to regenerate... Tycon bounded over his hiding spot and aimed his
crossbow.
A geyser of water erupted behind the old phantom just before

Tycon could fire. The 12-fulm Lang Hai surged out of the
darkness, "Liang Qiang, you ROTTEN BASTARD!!"
Qiang tossed aside the battered and broken Shao Ran, who
splashed into the waters near the rocky beach, 20-fulms away.
With a single finger, the old man blocked Lang Hai's kicks and
punches, "What the hells do you think you're doing, you little
shite? Observe the proper customs and courtesies, you
disrespectful whelp. You will address me as High-Captain Liang."
"Sod off, old man!" Hai snarled. He brought down the fury of the
tentacles on his back.
Qiang swept a knife-hand above him, severing all four tentacles.
The old phantom even whipped out his opposite hand, deflecting
Tycon's fired crossbow bolt. Hai growled in pain, but gripped his
fists together and swung his muscled arms down, trying to crush
the phantom.
Tycon began running towards the fallen Shao Ran, his boots
splashing upon the thin film of water on the rocks. He hadn't seen
what Qiang did, but Hai's hands flew backward as if repulsed--
and blood rained down from the sky.
Hai held up his palms, bleeding terribly from both. He leapt back
and placed his hands beneath the sea waters, his chest
thrumming in displeasure, "Looks like death hasn't dulled your
edge."
"Li Hai, cease this at once." Qiang reassumed his combat stance,
"Your Sea Wolf Body Art is not strong enough to defeat me.
Return to the ship and meditate until your comprehension reaches
Major Completion."
Hai's toothy face and betrayed no emotion, "Kakaka... Old

bastard, it's been years since you've died. I've already made it to
Major Completion."
A thin crease appeared between old Qiang's brows, "I see... Who
is my replacement?"
"Yours truly, you old nutjob."
Qiang breathed in deep and shook his head, "Is your Sea Wolf
Body Art truly so weak? Then you are not enough."
Hai hesitated, unable to speak... He clenched his fists hard, blood

continuing to drip into the black waters.
In another instant, the old phantom disappeared from where he

stood.
"Lang! Dodge it!!" Tycon yelled.

[Jumping Knee Counter activated]
Lang Hai's eyes widened as mana increased his perception.

Qiang's fist found its mark in Hai's abdomen, forcing him to crouch
over. The boost wasn't enough to dodge...
Tycon gnashed his teeth, "You idiot! Don't just stand there and
take it!!"
Hai grabbed hold of both Qiang's arms and launched a

devastating knee into the phantom's chest. The old man groaned
in pain-- the first strike he'd taken.
Tycon crouched down and slapped Shao Ran hard across the
face, "Get the hells up, Sea Wolf!!"
« Yes! Quickly, now! »
[Activating.]
Ran shot awake, choking on sand and seawater, "What the hells,
Tycon?!"
Tycon grasped at Ran's arm, pulling him up, "Not now! Go assist
Lang Hai."
Ran stood, blood covering his back from the sharp rocks on the
beach, "Sea god's beard, where the hells is Ferocity?"
"Not important, Marine. Now--"
Half of the Sea Wolf's face was marked with decomposing flesh,
and his left eye was still shut. The other half of his face was
marked with panic, "Shut the hells up, noble! That's my family's--"
Tycon punched Ran in the chest with the fist holding the
guisarme, "We'll find it later. The three of us need to survive, first!"
Ran grit his teeth and took the weapon.

Chapter 166 Old Monster
igh-Captain Lang Hai vomited the contents of his stomach as he

H
knelt in the waters. Viscous tears dripped down his abyssal black
eyes and he wheezed through his broken sword-length teeth.
"You... thrice-damned old man. Your business is finished. Why

won't you die peacefully!?"
Qiang stood arrogantly on the water's surface with his fists held
behind his back, "All of the Kingdom's Admirals must be strong
enough to defend their fleet alone. How dare you pretend to be
strong, Li Hai."
Hai splashed his torn-scaled face with seawater, "All the Old
Monsters are dead-- you killed them, yourself."
"Bah." Qiang narrowed his eyes in disgust, "I had a right to self-
defense, Li. They had it coming."
Hai stood up, "Is that why you killed Admiral De la Croix?"
The transformed Lang Hai snapped his neck to the side from
Liang Qiang's round kick. His body flew, rotating in the air,
pulverizing a sea rock.
Qiang stood atop him, fist reared back, "I've always tolerated your
filthy mouth, Li Hai. But I will not allow you to speak lies."
The transformed Lang Hai stared defiantly at the old phantom,

unafraid, "Then tell me the truth, old man."
Qiang hesitated, "As much shite as I gave Guillaume... I respected

him. Probably the only gods-damned sailor I've ever respected."
"You died a traitor to the Kingdom."

Qiang scoffed, "As if the words of the Council are worth more than
whale-shite! They framed me for Guillaume's murder. I felt no
remorse for killing the bastards they sent after me-- I was only
killed because I got bored."
Hai thrummed a sigh, "That's how I feel, old man..."
The old phantom raised an eyebrow, "How so?"
Hai thrust an arm forward-- not the massive Sea Wolf arm, but the
quick, thin arm of a 14-year old boy. He grabbed onto the dagger
in Liang Qiang's eye and twisted it, "--yeah, bored of your gods-
damned talk!!"
Qiang roared in pain as he grabbed onto Hai's wrist, the boy-

Captain's flesh sizzling from the corrosive touch.
Wings of flame lit up the battlefield, as bright as the sun, as Shao

Ran flew towards Liang Qiang. With a guisarme of molten steel,
he stabbed at the phantom. Qiang, barely able to block, was
launched away with the force, skidding along the surface of the
water.
Tycon was ready, lashing out with a whip, accurately entangling

one of the old man's arms, "Sea Wolves! BLOOD AND
THUNDER!!"
Hai charged forward, sprinting on the water's surface. Sea Wolf

Sect: Careful Stride-- something he was only able to do in his
natural form. His Abyssal Sea Wolf form was too slow against
former Admiral Liang Qiang, but it didn't mean Hai was useless.
"Victory at SEA!!" Hai reached old Qiang and launched a powered

kick at the side of the man's head. The old man blocked, but Hai
clearly saw the man's ghostly arm fracture, hanging loosely at his
side.
Descending with flaming wings, Shao Ran brought two fists

sheathed in flame upon old Qiang. The old man countered with
two quick snap kicks, extinguishing Ran's fire.
Undeterred, Ran made half-a-dozen quick hand gestures, "Golden
Crow's Wrathful Midday Sun!! BURN FOR ME!!"
The golden wings on Ran's back surged blindingly bright. The

flames in his hands focused into a sphere and burst forward. The
phantom screamed a ghastly wail of pain as the concentrated
beam bored a hole through his chest.
"Shadowfang strike," Tycon burst out of the shadowy waters with

an upward slash from his enchanted sword. The terrifying old man
was fast enough to block with his unbroken arm... but the sword
that could cut through rock easily cut into the old man's ghostly
flesh to the bone.
Tycon sighed and held out a hand, snapping his fingers.
With a surge of inhuman strength, Lang Hai stabbed his stolen

dagger horizontally into old man Qiang's spine. The man's back
spasmed as he snarled in a dark and seething rage.
"High-Captain Liang Qiang..." Lang Hai growled, "Please go back

peacefully… Father."
...
Hai leapt back, away from the undead Marine's crazed thrashing.
Ran's eyes shone with empathy and respect. He cupped his fists
in a salute, "Out of respect for my Captain and you as his father, I
will send you back into the reincarnation cycle with my greatest
move."
"Any f*cking bell, Shao Ran!" Hai yelled. He held fast to the
dagger embedded in the old man's back.
Ran raised his guisarme to shoulder height-- its blade glowing

with flames. The weapon would not survive the attack. Flames
began to slowly engulf the weapon, so thick to almost drip like
blood. Heat pulsated from the weapon, the waters evaporating,
and the sand glowing and moving like ocean waves.
"Now, Senior... receive my Golden Crows Mournful Sunset."
The flame around his weapon died down to a single white dot at
the tip of the blade. Shao Ran thrust the weapon forward...
releasing the power of his bloodline.
The ghost of Liang Qiang kicked and wailed. Reaching out his
fractured arm, he summoned a ghostly cutlass and stabbed Hai
deep in the stomach. Hai winced in pain, only releasing the
dagger and rolling away at the last moment.
Liang Qiang looked down at Ran's oncoming weapon. The pain

had left his face, replaced by an eerie calm. He looked to Lang
Hai... "Blood and thunder."
...
"Piss off, ghost," Hai muttered.
Lieutenant Shao's powerful radiant attack destroyed a good half of

Liang Qiang's form, phantasmal guts and bone torn apart.
Hai waved his hand, dispersing whatever ectoplasmic scum

holding his cursed father together. In a quick motion, he snatched
the corporeal dagger that was jammed in the old man's eye.
The sea grew calm, and the night's fatigue quickly set in. The
wound on Hai's abdomen began to quickly mend...
Howls resounded from the north and south beaches. The enemy
had sounded a retreat. The other platoons had successfully
defended their beaches.
Hai looked over to his Lieutenants, Shao and Tycon. Those

bastards were slightly more useful than he'd estimated.
Not bad. Not bad, at all.
"Good work, you two. Our casualties have been kept to a

minimum thanks to your hard work."
Shao Ran grinned like an easily excitable idiot. Tycon frowned like
a pompous idiot.
"It's what, nearly 3 right now?" Hai asked.
Tycon grimaced, "About 5 minutes past. Why?"
Hai smirked, "Go take a break. Morning training starts at 4."

Chapter 167 Training Hall
wo weeks had passed peaceably since the attack by Dread

T
Pirate Liang Qiang. According to the Marine instructors, since
then, the ghostly attacks were greatly reduced in frequency...
though ghostly activity rose and fell like the tide.
Lone and Pale participated in the physical training sessions of the

Marine recruits. They ran beaches with rocks sharp enough to
split their boots. They swam creature-infested waters until their
muscles spasmed. They kept Private Pyle alive. Their wounds
healed over and scarred, their hands grew calloused, and the
muscles on their backs were beginning to solidify like rocks.
While the recruits received knowledge-- tradition, structure, Sea

Wolf specific tactics... Lone and Pale chose to relax with the other
instructors at the training hall. Such was the benefit of belonging
to Invictus and not being directly under Sea Wolf charge.
Wroe waxed on about his love life, "I saw a Slime Girl on the
Unfortunate... an exquisite source of aberrant beauty. If only I
could lay eyes upon her once more..."
Pale stood at the center of an arena pit, enclosed by a circle of

dark stones. He was playing with his Lifedrinker spear, trying to
spin it around his wrist, "Mister Wroe... I think you're talking about
Lieutenant... Eilean? I think?"
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, shivered lightly at the invasive

thought, "Eugh... A Slime Girl, really?"
Wroe smiled gently with his eyes closed, "Miss Eilean appeals
more to the senses. I daresay her embrace is more thorough than
this Madison I've heard about. What do you think, Lone?"
Lone and Tarquin Wroe relaxed around the sand pit along with
Marine Lieutenants Shao Ran and Eleven of Seven. At Shao
Ran's request, Pale began to perform the motions of an Ivory
Judge sect spear kata.
Shao Ran yawned as he stood up, taking off his coat. He

scratched his head of light-brown hair and rotated his back for a
stretch. The Sea Wolf had gained a dark scar on half of his face
like he had been severely burnt. However, that and the full tattoos
on his back made him only look more intimidating.
"Y'all should keep away from Eilean. Haven't you heard the
rumors? She's more man than woman. You know? She's queerer
than a three-silver coin?"
Both Lone and Wroe looked over with confusion.
Eleven of Seven stood up, a set of armor, full 4-fulms tall. His
helmet, shaped like the head of a bull shark, seemed to scowl at
Ran with annoyance, "It is common knowledge amongst the Sea
Wolves that First Lieutenant Eilean has a p--"
"YARR HARRR HRRR!!" A ghostly echo reverberated through the

training hall.
Lone stood up, hurriedly grabbing his two wolf-hammers, "What

was that?!"
Ran shrugged, "Eh, don't worry about it. Nothin' important."
"Paranormal activity within acceptable parameters," Eleven

agreed.
A transparent-blue form coalesced into the arena... a bald pirate

with an eyepatch, a long ponytail of pale hair, and a myriad of
potions strapped to various belt holsters and a chest bandolier,
"Yarrrr... You fancy yerself a SEA WOLF, booooYYYYYYY!??"
Pale looked over to his friends, "Um... guys?"
Ran shrugged. Eleven gave a hand signal of two upward thumbs.

"It's probably fine," Wroe offered.
The ghostly pirate unsheathed a chipped, ghostly cutlass, "Have

at thee boy, I challenge ye to a--"
Pale smashed the ghost in the legs with the haft of his spear,
dropping him. Once the ghost hit the ground, Pale stabbed twice
in the chest, and once in the throat, ghostly ectoplasm spilling
from the wounds.
"Yar har har harrrr!!" The pirate laughed as he grabbed the spear
end. With his opposite hand, he began to smash potions into his
mouth, chewing on the small glass bits and causing his form to
glow red and orange.
Lone turned to Ran, "Wh-what's happening?"
Ran whistled, "It appears Pale's worth red and orange. Go Spear
Team!"
"The boy has improved since the raid on the Saltspray Kings,"
Eleven nodded.
"Magnum BREAK!!" Pale lit up in a geyser of flames as he leapt

up and stabbed the ghost in the head.
The ghost dissipated without fanfare. Ran and Eleven applauded

politely with Wroe and Lone joining in shortly after.
Ran stepped into the arena, shooing Pale away, "Alright! My turn,
young'un."
"Go Spear Team!" Pale cheered.
The ghost pirate reappeared, again wielding his cutlass, "Bah!

You, then, Sea Wolf!! Taste the steel of--"
Ran's halberd, Ferocity, hacked through the ghost's neck. The

ghost, undeterred, slashed and stabbed at Ran, who dodged and
slipped each attack with graceful precision. Finally, Ran was
forced to block a strike, and though he stood fast, his feet moved
a yalm back in the sands.
"Pfff. This guy's got a really heavy sword," Ran spat.
The gem inset on Eleven of Seven's helmet glowed, "Lieutenant

Shao Ran, should you die, no one will mourn your loss."
"This again? Can't you come up with better after all this time?"
Ran groaned.
"It is not a threat. It is a theory yet to be disproven," the armored

man countered.
A few of Shao Ran's powered flame-halberd attacks later, the

ghost dissipated. The ghost had crunched on even more of the
potions than when fighting against Pale. The glow emanating from
the ghostly figure was also red to orange, with the orange light
more apparent.
"I get it!" Pale placed a fist on an open palm, "The ghost has the
Alchemist class! That's how they use so many potions."
"More orange than red? That's good, right?" Lone asked.
Ran walked out of the arena less than pleased, "Eh. I've done
better. I usually get to white but I injured my knee--"
"Lieutenant Shao Ran often makes excuses when he fails to

perform," Eleven interrupted.
"Oh, yeah, coral cunt? I'd like to see you do better!"
Eleven crossed his metal arms, "We shall see..."
It took several minutes for the ghost to reappear. Once he did, he

sat down to recover from his injuries, idly drinking another few
ghostly reds.
Wroe tilted his head and gave his trademarked gentle smile, "Are
you enjoying yourself, friend?"
The scowling ghost glared with his one good eye, "Sod off,
Magician. No one asked you a damned thing."
Dark mana began to rise from Tarquin Wroe's eyes, black like a
cloud of ink, "Oh? ...Then perhaps I shall be next to entertain
you."
Chapter 168 Lone’s New
Technique
" I hear her name and SING of her GLORY!! Death to the enemies
of Invictus!! Death to the LIVING AND THE DEAD!!!"
Tarquin Wroe floated in the air. The ceiling of the training hall had
turned into an infinite abyss of darkness. Faint mockeries of lights
shone down upon them, ever-burning corpses that were once
stars. Hundreds of pale, feminine arms descended from the skies
like thick, translucent-white vines.
Songs of praise in a dozen languages rang in Lone's ears. He

tried to scream, but only words of praise left his throat, words in a
language he did not know. Tears streamed down his eyes at Her
beauty... at the goddess who looked down upon the mortal realm
from the dead-starred sky.
"RIP! TEAR! REND! ON THIS NIGHT, NOW AND FOREVER, I

SHALL FEAST UPON THE SOULS OF THE DAMNED!!" Wroe
cackled.
Shutting his eyes, he clenched his fist, "I hear her name... and
thus... I sing."
A hundred grasping arms tore the spirit apart as he screamed in

an agony almost palpable.
And then... all was silent.
...It was several moments before Wroe walked back to his peers
and sat amongst them, smiling as if all was normal.
Shao Ran rubbed his face, "Sea god's pants, what in the seven
hells was that? And why does the inside of my mouth taste like
fried pickles?"
Lone wiped the tears from his eyes. He looked at his hands-- they
were stained as if by black ink, "It uh... it happens."
Eleven of Seven turned his shark-helm to face the Warlock, "I

have no mouth, but I must vomit."
Pale was curled up on the floor, quietly sobbing, "I... I had a cat...
he got run over by a carriage when I was 8..."
Ran grimaced, "Yeah, okay. That was weird. What... what was all
that stuff about death to the living and the dead?"
"What?" Wroe looked confused at the questions.
"N-nevermind," Ran sat down and averted his gaze.
Eleven stared at Ran in hesitation... "I no longer wish to fight the

ghost."
Ran nodded, "Y-yeah. We'll compare, next time."
...
Lone finished a set of push-ups, "So, I've been thinking..."
Pale started his set, "Uh huh?"
"You have elf-blood, Pale... Wolfbanger has were-blood... Wroe

has angel-blood, Maximus lizard-blood, and Dragan titan-blood..."
Pale sat up and stretched his arms, "Um. Okay?"
Lone looked to Pale with widened eyes, "Does that mean... I'm--"
"Nope," Shao Ran interrupted, "You're human."
"Confirmed. Lone Shadowdark, you are 100% human," Eleven of

Seven added.
Pale smiled with his teeth-- looking not at all confident, "M-
maybe?"
"YARR HRRRRGGGGRRR HAHA HAAAA!!" A loud cackle

emanated from the center of the ring.
It had been nearly half-a-bell since Wroe had defeated the ghost.
The one-eyed ghost appeared more transparent than before...
and he trembled lightly as if he could barely keep his form
together.
The ghost pointed a cracked and weathered cutlass at Lone, "You

there!! Face me in BATTLE!! I'll tear you apart! I'll eat your
children!"
Lone looked around, but his peers refused to look him in the eye.
He pointed to himself, "Me?"
"Yes, you, COWARD!! FACE ME!!"
Pale grimaced, "You don't have to go, Lone."
Ran stood up, "Yeah. I want some chow. You fella's wanna get
some chow? Let's get some chow."
Eleven nodded, "I shall accompany you."
Lone picked up his wolf-hammers, "Why are you guys all acting
like this? I can beat him."
He looked back to the one-eyed ghost. The man was beaten,

stabbed, and torn apart. His form was shaky and see-through like
he'd fade away at any moment. His sword was cracked and his
arm shook from its weight. The ghost put up his offhand and
raised his middle finger in an obscene gesture.
Lone narrowed his eyes and stepped into the arena circle, "My
name is the Lone Shadowdark. I will face thee in a bout of
honorable combat, sir!"
The one-eyed man grinned, showing a mouth full of jagged, filed-
down teeth, "They call me... RAINBOW WARRIOR!!"
The ghost sliced his cutlass against the arena floor towards Lone,
kicking up sand and blinding him. Lone was able to cross-block a
cutlass swing but received two jabs to the chin. The pirate swung
against at Lone's head, with Lone blocking the heavy attack with
his hammer.
The force of the strike sent Lone tumbling to the side, sliding
across the sand. Thanks to his training, he kept hold of his
weapon.
Lone ended up sliding adjacent to Pale. The boy poked at him

with the stick-end of his spear... "H-hey... you okay?"
Lone rubbed the sand and fresh tears out of his eyes, "Psh. Yeah.
I'm fine. This is my new movement technique!"
In the background, Ran fell to the floor, laughing and clutching his
gut.
A thin crease appeared between Pale's eyebrows, "I... don't think

that means what you think it means, Lone."
"No, it's real! That belt I got gave me a new movement technique!
Just watch."
Lone kipped up to his feet, adopting a combat stance. He slowly

edged toward the pirate.
As soon as he entered the ring, the pirate charged forward. Lone

carefully watched the trajectory of the cutlass... deflecting the first
cutlass swipe. Finding his chance, he swung his wolf-hammer in a
perfect counter. BAM!
The pirate's face was smashed to the side. Lone felt the pride of
victory surge in his heart. Then he felt the pirate's punch right
below his sternum... the ghost had countered simultaneously.
Lone collapsed to his knees, dropping his hammers and trying to
catch his breath. The one-eyed man smashed a red potion into his
mouth-- the color of the lowest level.
The pirate smashed the side of his cutlass against Lone's temple,
and the side of Lone's head hit the sand with jarring force. The
ghost rubbed his boot on the side of Lone's face, "Gahaha! That's
what you get, boy!"
Ran looked to Pale, "Hey, Spear-Bro... is your friend gonna be

okay?"
Pale nodded with a smile, "I believe in him."
Having caught his breath, Lone growled, struggling with his

arms... but it was no use. The ghost's boot had pinned down his
head strongly and he couldn't escape. Reaching out with his main
hand, he grabbed one of his wolf-hammers and strongly gripped
the pinning boot with his offhand.
Lone cursed inwardly. Would he be forced to reveal his trump card

just as soon as he'd developed it? Seven hells! It didn't matter!
Pride was nothing in the face of overwhelming victory!! He would
unseal it!! And when he claimed victory, none would dare question
his means.
Lone sucked in a deep breath, "Shadowdark Sect: FACE TO

FOOT TECHNIQUE!!!"
Chapter 169 Beautiful Dream
" Ahahaha! Not gettin' away now, are ya, you slippery eel?!!" The
pirate ground his foot into the side of Lone's face, nearly making
him lose his grip.
Lone held fast and clenched the wolf-hammer in his hand.

Reaching up, he smashed his weapon into the pirate's side then
again onto the man's thigh.
The ghost growled loudly in pain. He grabbed yet another red

potion and chucked it into his mouth, grinding it noisily with
pointed teeth, "Yar har harr that be NOTHING TA ME!!"
Lone gnashed his teeth, "Oh yeah, then take this! FLAME ON!!"
Flames burst from his wolf-hammer, burning bright enough to

draw the pirate's attention. Lone smashed the burning weapon
against the pirate's knee, finally knocking him down. Lone
somersaulted backward into a kneel, rubbing his numb, bruising
face.
"Lone! Now's your chance!" Pale yelled.
"Oh, you think you'rre tough, huh?" The ghost pirate stood up
slowly and warily, "YOU'RRRRE in for it noowwwww, boyyyy!!."
The Lone Shadowdark stood up and opened his arms as an

invitation to attack, "I will show you the Shadowdark Sect's
Movement Technique."
"Fancy tricks are nothing before the MAJESTY of me SUPREME

STRENGTH!!! YEEARRGH!!"
The pirate charged forward, flailing his cutlass wildly in the air.
Lone grinned. This was his chance to show off the versatility of his
movement technique.
The rushing pirate soon closed into the perfect distance so Lone...
immediately threw himself onto his back, barely dodging the swing
of the blade.
Reaching up, Lone smashed his wolf-hammer into the pirate's

groin. Lone spun his body, getting to his knees, and he brought
his hammer down again on the Pirate's abdomen.
The ghost immediately began grasping at the various potions on

his belt and bandolier, tossing reds into his mouth and crunching
away as if they were dried nuts, "Yrarhrhrhrarggh!!"
After nearly a minute of frantic smashing, Lone stood up.
With the pirate's flailing, he was bloodied and bruised. From the
pirate's weapon, he suffered several stabs and nicks. But even
still, Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark was victorious.
He raised his wolf-hammer in confident victory.
Pale was first to begin applauding. Ran applauded hesitantly while

Eleven stared on with his expressionless helmet.
"You did really good, Lone!" Pale cheered. "You just beat an Iron-
Rank by yourself!!"
Lone's eyes widened as he lost control of his bladder, "I beat a

what?"
...
*Content Warning: Sexual Activity*
Tycon was granted an empty officer's shanty to sleep in, allowing

him to sleep separately from his subordinates. Though he
appreciated it, he was plagued by a too familiar dream that
troubled his sleep.
Over the past several nights, Tycon had dreamt of Princess
Aurala.
He dreamt of her body and of her insatiable lust for mana.
Her seductive moans dripped with greed. Each gag from the back
of her throat was with a sense of urgency and nigh desperation.
Her eyes remained in a hazy state of longing. Her luscious lips
and sultry voice sweetly begged to feel him deeper, to inflict pain
upon her.
The evening's dream remained the same. Sweat dripped down

Tycon's brow as he held onto Aurala's waist. Her blonde hair stuck
to her face and mouth as she tirelessly ground her hips against
his loins, heedless of the disgusting noises their bodies made.
Neither of them cared for decorum or courtesy. There was naught
remaining in the room save a carnal desire for pleasure.
"Prince... please..." The princess pleaded between ragged

breaths, "Give it to me... Inside of me."
Aurala pleaded with a hoarse voice, as if she was near tears.

Tycon groaned and embraced the woman tightly as he released
his mana-essence. The princess greedily received it, gyrating her
hips to take all she could.
Each night's dreams felt more and more real. However, his
cognizance also increased with each passing night.
Finally somewhat satiated, Princess Aurala laid beside Tycon and

nuzzled against his shoulder. She drew a slender finger along his
defined abdominal muscles, "I love your body, Prince... I wish I
could make it mine."
That was rather aggressive. If Tycon didn't know better, he'd

believe Aurala was trying to kill him of mana exhaustion. The only
reason he felt safe dealing with a woman of Aurala's position was
that she was far weaker than he was. Otherwise, he would have
far more safety precautions in place.
He moved to atop Aurala, staring down at her. Moving his head
close, he kissed her softly, staring into her blue eyes until she
closed them. When she pulled back, Tycon smirked, "You act as if
the other princes don't have bodies like mine. In this world, a
strong body is more respected than a weak one."
Aurala giggled, "I don't look at my brothers in that way, Prince."
Tycon paused. Something was wrong... "How is your brother? The

one that fought in the war."
The blonde princess giggled, "Why are you worried about him, are
you gay?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Beauty is beauty. Answer the

question."
Aurala embraced him, locking her legs tightly around Tycon's

waist, "He's fiiiiine. Let's focus on us."
Tycon sighed. The answer was wrong.
« System, inquiry: This is a dream, yes? »
[Negative.]
Tycon frowned inwardly. That was not good news.
« System, inquiry: An illusion then? What is the source? »
[System response: The host is experiencing a harmless illusion.

The source is an Bronze-Rank Lust Phantom.]
« System... inquiry: ...Why is this illusion harmless? A "Lust

Phantom" sounds quite hazardous. »
[System response: The host's soul has an inscribed protective

seal that prevents sexual energy drain and domination by Fourth-
Circle spells and lower.]
He had... a... what? Tycon pursed his lips. That was a strange fact
he had learned about himself. He didn't know any conventional
magics that inscribed onto souls... and the domain of Fourth-
Circle spells was beyond that of the human realm.
He doubted that his family would have done him such a favor,
especially considering the protective seal specifically protected
against sexual attacks.
"What's wrong, Prince?" Aurala scooted herself back to sit up,

looking concerned. Her naked body remained as delicious in
appearance as Tycon remembered.
He would discover the reasonings later... Tycon shook the

thoughts from his head as moved to the edge of the bed, "Get
out."
"P-prince?" Aurala defensively covered her chest with a blanket.
"I haven't moved to kill you because you're wearing her face,"
Tycon replied solemnly, vigilant for any sudden movements.
The girl hesitated before standing up from the bed. No longer

covering herself, she frowned, her form growing transparent, "I
see..."
In a blink, the woman disappeared, leaving Tycon sitting on the

bed-- wearing more clothes than in the illusion moments prior.
"Hold on."
The phantom reappeared, still nude, her face hazy.
"Go find Barza Keith. Rough looking fellow, dark hair, a scar on
the bridge of his nose and on his cheek." Tycon pointed, "The next
shanty over, in that direction."
"The one that looks like a pushover, Prince?"
Tycon nodded, "That's the one."
A faint smile appeared on the phantom's lips before she

dissipated into nothingness.
Tycon sighed. He had set the System's settings to warn him if he
was ever in danger of such effects. He hadn't bothered to guard
against a harmless effect-- being fooled damaged his pride.
However, he had the benefit of adding surprise training to Lone.
...Oh. And he had learned something new about himself.
Tycon yawned before hissing aloud in Parseltongue, "(Beautiful

child, are you awake?)"
"(She is awake, Master.)" Sasarame was nestled on Tycon's

pillow, enjoying his residual body heat. She slithered close to
climb his arm, "(Master's heart? It beats so quickly.)"
Tycon lifted a finger to boop his adopted daughter on the nose,

"Nevermind that. Use your abilities to help me remember
something."
"(Sasarame is a good child. Is the dream a splendid dream,

Master)?"
Tycon shook his head, "Doubtful. Someone has protected me...

and I've forgotten who."
Chapter 170 Cursed Strength
It was Lulu.
With Sasarame's help, Tycondrius discovered that Lulu, the

missing Invictus member, was the one who placed a protective
seal on his soul.
The seal was cast at the Fourth-Circle. Logically, that meant that
Lulu was a specialized Third-Circle caster or even a Second-
Circle caster with access to a powerful ritual...
Or it meant she was a Fourth-Circle caster... Tycon shuddered at

the thought. Such a caster could conjure walls of flame that
consumed armies, kill men with a glance, or literally control
people's minds.
The memories unlocked by Sasarame's Oracle-abilities were

hazy... but Tycon had remembered a reliable way to find the
missing Lulu, once they reached the mainland.
In the morning, he headed out to find Lang Hai and to gather

Guild Invictus.
...
A crowd had been gathered, consisting of Guild Invictus and of

the men and women recovered from the Saltspray Keep.
Previously, the would-be slaves wore tattered scraps, miserable

pallors, and the marks of maltreatment. Currently, they wore
proper cloth tunics and trousers, had regained color in their
cheeks and were returned a sense of dignity and resolve.
High-Captain Lang Hai addressed them, utilizing his artificially

deep 'Captain's voice'...
"Tomorrow morning, we will be sending a ship to return to the
mainland. The Sea Wolf fleet will provide you with enough fare for
the caravan trip to Beaurte city-proper."
Sergeant Jacque echoed the Captain's words in the Kingdom's

Old Language-- some of the older farmers and potters preferred it
over the common tongue. Many of the citizens wiped tears of
relief from their eyes as they listened to their words.
"The villainous oppress the weak. You have seen the results.
"The Kingdom's Royal Navy has done its best to recover you... but
know this: You were lucky.
"There are many who did not survive. You have bore witness to it."
"And out there..." Hai waved his hand at the sea, "There are many
more, just like you, still praying to be saved."
The Captain solemnly gazed at his audience, allowing his words

to sink into their hearts.
"We Sea Wolves shall continue to fight against injustice, just as all
those who have vowed an oath to protect the Kingdom and its
citizens.
"Return to the mainland. Move on with your lives. Citizens are the
lifeblood of our Kingdom-- your hopes and dreams, your crafts
and trade... your children and their children."
As short as Lang Hai was, the crowd looked to him with pride and
gratefulness.
"I have seen your bravery, sons and daughters of the Kingdom.
You must live on, prouder, stronger for this... And if you cannot
return to your lives, if you desperately need the strength to defend
those who were once like you...
The boy-Captain scoffed, arrogant, yet charming. He spoke

without raising his voice, but the crowd held their breaths, so they
could hear him.
"The Marines of Beaurte will welcome you."
The crowd was silent before a young man stepped forward, "I... I
wish to join."
Slowly, a trickle of young and adult men and women stepped

forward, claiming the same. Hai nodded in acceptance and
directed Lieutenant Eilean to handle their procedures.
...
"I don't like it," Lone crossed his arms, seated on a barrel. "It's like
we saved all those people only for Captain Lang to recruit them."
"It's valid." Tycon shook his head, "It's a mutual relationship. Lang
Hai gets more Marines. The civilians stave away nightmares of
being taken away by slavers."
Guild Invictus had collected on a scenic cliff overlooking the

treacherous beaches. They were having a picnic.
Lone looked extraordinarily tired. Wroe and Pale were munching

on sandwiches made earlier in the sun. Sasarame, as usual, was
in her snake-form and hiding within Tycon's cloak.
Lone pursed his lips, "They could just get stronger."
Tycon sighed and gave a gentle smile, "Most people do not know
how to become strong. It's easy to learn how to lift a barrel. It's far
more difficult to look into the eyes of a sentient creature and slice
their throats, knowing they could easily do the same."
Tycon took the bottle of tea he had prepared, refilling his and
Wroe's empty cup, "You were lucky, Mister Lone. Strength came
naturally to you."
Lone grew quiet while Pale pat his back reassuredly.
Wroe swallowed a bite and drank some tea before tilting his head,
"You did get a lot stronger after you joined Invictus, though."
"Lone, you even beat an Iron-Rank!" Pale nodded excitedly,
"Could you do that before?"
"Well, no..." Lone admitted.
Lone did what? That was difficult to believe.
He shook his head of the thought and continued on the topic, "The
Beaurte Marines are an institutionalized school of combat, rooted
in tradition, and shaped by modern warfare... And with Sea Wolf
Hidden Sect's Lang Hai as its leading figure, the fleet is as
effective as a Sect."
Lone grimaced, "The Sea Wolves are... really strong. But aren't
they cursed?"
Tycon shrugged, "I have discussed this with Lang Hai. It is the
reason the Beaurte Marine fleet remains a very small organization
compared to the Royal Navy it belongs to-- and even other fleets
of Royal Marines...
"Nearly 1 in 4 recruits fail their training, many of them becoming

injured or killed. The Sea Wolf Body Art imparted by the Lang Hai
has alleviated their casualty rate in recent years, but it irrevocably
affects each Marine's psyche and intrinsically forces each of them
to live close to the ocean."
"But as you said," Tycon sighed, "The Sea Wolves *are* quite
strong... Lone, Pale, tell me what you think of their training?"
Lone shivered, "I hate my life every time we go out. I've never
been yelled at so much since I was born..."
With some hesitation, he mumbled in a minuscule voice, "and,

and... I don't want to fight ghosts anymore."
Pale averted his gaze, "It's... pretty hard."
Tycon nodded to the boy, "Pale, you're staying here to complete

the Sea Wolf training."
Pale opened his mouth to argue... but thought better of it.

Tycon continued, "I have asked Lang Hai to have you undergo
officer's training. The more leadership skills you learn, the more
beneficial it will be for you as a guild leader."
Pale smiled weakly, "Um. Okay..."
Tycon glared.
The boy sat up with his back straight, "Y-yes, Sir."
Lone stood up, worried, "Wait, just a second, Boss! Officer training
is harder than the normal training!?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes. That was obvious, "I wouldn't have it
any other way."
"Wait, I don't understand! You sent Dragan and Taree away and
now we're ditching Pale?"
"Yes, and Mister Wroe, as well," Tycon replied simply.
Lone held his head in panic, "Wh-what?! Why?"
Tycon crinkled his brows, "Because Pale can heal himself from
injuries and Mister Wroe needs to instruct the Beaurte magicians
on how to raise the Unfortunate and utilize its crew..."
"You can count on me, Boss," Wroe smiled radiantly.
Pale clenched his fist, "I won't let you down, Sir."
Tycon pat Lone on the shoulder, "You're welcome to stay here, but
unless you train the Sea Wolf Body Art to at least Minor
Completion-- you'll probably die."
Lone sighed and bit his lower lip, "Okay... I'll go with you, Boss...
So it's just you and me?"
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Nonsense, young man. It will be you,

myself, Sasha, and Mister Wolfrider-- a solid party of four."
Sasarame shyly remained hidden in Tycon's dark hood, unwilling
to reveal herself.
Lone, Pale, and Wroe shared worried glances.
"Ahem... is... there something wrong with Wolfbanger?" Tycon

twisted his lips to the side.
Pale had an especially troubled look, "Um... After the Unfortunate

sank, we realized we had left Wolfbanger on the ship."
Chapter 171 Invictus’ Test
" Move with a purpose, men! Time waits for no man! Orrrrrr
woman!!! Ah hahaha! --No, seriously, you women better move
just-as-fast."
Emilien Leserre, Knight of the Kingdom, clunked along in his

heavy plate. At his back, the remaining members of Guild
Staghorn dragged their feet.
Wizard Clemont looked warily at Leserre from atop his horse,

adjusting his glasses, "The guild has been hustling for the better
part of a bell, Emilien."
"It is still early in the sun, Wizard! Come, now! We've nearly
arrived at the city of Nice!!" The mustachioed knight spoke
gleefully, "There's less of us, so moving a liiiiiittle faster shouldn't
be a problem!?"
Leserre turned to yell at the troops, "Look alive, you lot!!"
Clemont sighed, "How trustworthy is your sister's information,

anyroad? I still fail to understand who would be willing to hire
Guild Staghorn after our *decimation* in the Mosswood Wilds."
"Oh, ohhhh, Maeva's always been the smart one! She even
learned to read, I'll have you know."
"I can read. It's really not all that impressive," Clemont grimaced.
Leserre twirled his mustache as he waddled along the forest trail,

"Maeva's joined an *incredibly* wealthy organization called the
East Charm Trading Company!! And again, very smart! Smarter
than me! Ohoho!"
Clemont nodded with understanding, "Right... I have gathered
some information, last we were in the city of Passage. The
business is less than a year old, but their business contacts
include royalty and various Council Members."
Leserre reached up to pat the mounted wizard on the back,

"Maeva Leserre is a genius-woman! A genius!! --just like your
good friend, Emilien!! Have some faaaaaaith, Clemont!"
Clemont adjusted his glasses again, "Right..."
...
Clemont grimaced, looking at the men and women of Guild

Staghorn as they set camp outside the city of Nice. Compared to
a few moons prior, the guild had been reduced to a third of its
size. They had lost members due to casualties and a loss of
faithfulness from a catastrophic mission failure.
Leserre kept a strong front, always laughing and jovial in the

presence of the mercenaries. Clemont, among a few others, were
privy to the man behind closed doors. Beneath the facade was a
quiet and brooding man-- someone who had suffered the heaviest
setback in his tumultuous and wearisome life.
An adventurer's life was marked with instability.
Quests were finite. Once monsters in an area were subjugated,

they would never return or it would be moons and years before
the monster population would resurge enough to be a threat. It
was the reason adventurer's guilds were known to travel-- the
practice ensured a steady and neverending quest rotation.
There were also hidden costs to adventuring. Maintenance and

replacement of gear cost coin. Ammunition cost coin. Various
consumables like torches and rope cost money. Guild Staghorn
also provided a regrettably small pension to families of the fallen
and to those who decided to dissolve their contract honorably. The
minutiae added up to considerable costs and within the guild, only
Clemont and Leserre really knew the pains.
Emilien's sister, Maeva, sent him a letter via the Courier's Guild
with a job offer to work for a noble. It was a dream job... only the
strongest guilds earned such backing. Such a contract would
guarantee Guild Staghorn the security of steady pay.
Of course, Clemont remained wary. Such an invitation was deeply

suspicious. There were plenty of guilds similar in strength to Guild
Staghorn... but only their guild had recently failed a quest, and so
miserably.
Guild Staghorn had always fought against dark guilds. As horrible

as their reputation had dipped and as poverty-stricken as they
were, Clemont would not allow Emilien to be advantaged by a
criminal overlord.
Clemont held onto the tiny hope that the contract offer was real
and legal. Like many members of the guild, he longed for a more
permanent place to sleep and a consistent 3 meals each sun.
Clemont was willing to bend over backward to achieve at least
that much.
The familiar clanking of Leserre's heavy armor approached

Clemont. He closed the journal he was writing in and smiled, "Sir
Knight."
"Master Wizard! ...Old friend." Leserre gently returned the smile,

steadfast pride upon his face, "Would you accompany me to the
Baron's estate?"
Leserre's gait had grown a slight more ponderous than Clemont

had remembered... and the dark curls of his hair had grown a few
patches of white over the past few weeks.
"Of course." Clemont stood, grabbed his wizard hat, and adjusted
it over his brow, "Let us see what the East Charm Trading
Company can offer us."
...
The knight and wizard pair made their way through Nice, finally
stopping in front of a... series of wood-built obstacle courses.
"Doesn't it look magnanimous, Wizard?!" Lessere's eyes gleamed,
"We had a similar one at the Knight's Academy in Fairhaven!"
"That word does not mean what you think it means." Clemont
adjusted his glasses, "Anyroad, we're not here for log jumping, Sir
Knight. We're here on business."
The full-adult mustachioed man pouted like a 10-year old child.
The wizard rolled his eyes, "Don't give me that look, Emilien. You
know I'm not wrong-- be serious."
"Fu fu fu fu fuuuu!!!" An echoing laugh reverberated from

seemingly nowhere.
Clemont held his staff out defensively, "Who goes there!!?"
"Stay back, ghost! I have a sword!" Leserre unsheathed a

comically small short sword, appearing even smaller with his large
frame.
"Stars and stones, Emilien, what the hells is that?" Clemont

glared.
"...Only short swords were left in the guild armory."
"Why didn't... you just borrow someone else's longsword? You

knew this was going to be an important meeting!"
"Well, that hadn't occurred to me, Wizard." Leserre placed his

hands on his hips, "But it's too late now, isn't it?"
A woman jumped down from her hiding spot, wearing a white

cape and sculpted leather armor, "So the Chosen Ones have
come... the first to test SORINA CAPULET'S NEWEST
BUSINESS VENTURE!!"
Sorina flexed her thin, somewhat muscled arms as four cheap-to-

moderately-priced fireworks set off behind her, "the... SOL
INVICTUS OBSTACLE COOOOUUUURRRSE!!"
Leserre clapped his hands in excitement, "Oh, this is wonderful.
Wizard. Wizard! Did you hear that?"
Clemont grimaced, "Wait-- did you say Sol Invictus?"
Sorina spread open her arms and whipped back her short hair,
"Gentlemen! Warriors of the Kingdom! On this very sun, you will
undergo a challenge you will remember for the rest of your lives!
"You shall test your mettle and might in an obstacle course

inspired by the designs of the Ivory Judge Hidden Sect... but
BETTER!! DEADLIER!!
"And the prize, you might ask? A guild contract for a

YEARRRRR!!"
Chapter 172 Par The Course
" This is a sick joke, Leserre." Clemont shook his head, "Let's
leave."
Clemont took a few steps away before turning back, "Are you
coming?"
"I'm not."
Clemont stared at the strong back of Emilien Leserre. The man

stood, tall and defiant.
Leserre spoke without turning, "All my life, Clemont, I have been

waiting for this challenge... It was made for me... for one of my
specific set of skills."
"Emilien..." Clemont found his voice stuck in his throat. He wanted

to argue, but he knew his simple and honest friend had already
made up his mind.
Slowly, the knight turned his face, revealing tears running down
his strong cheeks and into the white patches of his beard, "Soon, I
will grow too old to properly run an obstacle course. This is... the
last time I'll be able to give it my all."
"Fu fu fu fu!!" The lithe Sorina cackled, "It will certainly be your
last-- IF YOU DIE! FU FU FU FUUUU!!!"
"This hardly sounds legal," Clemont remarked.
"You must sign a liability waiver if you wish to take part-- FU FU

FU FU FU!!!"
Leserre crossed his arms, nodding powerfully, "I will complete this
mission, on my honor as the leader of Guild Staghorn and as a
Knight of the Kingdom..."
He smirked derisively, "Nay... I will do this on my honor as Emilien

Leserre."
...
[Obstacle One: Balance Logs]
An array of logs was arranged for course-goers to balance or

climb across.
Leserre had already gotten to the end, "Come on, Wizard! Chop
chop!"
"This... this isn't so bad." Clemont pursed his lips, "Maybe I've
been overreacting."
[Obstacle Four: Burning Razor Wire]
"CRAAWWWLLLLL, MAGGOTS!" Sorina Capulet roared,

"CRAWL AS IF YOUR LIVES DEPEND ON IIIIIT!!!"
Clemont crawled on his hands and knees as fast as he could

through mud and slop. Burning flames lit on thin wires with razor-
sharp barbs dangled overhead while the yelps of rabid possums
threatened to bite at their heels, "I take it back! I take it all back! I
wasn't overreacting!!"
Leserre stood at the end, throwing rocks behind Clemont,

assumedly at the possums, "Come on, Wizard! Almost there!!"
[Obstacle Six: Warped Wall]
Clemont was doubled over, trying to catch his breath, "So it's... it's
just a strangely shaped wall?"
Emilien frowned, chopping his hand forward dramatically, "It's not

just ANY strangely shaped wall... it's the WARPED WALL-- a
staple of obstacle courses in the Kingdom, since--"
"Spare me, Emilien," Clemont waved his staff, enchanting his
boots with magic, "Jump."
With a short sprint, Wizard Clemont easily leapt to the top of the
wall, pulling himself onto the ledge.
Leserre pursed his lips and started taking off his armor.
[Obstacle Nine: Precipice of Doom]
Clemont and Leserre came across two ledges. The left ledge was
thinner and curvier, while the right appeared to take longer.
The armor-less, tunic and underwear-wearing Leserre nodded, "I

shall choose the left path!"
"Wait, what? Why?" Clemont asked. The choice seemed illogical.
"I'm here to challenge myself, Clemont! The right path won't do!"
Leserre insisted.
Clemont shrugged. He began edging carefully along the right

path, taking care not to look down. The 20-fulm fall into the dirt
wouldn't be pleasant. The only thing he had to worry about was an
odd curve around a wall.
Turning the corner, Clemont found a red-haired woman on the

other side. He narrowed his eyes. She looked remarkably familiar-
- like Seldin Korr, the Unbreakable, but with vibrant, crimson hair.
"...Miss... Korr?"
"Oh, it's the mage."
Korr punched Clemont in the face, forcing him off the precipice
and sending him tumbling to the dirt below, "WHHHHHHYYY!"
[Obstacle Ten: Corrosive Arrow Barrage]
[Obstacle Eleven: Trap Path]
[Obstacle Twelve: Knights of the Round]

[Obstacle Thirteen: Knights of the Round, Electric Boogaloo]
[Obstacle Fifteen: Stairs of Heavenly Weight]
[Obstacle Seventeen: Trap Path 2 (Electric Boogaloo)]
[Obstacle Eighteen: Trigonometry Cumulative Final]
[Obstacle Nineteen: Trigger-nometry Cumulative Final]
Clemont walked along with Sorina Capulet. He had been

eliminated, but spoke with Sorina amicably, "How many...
obstacles are there?"
"Just twenty-four." Sorina responded, "Korr and I had designed

over 70, but we don't have the technology to make things like the
Seven-Star-Slaughter Formation and the Rasengan Sphere.
"And... why exactly is Korr the Unbreakable actively opposing

Knight Leserre's progress?"
"Ehehe..." Sorina chuckled with chagrin, "She was supposed to

show course-goers how to complete the obstacles... but I think
she decided on her own that she would do better as an obstacle,
herself. Oh, and that's the 25th obstacle. It's just a fight with Korr."
"I... see." Clemont grimaced, "So is there really a contract, Miss

Sorina?"
"Uh huh!" Sorina nodded, "Miss Maeva Leserre, the coordinator of

our Merylsward branch, recommended your guild. Would you guys
be interested in being hired directly by House Charm as we
expand our trade to the surrounding major cities?"
"Err..." Clemont furrowed his brows, "We are interested. But... is

that all? Did you want to test us or our men? --Hold on, are you
meaning to tell me it wasn't necessary to take part in the course?"
Sorina tilted her head, handing Clemont a rolled-up scroll, "We've

done our research, Master Wizard. This is a draft of your guild's
contract. There are a few rules of professionalism and conduct
that you will be responsible to follow-- everything legal.
Clemont unfurled the scroll and glanced over the contract before
shaking his head, "These terms are far too good, Miss Sorina. I
still cannot believe that Guild Staghorn is deserving of them, with
our recent failures."
The merchant girl placed a hand on her mouth to stifle a giggle,

"Ehihihi. Well, about that, our employer is somewhat esoteric.
Baron Tycondrius of Guild Invictus has judged the moral qualities
of both you and Knight Leserre to be worthy of employment."
The wizard widened his eyes, his jaw slackened, "Baron

Tycondrius did?"
Sol Invictus was a small guild, but their reputation was matchless,
and many of their members supremely powerful. Staghorn was in
such dire straits because they had taken a time-sensitive quest to
hunt Invictus. They hadn't had the time to research their
reputation, mostly from their deeds in the Holy Country, nor their
backing, which included Princess Aurala.
Clemont took in a deep breath, "Very well. I have no issues with

the contract. Does... Leserre need to complete the obstacle
course?"
The two looked back-- Korr and Leserre were dueling with flaming
swords on a raised platform while a trio of guards threw burning
pitch-covered handaxes at them. Leserre's underwear was
particularly eye-catching.
"My completion of the obstacle course will NOT be stopped by

you, woman! Your title as Unbreakable will be lost on THIS SUN!!"
Leserre roared.
"You will FAIL as ALL OTHERS BEFORE YOU!! I am ETERNAL!!

My power, INFINITE!!" Korr screamed back.
Sorina shrugged, "He does not... but look how much fun he's
having."
Clemont sighed and offered a relieved smile, "Indeed."

Chapter 173 Brume
ycondrius pursed his lips, "You've placed Wolfbanger on the

T
Thalia Grace, then?"
"That's right." Wroe smiled with chagrin, "Apparently, the docs

found him washed up on the shore, chewed up by a chomper and
nom'd on by nibblers-- but alive."
"A shame."
Tycon patiently listened to Wroe's report. Sasha, the chocolate elf,

had her white hood pulled down low while she hid behind the
green-haired noble. Pale looked somewhat disappointed.
"Where are we going to meet up after this, Boss?" Wroe asked.

With a tilt of his head, his angelic blue hair flowed in the soft sea
breeze.
Tycon took a deep breath, "After you two finish up on Saint

Guinefort, meet with Sorina in Nice for word. If Dragan needs help
in the Free Nation, go there... I don't expect to spend too long in
the Holy Country, but I'm planning on being somewhere in the
territory of Cersei's Rest."
"Aye aye, Boss," Wroe saluted with a palm to his chest.
Tycon nodded and returned the salute.
Wroe leaned in close to whisper, "Shouldn't you go home, Ivory

Prince?"
Tycon had learned a bit of Wroe with his recent influx of

memories. He smirked in response, "Shouldn't you, Prince of
Arcanite?"
"S-sir Tycon?" Pale had kept his bearing while bidding farewell to
Lone. Facing Tycon, the young man's mouth only just began to
quiver.
Tycon sighed and ruffled the boy's hair, "Did you have a question,
young man?"
"Do you really have to go?" Pale asked, looking up with sparkling
eyes.
Tycon snickered, "Become strong. Perhaps after all this is done,

we can search for your father."
A tear streamed down Pale's cheek as he nodded resolutely, "Y...

yes, Sir..."
Tycon frowned.
Unworried about how anyone around him felt about it, he bent
over and gave the young man a hug. Pale seemed surprised but
returned the embrace. After several seconds, Tycon felt it was
socially acceptable to release the hug and did so.
Sniffling and with his body slightly trembling, Pale saluted,

"Death... to the enemies of Invictus."
Tycon returned the salute with a prideful heart, "Blood and

thunder."
...
Lieutenant Shao Ran was responsible for taxiing Guild Invictus

and the few dozen remaining civilians back to the Beaurte
territory. The civilians were the remainder of the hostages rescued
from the Saltspray Keep, those who did not take up the Sea
Wolves' offer to join them. They were mostly too old or too young--
but there were a few amongst them who looked hale and healthy.
...There was no shame in shying away from the call of battle. The
military life was similar to the adventuring life in that it was not
easily adopted.
Invictus' final mission for the Sea Wolves was to escort the
civilians at least to the town of Brume. From there, they could take
a caravan to the city of Beaurte-proper and from there, to their
own respective villages.
The Thalia Grace anchored near land and ordered his men to taxi
Invictus and the civilians to the beach via longboat. The salutes
and nods of acknowledgment from the Sea Wolves lifted morale.
Shao Ran, the loud braggart of a man, heartily shook Tycon's
hand as a sign of respect.
As loath as Tycon was to admit it, he would miss the cursed band
of murderous sea creatures.
Other than that, Tycon was in good spirits. Sasarame in snake-

form had her fill of a small rodent and rested peacefully in the
folds of Tycon's hood.
Lone carried Wolfbanger, draped over his shoulders.
Tycon poked the weretouched boy with the base of a halberd,

"Mister Levi, we have returned to solid land."
"Guohhh." The boy's response was... less than stellar.
"You know... not to threaten you, young man... but if you'd like, we
can dissolve your contract."
The boy had been nothing but trouble and per his actions, Tycon
was fairly certain that Levi Wolfrider did not like being part of
Invictus.
"N-nah. I want to stay..." Wolfbanger groaned.
Tycon furrowed his brows at the unexpected response, "Really?

...Well, alright. On your feet, then. Let's see if fresh air and a walk
will aid your convalescence."
As the dog-wolf-boy steadied himself on his feet, Tycon handed

him the halberd.
"What's... this, Boss?" he asked.

Tycon smiled, "We cannot allow you to travel unarmed."
A hafted weapon would do better for Levi's fighting style--

remaining at a safe distance, but still able to utilize his strength.
"Th-thanks." Levi averted his gaze, "Hey... Boss."
Tycon raised an eyebrow. The boy rarely had anything to say to

him, much less ask him a question, "Speak your mind, young
man."
Levi rubbed the dirt with his pawed foot, "Why are you so nice to
me?"
Tycon was troubled. How was he supposed to respond to that?

"...I treat you like a normal person. I don't actually think I've gone
out of my way to be nice to you, at all."
The dog boy's ears drooped. Tycon assumed that meant he was...
unconfident?
Tycon decided to say something sagacious, possibly bordering on

plagiarism. Tycon cleared his throat, "We're all different, Mister
Levi. Strive to be judged by the content of your character, not the
color of your... fur."
Dropping his gaze, Levi smiled and nodded.
...
Guild Invictus led the way to Brume without incident. On the way,
Tycon utilized the most powerful skill in his repertoire: delegation.
Wolfbanger had the (questionably) highest martial ability in

Invictus. He was assigned to felling one of the many wild rams in
the area and carrying it back. With the weretouched boy's ability to
*carry* the greathammer he once used, Tycon foresaw no issues
with the command.
Its meat would be tasty and the blood would be useful.

Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark-- Tycon assigned him to take
any capable archers and hunt for deer, plentiful in the area. He
lent out half-a-dozen crossbows. He hoped the peace of mind
achieved from not feeling useless would be a good motivation.
The deer meat would be tasty and the fat could be used to make
tallow candles.
Sasha, he ordered to hunt some prey larger than she was. A

squirrel would be appropriate. The girl remained shy-- preferring
to stay in her snake form and hidden in Tycon's clothes than be a
part of a group. Tycon needed to instill self-confidence in the girl.
He could use the small skull and bones for... something. Tycon
didn't know what, but he'd figure it out once his silver daughter
succeeded.
With the supplies Invictus had, the travel was pleasant. The pace
was comfortable, the danger was nominal, and morale remained
high. Thanks to everyone's efforts, both Invictus' and the civilians'
bellies remained full.
Lone and Wolfbanger seemed a bit uncomfortable about the

peacefulness... but Tycon advised them to savor the calm.
The group had reached the town of Brume after only a couple of
suns. A caravan had been prepared ahead of time, paid for by
Kingdom coin. Tycon checked the caravan master's credentials--
everything was in good order.
More tearful goodbyes were had. The civilians thanked Guild

Invictus as if their rescue wasn't a collective effort of Lang Hai and
hundreds of his Sea Wolves. Lone and Wolfbanger were praised
as heroes. Tycon decided not to take that away from either of
them.
After they left, Tycon got a couple of rooms at the local... Unicorn
Inn. He browsed the small selection at the local general goods
vendor. And he got to work outdoors on a small project, making
candles.
Chapter 174 Sanctuary
In the morning, Tycon took Invictus to Brume's local temple.
Sasha had been appeased early that morning, with a hearty meal
of Tycon's specially made bacon, eggs, and potatoes crisped in
pork fat. The young elf stuffed herself until she was bloated. Tycon
took her by the hand and they walked about-- he wouldn't let her
revert to snake form until she had digested a bit of her meal.
"Guild Invictus! Thank you for visiting our temple," a balding,

middle-aged temple priest greeted. "The local saviors of Brume.
You honor us with your presence."
"It seems word travels quickly, Sir Priest." Tycon politely

introduced himself as Invictus' leader and elf-Sasha as his young
ward.
The small temple was able to fit a congregation of 100 in its main
hall, though Guild Invictus were the only visitors. A large central
shrine held a retinue of major gods and a collection bin was set
out, filled with a few paltry silver and copper coins. Tycon found it
odd that the Tempe wasn't the largest building in Brume. Religion
seemed a slight more important in the Free Nation and the Holy
Country.
"Please, my name is Villiers." The priest smiled, a perfect picture

of affability. "Are you searching for the half-elf that went messing a
moon prior?"
[Villiers, Unranked Human Priest]
"We are here for a different issue." Tycon prodded the white-
haired chocolate elf, "Go ahead, Sasha. Just like we practiced."
The young girl pouted, trying to hide. Tycon kept a gentle grip on
her wrist and humanely held the back of her coat so she couldn't
escape. The priest, as a credit to his profession, patiently waited,
watching with a good-natured smile.
Sasha shyly looked up to the priest, her long ears twitching,

"Sssss... Snake god. Offering."
She held up a squirrel skull. Tycon had guided her the previous
night to melt the flesh away with elementary magic, leaving only
the ivory.
The priest clapped his hands, "A wonderful offering, little Miss, to
the... snake god, you say?"
"That's correct." Tycon nodded, carefully gauging the priest's

reaction, "The young lady has come from far away. Is there a
problem?"
"Oh, no, not at all. It's just quite rare."
The priest led Tycon and Sasha to an open room adjacent to the
main hall. A shrine was set inside, far smaller than the one built
for the main pantheon. The symbols inscribed upon it belonged to
the various dark gods, not to any one in particular. Sasha
respectfully placed her offering upon the shrine and closed her
eyes to hiss a small prayer.
"The young girl is quite devout," the priest lauded.
Tycon shrugged, "She's had a troubled life."
"We must all go through trials and tribulations, young man," the
priest nodded serenely.
Tycon did not bother correcting him. The priest did not use age as
disrespect. On account that was about to ruin the poor man's
week, he decided to remain polite.
Tycon stepped into the main hall with Sasha's ears bobbing as
she hurried behind. Priest Villiers' jaw slackened as he saw dark
candles set and lit on the shrine and the seats.
The stink of iron filled his nostrils. Blood had profaned every
surface.
Lone handed Tycon the bucket of ram's blood and a brush, giving
Tycon an anxious look of uncertainty. Tycon ignored it, "Thank
you, Mister Lone."
"Wh-whaaaa-- WHAT are you DOING?!!" Villiers grabbed what

was left of his hair as he yelled. "Invictus?? Please tell me what is
going on!!"
Tycon painted a massive eight-pointed star upon a blank wall,

then began to inscribe some infernal runes from his System-
assisted memory, "I'm opening a Gate, Mister Villiers."
"You're opening a WHAT?!?"
Tycon paused. He turned to Villiers with furrowed brows, "...A

Gate. I apologize, was I unclear?"
"Why are you opening a GATE in MY TEMPLE?!?" Villiers

screamed.
Tycon frowned as he finished drawing the runes. It was a simple

ritual-- which is why he was confident in its effectiveness, "This
particular ritual has a higher success rate if it is performed upon
profaned holy ground."
Lone's face was set into a deep grimace, "This sounds like a
reeeeally bad idea, Boss."
Tycon hesitated, "Yes... yes it does, doesn't it?"
Turning to Sasha, he ruffled her white hair until a clump stuck

upward, "Did you prepare that Sanctuary spell I told you about?"
Nodding obediently, she quietly muttered to herself. A thin film of

protective light shrouded her. Tycon barely registered the mana
disturbance. It seemed Sasarame was a naturally stealthy caster.
Tycon would have suggested Villiers do the same... but as he was
Unranked, it was highly unlikely that he had a single First-Circle
spell.
He took a deep breath, ignoring the priest who was holding onto
his arms and pleading.
« System, display the recorded speech for summoning Lulu. »
The previous evening, Tycon had taken a passage of Infernal and

transliterated it into the Common tongue to make it easier for him
to speak. He spent some time cross-referencing it with the
System's translations, to be reasonably certain about what he was
summoning.
Thankfully, he didn't need a Mage. Lulu's spell was quite

ingenious, only using the residual mana from profaning a temple.
Also, he didn't need to read the script with religious fervor-- he
only needed to speak the words normally. It was embarrassing
enough to have to bloody a temple. Tycon would have considered
a different way if he had to pretend to be a crazed devotee.
"Is-- is that Abyssal!? Are you speaking Abyssal?!?" Villiers was

literally crying.
Tycon figured a normal-thinking priest would have probably tried

to forcibly disrupt him with violence. Nearly any solution would
perform better than Villiers' attempt to violently shake him.
Also, it was Infernal. The two languages were similar, but Infernal
was more common. It was an odd laymen's mistake.
The temperature rose within the temple to skin-scalding hot. The

doors shut closed and the windows revealed that the outside was
filled with naught but pillars of bone amongst flames. The blood on
the wall began to melt the stone, revealing infinitely long tunnels
with hundreds of glowing eye glinting in the shadows.
A curly-haired platinum blonde woman emerged from the wall.

Stepping onto the profaned shrine, her long slender legs were
revealed by a high cut on her white robes. She licked her lips and
spun the red-paper parasol in her hand, "Heya, Boss! Long time
no see!"
The corner of Tycon's mouth lifted, "Welcome back, Lucifer."

Chapter 175 Validation Of
Beliefs
Lulu placed her two fingers upon her lips and blew a kiss.
Tycondrius resisted the urge to recoil as the cold shock of

instinctual fear washed through his senses.
The temple's blessed shrine tore apart into 4 twisted black bodies
formed of wood and hellfire. In perfect timing, they arranged
themselves as descending stairs for Lulu to descend upon. With
each step she took, their flesh sizzled against her naked soles
and the scent of charcoal suffused the air.
"Sorry for dying, Boss! There was a defector in the forest!" Lulu
licked her thick, pink lips, "You know~ what we do to traitors."
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Are you... implying that you copulate
with them?"
The demoness drew a long, sharp fingernail lightly across Tycon's

chest, "Pleasure and pain go hand in hand, Ivory Prince."
"...Which means?"
"I tortured the shite out of her, then I murdered her. Kihihi!" The
woman giggled as if she'd told the funniest joke in the world.
"Please!!" Priest Villiers begged with his forehead placed against

the ground, "Master Invictus, I beg of you! Seal the portals!!"
Tycon pursed his lips and observed his surroundings. The rifts in
the walls revealed a plagued, fire and brimstone hellscape
beyond. The ceilings were starting to break away, falling up into a
twisting vortex of sinner's screams.
He helped the priest up, "Don't be so cross, old priest. Look at the
bright side."
Villiers held onto Tycon's shoulders, his nose filled with snot, and
his eyes streaming unbroken rivulets of tears, "WHAT BRIGHT
SIDE?!?"
Tycon grimaced, hiding his embarrassment that the ritual was

more powerful than he expected, "Well... the hells exist-- a fact
quite obvious, by now. By the process of induction... this proves
that the heavens exist! Isn't it nice to have some validation in your
beliefs?"
"Not like this, Master Invictus! Not like thiiiis!!" The priest trembled
and put his head down, continuing to sob.
Tycon hesitantly pat the old man's shoulder, "Perhaps you're

overreacting? You're in no danger. My guild appears to be doing
just fine."
Sasha, the chocolate elf, tightly gripped the back of Tycon's cloak.
She wore a look of curiosity and was especially interested in Lulu.
Tycon didn't think she was frightened of the glimpses of the hell
around her-- just generally shy.
Lone had his weapons at the ready, murmuring prayers to himself.

He flinched at every infernal roar and agonized scream-- and
there were many of them. That was probably a normal response.
Lone did keep his guard up as his training dictated, so Tycon

chose not to reprimand him.
Wolfbanger... Ah. Priest Villiers had pointed at the weretouched

boy with a shaking hand. Wolfbanger had opened the temple's
small donation box and was stealing the tens of copper and odd
silver piece inside.
"Mister Levi, while I commend your attention to detail... Can you

not do that while the presiding priest is present?"
Wolfbanger turned momentarily to glare back, "I'll do what I want,
Tycon. You can't stop me."
Tycon frowned. That was certainly not the response he was

expecting.
The sound of glass shattering resounded in the temple and the air
grew still as an uncomfortable silence reigned.
"Wh-what's happening?!" Villiers cried out.
Lulu idly rotated her parasol, "Oh! That's the sound of the barriers
breaking! But don't worry, only the small fry will be able to get in."
On cue, a red-skinned, muscled humanoid began to crawl its way

through one of the walls. It roared with slavering, pointed teeth, its
yellowed eyes filled with hatred.
Tycon casually approached it, pressed his drawn pistol against its
forehead, and fired a bullet into its skull. The demon collapsed, its
body effectively blocking the portal, "That will do. Miss Lucifer,
please seal the portals."
"Teehee! I love being a girl! Everyone's so nice to me, ehehe!"
Tycon decided not to comment, "Mister Levi! Mister Lone! On the

portals, if you please."
Sasha took an offensive stance-- likely copied from one of the Sea
Wolves in the fight against Liang Qiang. Tycon ruffled her hair,
"Sasha, remain vigilant."
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, brutally struck a three-armed,

flaming-handaxe throwing demon with a cross of his hammer. He
ran from wall to wall, playing a game of whack-a-demon. The
young man had utilized what little mana he could muster in
lighting his wolf-hammers aflame.
How Lone expected fire to be effective on demons crawling out of

a fiery hell was beyond Tycon's understanding. Still, the dark-iron
hammers remained effective.
Lulu walked past the priest, winking at him seductively, before
standing at the center of the temple hall. As she chanted in
Infernal, her eyes glowed with a decidedly pink mana as she
levitated with power, "Come on, my lovelies! Use my holes as you
please!!"
Tycon coughed, "Lulu. Seal the portals. We want them sealed."
"Oh, right--" Lulu grinned sheepishly, "Last call! Enter my holes

now or be blue-balled in the Eternal Battlefield for another
thousand years!!"
Sasha looked to Tycon as if she wanted to ask something. A hard

grimace set into Tycon's face. He would not willingly explain
anything that the demon-woman said.
A small, lanky demon made it through a rift, dragging its greyish

body across the floor and leaving a slimy trail.
Tycon fired a crossbow bolt into its eye, sneering in contempt,

"Pathetic."
He kicked the mass back into the rift it had emerged from,
reloading his crossbow with practiced motions.
He grabbed onto a demon woman's greasy hair and jammed his

second loaded pistol into her mouth. She tried to mutter
something unintelligible. Tycon shook his head, "I'm sorry, Miss.
I'm not interested."
Pulling the trigger, the back of the woman's head burst in blood
and brain. Tycon pushed the woman back into the rift and shook
off the juicy bits splattered onto his left hand.
With the rate of demons flooding into the temple, Tycon's and
Lone's efforts were not enough to stem the tide.
"Wolfrider! Your halberd would be *appreciated* about now."
Tycon scanned the walls. A few of the rifts had sealed, thanks to
Lulu's spellcasting, Lone was still valiantly fighting against half-
demons... that is... demons half in the temple and half out. If any
of the demons escaped the temple, the fear and havoc they would
wreak would be catastrophic to Brume.
An uneasy bile pooled in Tycon's gut. Had he miscalculated so

keenly? Was the current strength of Invictus too low to seal the
demon portals?
Turning back to Priest Villiers, the man was kneeling down, eyes
shut, fervently praying to his gods with his holy symbol upraised.
First to answer, however, was no god-- but Wolfbanger...
Seeing Villiers hold up the bronzed divine focus, the weretouched

boy grabbed hold of it and wrenched it from the priest's hands.
Chapter 176 Instrument Of
Justice
nger and disappointment surged in Tycon's heart. He marched

A
up to Levi, ignoring the wails of the literal demons around him and
grabbed him by the collar, "What the hells do you think you're
doing, Mister Levi?!"
The weretouched boy held the symbol away as if trying to protect

it from Tycon, "This is the only thing of worth in the whole sodding
temple!"
Tycon narrowed his eyes. What was the point of the boy's
incessant thievery? Even on the Saltspray island, he only
endangered himself because he tried to steal some mundane
items from the pirates. If the boy wanted to steal something, the
payoff should be worthwhile! The burnished icon he held wasn't
even worth 10 silver coins-- and maybe 2 for its base materials.
Comparatively, the halberd that Tycon had lent him for *free* cost
20 or 30 silver.
Wolfbanger's glare of defiance alerted Tycon that he would not be

convinced in a short amount of time.
Tycon shoved the boy, releasing him from his grip, "Get to the
demons."
"Aye aye, Boss," the boy muttered, adding a few more choice
words underneath his breath.
Tycon turned to the crestfallen priest, his head bowed, his temple
falling apart, and his prayers unanswered...
"You... what have you done?" The priest looked up tearfully, "The
demons have come to destroy this world... starting with Brume."
Tycon shut his eyes and grasped the priest's shoulder tightly,
"Forgive me, Priest, but now is not the time to give into despair."
Villiers looked up in confusion, "It-it's not?"
Tycon inwardly groaned. Villiers was in a state of shock. At least

that would make him easier to convince... if he wasn't halted by
fear, anyroad.
"Your faith has been tested." Tycon unsheathed his Saltspray

pirate cutlass and offered the hilt, "Circumstances have dictated
that you reinforce your faith, not with prayer, but with action."
The priest's eyes dilated as he stared down at the weapon, "But...

I--"
Tycon frowned, "As it is, the temple is the battlefield--"
"Because YOU opened the RIFTS!!" Villiers was livid.
"That is beside the point, Priest Villiers-- this is your battlefield.

Every sword counts. And I highly doubt you've taken an oath of
nonviolence," Tycon pushed the hilt forward.
The priest pursed his trembling lips, "I've... never held a sword in
my life."
"Paladins commonly use swords because of their versatility and

ease of use. Take it. Defend your temple against the demon
hordes."
Villiers gingerly took hold of the offered cutlass. Tycon stepped

back, allowing him to swing it, feeling its weight. The priest stared
as if he was dreaming... "With my own hands?"
"That's right, Priest." Tycon smirked, "Show the gods the strength
of your faith."
Tycon ducked a wide swing from a black-horned demon's claws.
Rotating his body, he hooked an arm around the demon's neck
and shoulder. With his free hand, he snapped his fingers.
[Commander's Strike activated]
Mana filled the priest's form as he raged forward, "I will DEFEND
this place with my LIFE!!"
The cutlass sank into the demon's chest and pierced its heart, its
tip stopping at Tycon's chest armor. Tycon readjusted his grip on
the demon and tossed it across the room, sending it tumbling into
one of the open rifts.
Lulu winked at Tycon, who nodded back. With a wave of her hand,
the bloodied temple walls clamped the rift closed, sealing the
black-horned demon away.
Tycon nodded to Villiers, "Well done, Priest. We'll see this

through, yet."
"I am the instrument of divine justice, born to this realm to PURGE

the evils from MY LANDS!!" the priest screamed, charging
towards the nearest stubby-legged demon.
Tycon pursed his lips and looked at his snapping hand. Had he
influenced Villiers too strongly?
He turned to Sasha, who was watching warily from beside the

priest, "Sasha, cast a blessing and... use a Cure spell on that
fellow, if necessary."
The white-haired elf nodded, the standing clump of hair on her

head bobbing as she did, "Ssss.... snake god. Guide our--- guide
usssss..."
A light thrum of power boosted Tycon's senses. He turned to

observe both Lone and Wolfbanger slaughtering with efficiency.
Lulu continued to chant her sealing spells. Villiers screamed a
holy chant as he charged at another single demon.
He activated his spatial ring to summon the Shatterspike into his
hands. The battle was not yet over.
...
Several minutes later, the battle was over. The demons were killed
or sent back to the hells whence they came. The interior of the
temple was covered in guts and gore, its furniture smashed and
smoldering. The battle had been won and without casualties.
Great success.
Villiers, a mess of cuts and claw marks, broke down sobbing in

prayer. It seemed the excitement was too much for him. The man
didn't seem to incur any threatening injuries, so Tycon kept his
mana for Lone's and Wolfbanger's wounds.
Tycon did feel a semblance of guilt for putting the priest through
so much trouble, "You can... keep the cutlass. It's now literally a
demon-slaying sword."
The cutlass was worth more than the donation box and the stolen
holy symbol combined. He would have rather kept it... and the
priest would have rather not had his temple ruined.
Compromise was key to healthy relationships.
The priest continued to sob quietly. Tycon took the lack of

response as an acceptance.
Tycon nodded politely to his demonic ally, "Miss Lulu, I have need
of your help."
"What's up, Boss? Need to get off?" The woman extended a long
tongue.
"No. No, I do not." Tycon frowned, "I need a Teleport Circle."
"Ohhhh! Sure thing, Boss. But you gottttaaaa payy the

cooooOOoost~!!" Lulu winked.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Which... is?"

"Blue diamonds, usually. I need a consumable focus-- it's the only
way I know how to cast it," she shrugged.
Tycon cradled his chin in thought. Though he had the money, he

was loath to spend it. The trip to Beaurte would be another
several suns unless another caravan stopped by Brume... and
then he'd have to travel to a city with a Windwright's guild to book
passage on an airship.
"If... if I may," Villiers had recovered somewhat. He swept back his

sweat-matted hair back to see, worry and a tinge of fear still
apparent.
"What have you, demon-slayer?" Tycon raised an eyebrow.
The priest wrung his hands, chuckling in his embarrassment. A

deep look of pain was still set into his eyes, along with a single
sparkly tear that Tycon prayed was hope or inner strength, "There
is a magic tower some malms north. Perhaps they could assist
you with your magical focus?"
Tycon nodded. He could use the tower to channel Wolfbanger's

kleptomania. Once he was sated, then perhaps he would be more
useful.
The priest continued, "A young woman had gone missing recently-
- perhaps you could investigate that, as well?"
It was a reasonable request, "The half-elf you mentioned earlier?

Agreed, Priest Villiers. Tell us what you know and we'll set off."
Chapter 177 Rebellious
ulu wanted to remain in Brume for a few nights, citing that she
L
hadn't had a taste of mortal flesh in moons.
Tycondrius rejected her wish.
She clarified that she was referring to copulation-- not

cannibalization.
While somewhat thankful for the clarification, Tycon again rejected

Lulu's wish and quietly led Guild Invictus out of town. He would
not risk waiting for Priest Villiers to change his mind and gather an
angry mob.
As they hiked, Sasha stuck worryingly close to Lulu, asking

questions in broken Common, often falling back into
Parseltongue. Lulu was fluent in the snake language, a trait that
did not surprise Tycon, in the least. The curly-haired demoness
answered the chocolate elf patiently, as her vibrant, coquettish
nature demanded.
Tycon sighed, rubbing his temples. How was he supposed to

convince his daughter that Lulu was a horrible role model? Lulu
wasn't doing anything wrong-- and it was overall healthy for Sasha
to have a conversational partner than wasn't himself.
Other than dreading the effects Lulu's influence would have on

Sasha, Tycon was troubled by the recent actions of Wolfbanger.
The wolf-dog-boy chose to openly offend Priest Villiers without
any sense of decency. Worse, he risked the mission when he
prioritized petty theft over fighting literal demons.
Unlike Lulu, the boy was wrong. The boy's selfishness was a
needless risk, and should it continue, it would invite an Invictus
injury or casualty.
Tycon had difficulties approaching Wolfbanger compared to other
members of Invictus. Pale, Lone, Tarquin Wroe, and to some
extent, Dragan would be beaten or otherwise punished for their
mistakes. He even commanded little Sasha to run or do squats
when she repeated an error.
(Both were especially difficult for her. Though she could stand and
walk, balancing remained difficult for her in her human form.)
Tycon wondered if Wolfbanger's issues had something to do with

his bloodline... It was easy to associate positive traits to their
forms. Tiger Weretouched were known for being arrogant,
effective hunters. Badger Weretouched were known for being
fearless, reckless, and stubborn... Levi Wolfrider was... a canine-
fellow... and seemed to share more traits with a shy rat or mouse.
Weretouched individuals were far-reaching descendants of their

Lycanthrope-affected ancestors. Depending on their type, many
were capable of minor transformation-- lengthened cat claws,
powerful bursts of strength in their raptor legs, hardened beaver
tails. Tycon hadn't seen Wolfbanger do anything of the sort.
Perhaps his bloodline ability was weak?
At any rate, it would be foolish and short-sighted of Tycon, if he

were to actually judge Wolfbanger as a weretouched instead of as
a person.
As unhappy as Levi tended to act, and as caustic as he was to his

peers, the boy did not wish to dissolve the contract with Guild
Invictus. Unless the boy knew he was in the wrong and the reason
for his punishment, Tycon doubted the boy would actually learn
from it.
Tycon cupped a hand over the side of his mouth to magnify his
voice, "Mister Levi! --a moment, if you please."
The white-furred weretouched boy walked leisurely over to Tycon,

"What's up, Boss?"
Tycon took a deep breath and sighed. He was beginning to miss

working with the Sea Wolves. Each of their men and women
operated with at least a subtle sense of urgency, "I wanted to talk
to you about the events in the temple."
The boy's eyes immediately grew suspicious, "What? I'm not

gonna apologize if that's what you're looking for."
It was not what Tycon was looking for, in particular, but it would
have greatly alleviated his annoyance. He was sorely tempted to
murder the boy where he stood for the lack of respect... but again,
the fact that the boy rejected the contract's dissolution weighed
heavily on his mind. The boy was a solid combatant... As a leader,
Tycon had to learn how to motivate him.
"I was wondering what your motivation was?" Tycon forced a

smile.
"Uh, what do you mean?" Wolfbanger tilted his head, allowing a

dog ear to flop over.
Ugh. Any answer would do. Why was he making this so difficult?
Tycon took a moment to calm his nerves before continuing, "For

anything, young man. What motivates you to pick up the blade in
the morning? To journey with Guild Invictus?"
The weretouched boy shrugged, "I dunno. I just do."
Tycon took great care not to gnash his teeth in frustration. It was
no wonder the boy did as he pleased. He was an aimless
wanderer, taking events as they came.
"Perhaps a calling? To be part of something greater? It's much

easier to leave a lasting legacy in an adventuring company than
alone... especially one with Invictus' achievements," Tycon
offered.
Wolfbanger shrugged again, "Nah. I don't really care about all

that."
Tycon again resisted the urge to throttle the boy, "What... do you
care about, Mister Levi?"
"I dunno, Boss."
How... how did Levi Wolfrider get recruited into Sol Invictus?
Tycon found it inconceivable.
Tycon tilted his chin up in thought, "Well... anyroad... let's work

hard. Follow my commands and we'll survive whatever comes
next."
The boy frowned shyly, "I... I still dunno why you're so nice to me,
Boss."
Tycon frowned inwardly. He would beat the boy within ilms of

death if he thought it would improve anything besides granting him
the satisfaction, "Why do you say that?"
"I... I used to get picked on a lot, for my... sexual preferences."
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Mister Levi, why would I... care?"
The boy's eyes shot open in surprise, "Y-you don't?"
Tycon groaned in annoyance, "Of course, I don't. I'm glad you can
express yourself as you see fit-- but your sexual orientation or
choice of sexual partner has absolutely no bearing on your ability
as a combatant.
"--Just don't do anything illegal." Tycon scowled.
Because of their new shared secret, Tycon hoped that the boy
would be more receptive to his battle commands.
...Hope, however, was the first step on the road to disappointment.
Tycon judged Levi Wolfrider by his actions, not by his speech.

Regardless of the boy's tragic, self-piteous past, he had proved to
be a liability over several occasions. The interaction had proved to
be fruitful, though Tycon still wouldn't trust the boy more than he
did Lone.
...Empty. Night. Tycon realized that in the current party, the only
person he trusted was Lone.
Wolfrider was a moody, wishy-washy teenager. Sasha was a child.
Lulu was a walking disaster.
Tycon held his head in frustration, stopping in the middle of the

road. He had come to miss the big-boned buffoon, Dragan, and
the idiotic smile of Wroe.
"Boss? Is there something wrong?" Wolfrider asked.
"Yes. But it is none of your concern, young man." Tycon sighed

and waved the boy away, "Please scout ahead, as you were doing
prior."
The weretouched boy grimaced, "Sure thing, Boss."
"And take Lone with you," Tycon added. He recalled that Lone
had learned many skills from Kimura Tamaki, notably a few
scouting techniques. Wolfrider's Class was Warden, a combat
warrior related to the Druid Class. Though Lone hadn't yet gained
a worthwhile class, honing his scouting and survival skills in the
wild was a worthy pursuit.
Tycon sighed again, too many times in too short a period. Guild
Invictus wouldn't find that Magic Tower soon enough.
Chapter 178 Magic Tower
"You know what's weird, Boss?" Lone asked.
Tycondrius grimaced, "I do not. Please, state your opinion or view

without the annoyance of the prefacing rhetorical question."
Guild Invictus had taken a natural break, sitting around a cookfire.

Lone had learned how to cast a net, a skill taught to him by the
late Kimura Tamaki. Tycon oversaw the fire-roasting of river fish
with sea salt, a simple but delectable meal.
Lone scratched his head, "R-right. I mean... with all the weird
things going on, it's almost like Wroe's still here."
While Invictus was traveling with Lulu, birds would randomly fall
from the sky, dead with worm-ravaged insides. It rained the day
prior, but the rain included a few falling toads. Animals were
generally terrified of Lulu's presence-- not including fish,
thankfully.
Tycon pondered the thought, "No... I disagree, Mister Lone. As

peculiar as recent events have been, I'm not worried about a rift
randomly opening or chaotic outside forces to converge upon me
with blade and bullet."
Lone bit his upper lip, "Oh... oh, yeah."
"Then there are the oft painfully obvious times when Mister Wroe
is abducted by a Shadow Creature and replaced until we defeat
it."
Lone stared off into the distance, "Yeah..."
"Hey!" Lulu peeked her head out of a bush, "Were you guys talkin'
about meeee?!?"
"L-Lulu?" Lone furrowed his brows. He leaned over to whisper to
Tycon, "Boss, what is she doing in th--"
"Not now, Lone," Tycon interrupted him. "Lulu, we were only

saying good things about you. When was the last time you have
been reminded of your relative beauty amongst females similar in
physical age as yourself?"
"Gee! Thanks, Boss!! Ehehe..." Lulu grinned before lowering her

head back into the bush.
Tycon checked across the cookfire to ensure that Sasha hadn't

been stolen. She was carefully blowing on her fire-roasted fish to
cool it down.
Not that Tycon particularly cared, but he noticed that Wolfrider

was picking through his meal, eating the fleshy parts and ignoring
the crisp and delicious salted layer of skin.
What a waste.
Tycon glared at Lone with disapproval. Leaning towards him, he

whispered, "Lulu is a Lust Demon. Don't ask what she's doing in
the bushes."
Lone quickly glanced over to where he last saw Lulu, a tinge of

red creeping onto his face. Tycon rolled his eyes, "Mister Barza."
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark abruptly straightened his back.

The look of guilt on his face was apparent.
"It's for your own good." Tycon sighed, "You might die if you sleep
with her. Hm..."
« System, inquiry: Basic information for Lone. »
[System response: Lone Shadowdark, Bronze-Rank Human

Warrior.]
"With a Bronze-Rank constitution, you'll definitely die if you sleep

with Lulu," Tycon patted Lone on the shoulder.
Lulu popped out of a different bush, her face flushed and her
naked clavicles revealed above the foliage, "Who's gonna sleep
with me?"
Tycon grimaced, "I was telling Lone that he'll likely die if he sleeps
with you."
"Oh, no! He won't!" Lulu smiled radiantly, two fanged incisors clear
to see.
Tycon nodded slightly, noting that the girl's fangs were more
prominent than his own. His were just painfully sharp, "And if he...
copulates with you?"
"Ohhhh!~" Lulu nodded in understanding, "Yeah. He'll *definitely*

die if we f*ck."
"That is all, young lady. You may return to your activities," Tycon
shooed her away.
"Got it, Boss!" Lulu descended back into the darkness of the
greenery.
Lone stared at the cookfire, steepling his fingers, contemplating

his life choices.
...
Guild Invictus reached the Magic Tower on a dreary morning. The

whitestone tower was built near the edge of a cliff overlooking the
ocean and topped with pointed spires colored the blue of the
Kingdom.
Lone bent backward to take in the view of the tower in its entirety,
"Whoa... Boss, that's the tallest building I've ever seen."
Sasha tugged on Tycon's sleeve, "Massssster.... How... err... (How

do we know that it's a Magic Tower?)"
"Well... first off, it looks magical." Tycon explained matter-of-factly,

"Regardless if it is, or not, the residing Magician within has
intelligence enough to not be taken lightly.
"Then there's the fact that there are large floating spheres rotating
near the tower's top."
"(They look as small as Sasarame!)" The chocolate elf exclaimed.
"Speak in Common, young lady," Tycon gently chided.
"The ballssss.... are... Sssssasha," The young girl had a difficult

time.
Tycon ruffled Sasha's hair to get the clump to stick upward, "We'll
work on it. You're learning well."
"Why's it so tall?" Lone asked.
Lulu rotated the paper parasol in her hands. It was the perfect size
to shield herself and Sasha from the harsh light occasionally
peering through the grey clouds. She continued to forgo shoes
(something that Sasha was envious of) and wore a clean set of
white cloth robes, tied at the waist with a thick red ribbon.
"Because Wizards have tiny cocks," Lulu explained nonchalantly.

"So they like having biiiiiiiig towers."
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Is that even remotely true?"
Lulu giggled, "I've seen a lot of penises, Boss."
Wolfrider shifted uneasily, "C-can we not talk about this?"
Tycon shook his head, "Penis envy aside, Wizards build towers as
a status symbol. The higher the tower, the higher the mage's
mastery of Circle-spells."
Lulu tilted her head, grinning, "Booooossss~ it hasn't been like

that for ceeeeeenturies! Get with the times!"
Tycon crossed his arms, "Well... that's how it should be, anyroad."
Lone pat Tycon on the back, "It's okay, Boss. I didn't know, either."
"That reassures me very little, Mister Lone," Tycon scowled.

Lulu spun her parasol and addressed Lone, "Magic Towers are all-
in-one structures: they have magical defense measures, they
amplify ambient mana, and they showed how suuuuuper rich they
are."
Tycon explained, "They're easy to defend. An increase in ambient

mana has a beneficial effect on learning spells and techniques.
And the wealth status of an individual or group of individuals is a
deterrent against random attacks."
Lulu continued, "It was important because over a thousand years

ago, 5th and 6th Circle Magicians were pretty common. The most
powerful Magic Guilds and even solo Archmages had big ol'
towers that meant Do Not Mess With Us or Explosions-- and it
was respected, for the most part."
Lone reeled back in surprise, "What? Really? What happened?"
The demoness winked flirtatiously, "Humans happened."
Wolfrider sniffed the air, "Boss Tycon... someone's over there... a

human, I think."
"Well..." Tycon placed his hand over the hilt of his cutlass, "Let's
go see what she has to say."
Chapter 179 Appearances
ycondrius carried the Shatterspike longsword over his shoulder

T
as he walked towards the Magic Tower.
He had Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, walk at his side. The
young man appeared tougher than he actually was, with his dark,
wild hair, a fighter's scar on his nose, and leather armor that
openly displayed the well-maintained muscles of his arms.
[Lone Shadowdark, Bronze-Rank Human Warrior]
Lulu, in her white robes and red parasol strode confidently behind
them. A dainty young blonde woman in the company of toughs
was plenty intimidating. Arguably, Lulu was the strongest amongst
them-- any enemy that sought to specifically antagonize her would
not fare well.
[Lucifer, Gold-Rank Demon Umbrella Meister]
Appearances were important. The three of them together looked

plenty intimidating. Tycon wanted to approach with a position of
power, in the case that the woman had any designs to attack.
Then there was Levi Wolfrider... with his stained, unkempt armor,
looking nervously to and fro. At the very least, his halberd
appeared professional and well-maintained. Tycon gave the boy
his own halberd-- the one he used to train Pale. He was hoping to
give the dog-wolf-boy the Saltspray guisarme, but Shao Ran had
burnt and melted it in its entirety.
[Levi Wolfrider, Bronze-Rank Weretouched Warden]
Sasha, the white-haired chocolate elf, walked with Lulu... Tycon

needed to train her martial proficiency with... something.
Medusae were naturally decent with archery. Snake eyes are
better at tracking movement and judging distance compared to
human standards. Tycon hoped that his snake-daughter would
show promise with a shortbow-- or failing that, a crossbow small
enough for her to handle.
[Sasarame, Bronze-Rank Snake Oracle]
"Sasha."
"Yesssss, Masssster?" The chocolate elf smiled.
Tycon handed his hand-crossbow to the girl, "Hold this. Ah, your
right hand goes here-- right, carry it like that."
Sasha held the hand-crossbow and stared at it with a look of

uncertainty... She likely had no idea what it was-- much less how it
was used. Tycon made certain not to load it. Or latch the
mechanism into place. And the safety remained locked into place.
"Ssssssasha isss a good girl."
"Yes. Yes, she is," Tycon reassured her. The little white clump of
hair on her head already stood upright, so he didn't disturb it.
Appearances were important.
Guild Invictus came upon a courtyard, enclosed by a white-stone

fence the height of Sasha's knees. A woman in a maid outfit
sighed as she watered the garden plants. Her style of dress was
popular for Kingdom maids-- reminding Tycon of the maids
attending the estate in Nice and her long, straight pink hair was
topped with a frilly white headband.
Wolfrider sniffed the air and sneezed, "There she is, Boss."
Lone pursed his lips, observing the courtyard garden.
Dozens of lifelike, white-marble statues were arranged in various

positions throughout. There were strange and alien winged angels
and beautiful horned demons in humanoid forms, both.
Worryingly, many statues had body parts broken off-- some
cracked and crumbled away, while others were hewn cleanly.
Perhaps the sculptor grew bored... or the ravages of time eroded

the statues' appendages away. Concerning the worst-case
scenario, the System could not differentiate between petrified
creatures and statues. A petrifying effect, like a medusa's gaze,
may be magical in nature but the end result was undoubtedly
physical.
"Boss, I don't like this at all," Lone whispered.
"Keep your wits about you, my good man," Tycon nodded.
"Oh!" The young maid finally took notice of the group, dropping
her brass watering can onto the dirt. She turned to the mercenary
group, one hand covering her mouth in concern.
Lone's jaw had dropped and he gawked at the woman like she
was a rack of roasted lamb and he hadn't eaten in a week.
Tycon narrowed his eyes. He was fairly certain Lone was attracted
to the maid girl. Was it the large bosom? Was the woman's
curvaceousness to Lone's liking? Because of her half-elven
heritage, her face remained young, though her body had matured.
Her ears tapered into slight points... Perhaps Lone was attracted
to that, as well?
He didn't quite understand it. It was interesting and somewhat

amusing to see Lone's exaggerated reaction, "I believe this is the
first time I've seen someone fall in love."
"Ehehe," Lulu chuckled, "We should hang out more, Boss. You'll
see dozens of fella's fall in love by day's end."
Tears began to well at the corners of the maid girl's eyes, "A-are
you here to rescue me?"
Tycon observed the girl's features. They matched what Priest

Villiers described of the missing half-elf.
Lone immediately stood at her side, "Of course."
Tycon nodded inwardly in approval. With an increase in strength,

it seems that the Lone Shadowdark had grown a backbone.
However, in private, Tycon would quietly remind the young man to
always reserve a healthy amount of doubt.
Lone paused, "Wait, excuse me? Rescue you from what?"
That was a welcome surprise. It seemed the young man's

wariness was not dulled, even in the face of the object of his
attraction. Tycon was pleased.
Lone grimaced, "Because if I can't rescue you, then I need to

know now."
Tycon felt his eyebrow twitch. He needed to discuss with Lone, in

private, the concept of tact and professionalism. Large groups can
be judged by the actions and appearances of a single individual
among them.
The half-elf dropped her guard, wringing her hands, "My name is
Margeaux... and I've... I've been cursed by the tower wizard. If I
leave the vicinity of the tower, I'll die."
"Well..." Lone crossed his arms. He looked at all the life-like

statues in the garden. He looked at the looming, multi-floor white-
stoned magic tower against the backdrop of grey clouds. He
looked at the manner of exotic, thorned plants in the courtyard, a
number of which were faintly luminescent, "Okay... we'll see what
we can do to help you."
Lone looked back to Tycon, who nodded in response.
If Lone wanted to head the project, Tycon had no issue with it. He
had no use for personal glory or any additional titles. It would be
good for Lone to get a morale boost.
« System, inquiry: Afflictions on the girl? »

[System response: Margeaux is afflicted by an unknown Third-
Circle Curse.]
The half-elf's story was legitimate.
"I'm fine with it." Tycon looked to the white-robed girl in the
parasol, "Lulu, opinion?"
"Meh, I'm cool with it," the demoness shrugged and blew a kiss to
Lone.
Tycon poked Sasha's cheek, "And you?"
The chocolate elf nodded shyly.
Tycon's gaze drifted over Levi Wolfrider.
The white-furred weretouched boy had his eyes narrowed. Upon

meeting Tycon's gaze, he glared at Margeaux and bared his teeth,
"I don't trust her-- not one bit."
Chapter 180 The Concept Of
Trust
ycondrius pulled Wolfrider aside. His concerns were reasonable--

T
even if he was terribly rude about it.
"Mister Levi, would you mind explaining what this is about?"
Wolfrider shrugged, averting his gaze, "I-I-I-I dunno, Boss. There's

just... I dunno. I just don't."
Tycon grimaced, "Well, that's hardly helpful."
"I don't trust her, Boss!"
Tycon took a breath through his nostrils, "I heard you the first
time."
The concept of trust was a complex one. Trust existed on different

levels, depending on the situation, the relationship, and the
judging individual. Tycon's favored theory split the concept into a
mere three levels.
The first level of trust was enough to share a meal. Tycon would
share a meal with Tarquin Wroe, under nigh any circumstances.
The man provided excellent company.
The second level of trust was enough to ask a favor of, in

particular, the care for a child or loved one. Tycon would not allow
Wroe to watch over a smoked roast of beef, unsupervised. It
wouldn't be surprising for the roast to grow tentacles and crawl
away.
He wouldn't trust Lone with it, either... he would somehow find a

way to ruin it, like he did Tycon's cakes and sandwiches.
Nor would he trust Lulu... The constant pheromones she exuded
and the bodily fluids she naturally excreted would somehow ruin
the dish. She'd probably discard the roast, slather the sauce over
her body, and place herself, nude, on the serving table.
He would trust Dragan, that big-boned troublemaker. He'd trust

Maximus-- but he was dead. He'd trust Aurala. Stars and stones,
he'd even trust Monsieur Reynard. The man would be too terrified
of making a mistake to not be trustworthy.
The third level of trust was, quite simply, not enough. The half-elf
Margeaux naturally fell under this category.
Tycon didn't see the need for Wolfrider's panic. Tycon didn't trust
most people. The boy shouldn't either.
"You don't have to trust her." Tycon assured, "A healthy amount of
vigilance is conducive to our survival."
The maid-girl was cursed, Tycon was sure of it. It was reasonable
the curse had something to do with the Tower Wizard. The woman
was a Bronze-Ranker without an Arcane Class-- her strength
made her prime enslavement material.
The half-elf maid had value with her status as a tower slave. If
there were traps or odd protective spells within the magic tower,
she would be able to warn them.
...And since they weren't being watched by the public, Tycon could
utilize her as a sacrifice to ensure the survival of his subordinates.
Invictus couldn't lose reputation if no one knew about their
misdeeds. The young woman was more useful than she wasn't.
Ignoring Wolfrider's nasal whining, Tycon made his way back to

Margeaux.
Lone looked up, "S'everything alright, Boss?"
Lone was comforting the maid-girl as she spoke to him with a

tearful face and quivering lips. The two were rather close, with
Margeaux holding onto one of Lone's calloused hands with both of
her soft, pudgy ones.
Tycon slowly nodded his head... "Yes... I discussed circumstances

with Mister Levi."
The half-elf looked up, gasping with surprise. Her full bosom
trembled with her movement, "Does that mean you'll help me?"
Tycon's face remained impassive to hide his disgust, "Yes. All of

Guild Invictus will assist you on your quest. We are looking to
meet with the Tower Wizard and can negotiate terms of your
release."
"Oh, wondrous... That is a relief." Margeaux sighed, touching a

hand to her sternum. Her mouth twitched into a pout, very slightly.
"Is there an issue, young lady?" Tycon inquired.
"It's just that..." Margeaux snuggled closer to the Lone

Shadowdark. The man seemed to be enjoying life with one of the
woman's breasts mashed against his arm, "I haven't seen the
Tower Wizard for nearly a moon..."
Lulu shrugged, "Weaklings die. Big deal."
Tycon nodded, "Not our problem. Can you get us into the tower?"
Margeaux nodded hesitantly, "Are... you guys here to rob the

tower?"
"Yes, we are," Lone proudly exclaimed.
Tycon scowled, "No, we are not."
Lone frowned... "We kinda are, Boss."
"Tsss... We are here primarily for arcane materials. It would be

best if we could barter or trade for them peaceably," Tycon
explained.
He was not against taking the Wizard's valuables, but looters and
traders were perceptibly different, with the latter looked upon more
kindly.
"Oh!" The maid exclaimed, "I know where the Wizard keeps his
most expensive materials! It's on the top floor."
Lone loosed an annoyed groan, "Yep. Of course."
Lulu nodded, "Makes sense."
"I expected no less," Tycon shrugged.
Traps existed on every floor of a Magic Tower. It was natural that

the most protected items would be at its peak.
Sasha grimaced, bravely stepping forward, "Sssssasha..."
Everyone looked to her expectantly. Slowly, the chocolate elf

retreated to behind Tycon without finishing her sentence. Tycon
pat his daughter on the head.
He nodded to the half-elf maid, "Margeaux, let us enter the tower."
[Wizard Tower: Floor 1]
"There's a Magic Beast that guards the first floor," Margeaux

explained. "I can open the door to allow you all inside, but once I
enter, the magic spirits me away to a different floor..."
Lone was still holding onto her hand, "We'll come and rescue you,
Margeaux. Just hold on."
The blushing maid released Lone's hand and politely bowed to the
party, "I am in your debt, Guild Invictus."
Stepping through the open door, she faded away in a pink haze of
mana.
Tycon sighed. With the woman gone, his plan to use her as an
emergency sacrifice had been dashed.
Lone stepped forward bravely, "I... I'll go. This is my quest, after
all."
Tycon shook his head, "No. You might die. Better me or..."
He looked over to Lulu. She was in the garden, sexually

assaulting an angel statue. He wanted to scold her but... non-
sentient statues didn't seem to be capable of giving or denying
consent.
The well-armored, protected-by-the-power-of-nature Warden was

crossing his arms, sitting by himself on the ground.
No... Levi Wolfrider had shown on several occasions that he

couldn't be trusted with the most basic of tasks. Tycon took a deep
breath and sighed, "Wait for me here...
"If I'm not back in half-a-bell..." Tycon glanced up at the Wizard

Tower and groaned, "--wait longer."
Tycon stepped into the tower, feeling a buzz of mana trickle

through him. The interior of the tower, as expected, was awash
with ambient mana. His mind was clearer, his senses grew
noticeably sharper, and his own internal mana coursed easier.
He stepped through the open-portal rooms, searching for the

stairs... He found a lobby of sorts, some chairs, a table, and a few
mundane scrolls. He noted a sleeping area with a few dozen beds
and personal chests. Coming across the kitchen, however, Tycon
came face-to-face with a 6-fulm tall, featherless rooster.
Chapter 181 Territorial
Guardian
ycondrius narrowed his eyes, keeping eye contact with his

T
opponent as he slowly backed away.
The creature before him was a cockatrice, a winged bird with

scales all over its body and sporting a red comb and wattle similar
to a rooster. However, the bird was far larger than the goose-sized
ones in his memories.
...That it was a mere cockatrice relieved him. If the creature were

actually a giant, naked rooster, Tycon would have to worry about
why it was plucked clean and where its feathers were. The last
thing he wanted was for razor-sharp feathers controlled by
chicken-magic to lacerate him into shreds.
Wizards were a peculiar lot.
« System, inquiry: The cockatrice's level. »
[System response: Cockatrice, Iron-Rank Magical Beast]
The cockatrice squawked angrily.
The creature's rank was not particularly worrisome, but its size
made it more troublesome to fight on his own than it was worth.
Worse still was the fact that cockatrices were very territorial.
The giant bird shifted its head, back and forth, judging Tycon.
« System, inquiry: Do I speak... chicken? »
[Negative.]
Stars and stones, Tycon cursed inwardly.
The cockatrice chomped onto Tycon's sword arm.
"Empty NIGHT!!!" He cursed. Dropping to a kneel, he picked up

his dropped sword with his opposite hand and began bashing the
giant chicken in its stupid chicken face.
"Let go or I will sever your limbs and DEEP FRY YOU IN ANIMAL
FAT!!"
With his right arm clamped tightly, Tycon smashed his arm and the
cockatrice's head with it against a nearby wall, "Stupid bird!!"
The creature flailed its head, pushing Tycon around with its wings.
Simultaneously, it tried and failed to claw at Tycon with its
massive-taloned feet.
Finally, Tycon managed a precise pommel smash into the bird's

eye. It flinched and reared back, squawking angrily.
Tycon rubbed his arm. It hadn't drawn blood, but there would be a
bruise where he was bitten.
Even normal-sized cockatrices were dangerous magical beasts.

Their peck and bite turned living creatures to stone-- something
that Tycon as a male medusa wasn't at all worried about. With the
giant cockatrice's size, the bite was moderately more painful,
though still manageable.
A prolonged fight would see him gashed by the creature's clawed

feet, however. Each talon was the size of a short sword and could
easily eviscerate him.
Tycon pointed threateningly at the bird, "You-- urgh... Wait there,

chicken."
The cockatrice squawked arrogantly as Tycon withdrew.
...
After making certain the cockatrice wasn't following him, Tycon
exited the Magic Tower, meeting the expectant gazes of Guild
Invictus.
He pointed behind him, into the tower, "Cockatrice. Needs to be--"
"Did you say COCK?! I volunteer as tribute!!" Lulu immediately

raised up three fingers.
Tycon's mouth twitched. He had no idea what the gesture was

supposed to mean... "Very... well."
The blonde girl moved with high, springy steps. She reached her
hand out to cross the doorway... but a glowing blue magical wall
buzzed, halting her advance.
She pressed against it with two fingers.
"There's something inside that I want very, very much..." she

whispered with a hint of seductive longing.
The barrier cracked like glass, then broke apart, blue shards
falling and dissipating into mana-dust. Lulu turned back with a
wink and a knowing smile before continuing to prance into the
tower.
Lone placed a hand on his chin, "Um... should we go and help

her?"
Loud cacophonous echoes of pained squawking and agonized

screeches resounded from beyond the doorway.
Tycon pursed his lips... "I highly doubt she requires assistance."
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, gulped involuntarily. He no

longer appeared as willing to help as before.
Wolfrider's dog ears flattened as he loosed a subtle wine.
Sasha poised upright as if ready to strike. She held her hand-

crossbow over her head. What she was trying to do with it, Tycon
didn't know. He took the weapon back.
Tycon took a deep breath, "I suppose we'll... wait 5 more minutes
and we'll explore the tower together."
...
Blood was painted on the white-stone interior walls at irregular

locations, an indication of Lulu's one-sided slaughter. Giant
chicken body parts were strewn about in random places. The
cockatrice looked as if it was pulled and torn apart, without the
use of a cutting instrument.
Lone shuddered, wide-eyed, "Did... did Lulu do all this?"
Wolfrider scoffed, "Yeah, of course. What, do you think it just

exploded on its own?"
Tycon grimaced. Was Wolfrider purposely being hostile to his

allies? ...Also, Wizards were a peculiar lot. Angry explosive birds
were not out of the question nor was it an unheard-of
phenomenon.
"Mister Lone, utilizing the process of induction, yes, Lulu was

responsible for this carnage."
Tycon grabbed a few choice pieces of thigh meat and placed them
in his storage ring. He hadn't cooked with cockatrice before but
cooking with any type of poultry remained similar. They were safe
to eat, as long as they weren't carrion birds.
He grabbed some bone bits, as well. It would make a fantastic

stock. He needed to invest in some flour or potato starch to make
gravy.
He glanced over at Invictus' chocolate elf, Sasha. She was looking

around at the tower's various but mundane wall tapestries and
decorations as she walked. She was unbothered by the blood--
she had likely seen far worse in the torture chamber at the
Saltspray Keep.
She may have been more physically mature than Taree, but her
mental age was lower. She would probably enjoy fried chicken
strips.
Everyone loved fried chicken strips, especially children.
Tycon mentally increased the priority of attaining flour.
Passing by the sleeping quarters, Levi Wolfrider immediately

gravitated toward the room. Tycon rolled his eyes. The
weretouched boy was probably enticed by the various footlockers
at the foot of each bed.
Tycon was continuously surprised by the fact that the boy was a
Warden. Wardens were defenders of nature, a Class similar to
Ranger or Scout in that they were advantaged in forest areas.
Druidic magic boosted their constitutions, making them hardy
front-line warriors... But with Wolfrider's disposition, he would be
far better suited to the Thief Class.
It was an opposite circumstance, compared to Lone's.
Lone followed Wolfrider, with Tycon and Sasha following suit.
As Tycon had surmised, Wolfrider was greedily eyeing the various

chests. The boy walked over to one of the footlockers, kneeling
over it and carefully inspecting its exterior.
The Lone Shadowdark was first to question Levi's actions, "Hey,

Wolfbanger... Haven't you heard of respecting other people's
property?"
The boy didn't bother looking back, "Sod off, Lone. You can't tell
me what to do."
Lone grimaced, "That's weird... Margeaux never said anything

about other people living in the tower."
"I don't expect anything worthwhile from whomever's footlockers

these are." Tycon shrugged, "But if they are unsecured, that is the
fault of the owner."
Chapter 182 Compromising
Position
ycondrius placed his hand on his chin, pondering, "I realize now
T
that you haven't yet entered a proper dungeon, Mister Lone."
"A dungeon?" Lone absentmindedly rubbed the scar on the bridge

of his nose, "What do you mean, Boss?"
"Are you familiar with 'Dungeon Subjugation' quests?"
"Uh huh? The adventurer's guild hires reputable adventurer

companies to clear them a monster lair..." Realization shone on
Lone's eyes, "Oh. We're one of those companies, aren't we?"
Tycon's mouth twitched... "Yes, I admit that can be easy to forget,

sometimes...
"A proper dungeon exists because of a Dungeon Core, functioning

as the maintainer of an ecosystem. The core summons and
cultivates natural and sometimes extraplanar creatures, traps, and
even creates magical treasure."
Lone was taken aback, "H-how does that work?"
Tycon shrugged, "Popular theory states that Dungeon Cores

subsist on the mana of defeated adventurer-- and dungeons
attract adventurers by the droves. Adventurer guild hubs
sometimes issue bounties for the cores, either to be destroyed or
recovered for study."
"Anyroad.." Tycon pat Lone's shoulder, reassuringly, "Loot away.

It's what adventurers do."
"And graverobbers," Lone muttered.

Tycon chuckled, "If there's any trouble, I'll take the blame. If
anyone puts up a fuss, we can always return what we've taken."
Lone nodded, albeit hesitantly, "Well... alright."
As a matter of convenience, Tycon hid the fact that the tower was
likely a Dungeon, powered by a Dungeon Core. Though cores
were rare, it was the most readily available artifact able to provide
the increase of ambient mana within the tower.
Throughout the areas on the ground floor, Tycon hadn't seen a

feeding area for the cockatrice. It reinforced the likelihood of a
Dungeon Core sustaining the creature with its mana. The same
sustainment phenomenon was not replicated when utilizing a
mana-gathering formation.
In the event that Invictus was pressed by the Tower Wizard, Tycon
could use the excuse that they heard a rumor of a Dungeon in the
area and only trespassed for the sake of defending humankind.
Per the rules set by the adventurer's guild, Invictus would be
protected from any legal repercussions, within reason.
...There were no 'Keep Out' signs, after all. It was a design flaw
made by the Tower Wizard.
"Uh... Boss?" Wolfrider looked up, his dog-ears drooping in

distress.
"Go ahead, Mister Levi."
"My uh... h-help?"
Tycon looked over to Wolfrider and his footlocker. The boy had
placed his halberd down and both of his hands appeared to be
awkwardly affixed to the wooden chest.
Could he not remove them?
Narrowing his eyes, Tycon gently held Sasha's shoulder and

guided her to move behind him, "Sasha... you and I are going to
slowly move towards the door."
Lone grabbed the pair of wolf-hammers on his belt, "Boss...
What's wrong?"
"Standard safety procedure, Mister Lone. Kindly assist Mister

Wolfrider, if you would."
As Tycon and Sasha watched from the doorway, Lone moseyed

toward Wolfrider, making a spectacle of taking his time.
"Well, well, well... how the turn-tables..." The Lone Shadowdark

taunted, "What's wrong, doggo? Are you stuck?"
Wolfrider emitted a low growl, "Rrrr... It's not funny, Lone. Help me
out."
Sasha looked up at Tycon with big, rounded eyes, "(Master? She

doesn't know the reason.)"
Tycon adjusted Sasha's stark white hair, "I worry that that chest is
an aberrant creature called a mimic."
"(She knows nothing about the mimic?)"
Tycon smiled gently but did not answer. He remained vigilant of

the wolf-dog and wolf-hammer's plight. If his Dungeon Core theory
was accurate, traps and monstrous creatures would not be
unexpected. He'd explain everything to Sasha, afterward.
Lone managed to also get his hands stuck, trying to pry Levi's
hands off of the footlocker.
Tycon was the only Guild Invictus member that consistently wore
gloves. Having greater tactile senses were a boon in combat, so
Lone had ignored Tycon's friendly advisory on the matter. It was
likely that the Bronze-Rank Warrior was regretting the choice in
his current situation.
If Tycon hadn't watched the scene unfold, he would assume that

the Lone Shadowdark had gently approached Levi Wolfrider and
embraced him from behind. Wolfrider had two hands and a furred
foot against the footlocker. Lone's human hands were on top of
Levi's furry hands, their fingers interlaced.
Even more suggestive was the fact that Lone claimed full body
contact with Wolfrider's back with his groin pressed firmly against
the weretouched boy's buttocks.
"S-stop moving so roughly," Lone pleaded in a meek voice.
"Wait, hold on-- are you enjoying yourself?" Wolfrider's tone took
on a tinge of panic, "Stop rubbing!"
Tycon tilted his head up, pursing his lips into a frown. He shielded
Sasha's eyes from the obscenities with a gloved hand.
"Boss, could you lend us a hand?!" Lone yelped.
"Establishing sexual relations between coworkers is highly

unprofessional," Tycon chided. "I will not partake in your
debauchery."
Lone scowled, "Boss, you don't even pay me!"
"Ah, that's right..." Tycon placed his other hand on his chin and
tilted his head up to think... "I suppose you've been with the guild
for long enough. We'll start your pay-- but with a negative
balance."
"Oh, well, that's great news but--" Lone paused, "HOLD ON! What
do you mean by *negative balance*?!?"
"You lost quite a bit of coin while betting on the Unfortunate,"

Tycon explained matter-of-factly. "I'm surprised you'd forgotten."
"Y-you were playing with my money!! And-- and I earned all that,
myself!!" Lone cried out, on the verge of tears.
"You can rebut the charges or apply for a pay raise with our
Human Resources department," Tycon shrugged.
Sorina Capulet was an intelligent woman, but from what Tycon

knew, she did not give out money easily. She would surely reject
any of Lone's requests, whether it was for a pay raise or the
outstanding debt he was going to detail in his next missive to her.
Tycon wondered if Sorina had forgiven Lone for the events that
unfolded when she tried to visit his room.
He doubted it.
"Can you guys not argue about this right now?" Wolfrider whined.
"Stay here, Sasha..." As Tycon moved away, Sasha placed her

tiny elf hands over her eyes.
Good girl.
Tycon walked towards the two with his cutlass unsheathed,

remaining vigilant for a sudden attack. "Mister Lone... how did you
get into that position?"
Approaching from behind to unstick Wolfrider was an absurd and

awkward way to help.
"I-- I dunno!" Lone bit his upper lip, "I thought I could help him like
that!"
Tycon paused... "That approach makes no sense."
"Hey, I'm TRYING, alright, Boss?"
"Gods, you're such an idiot, Lone," Wolfrider groaned.
Tycon raised an eyebrow. The young weretouched boy had gotten

into this predicament because of his propensity for looting things.
As clumsy and foolish as Lone could be, he operated on a sense
of fairness and goodwill.
Tycon found Wolfrider's actions nigh inconceivable. How could he

act as if he was blameless, simultaneously repulsing giving an
honest effort to help him?
"B-b-boss!?!" Wolfrider abruptly raised his voice.

Tycon crossed his arms, "Yes, young man?"
"I... I think the footlocker is moving!" the boy yelped.
Tycon shut his eyes and took a deep breath, "It is as I feared,
then."
The footlocker opened, revealing its contents-- mundane clothes

and trinkets.
Looking over Wolfrider's shoulder, Lone breathed a sigh of relief,

"Oh, that's not so bad."
From somewhere within the chest, a tongue as thick as a human

leg rose up and metal teeth sprouted upon its edges.
Wolfbanger's eyes opened wide as he screamed in fear, two

octaves too high. Lone also began screaming. The footlocker, too,
began screaming.
Tycon nodded, "So it is a mimic."

Chapter 183 Feelings In A
Knot
ithout stopping to question or negotiate, the mimic's tongue-like

W
appendage lashed out at Levi Wolfrider. It smashed into his face,
viscous saliva drenching him, and went on to batter his other body
parts mercilessly.
As a credit to the defensive nature of the boy's Warden Class, he

moved his body instinctively, avoiding strikes to his vital areas. Of
course, with every head-strike dodged, the mimic's vicious tongue
lashes struck Lone, who was humorously unable to dodge.
Tycondrius picked up the dropped halberd, ignoring the literal

tongue-lashing that Wolfrider and Shadowdark were suffering.
« System, inquiry: Vulnerabilities to the mimic's adhesive? »
[Searching...]
« Take your time, there's no rush. »
[System response: The adhesive excreted by the mimic's surface

can be dissolved by alcohol.]
Tycon pursed his lips and nodded in wonder. He had learned

something new.
...He did have some alcohol stored for a special occasion-- but not
enough that he considered wasting it.
Reasonably, if the mimic's surface was coated in adhesive, the

halberd's point would be less likely to stick, as it had a smaller
surface area.
Tycon changed his grip to hold the halberd closer to its blade...
and he thrust it down into the mimic's tongue-like appendage.
It didn't stick. Excellent. Tycon repeated the action several times

until the footlocker ceased to move.
Lone breathed a sigh of relief, "Thanks, Boss."
Wolfrider was soundly beaten and bludgeoned. He laid on his

side, still in Lone's intimate embrace, "Boss... can you get this
thing off of me?"
Tycon raised an eyebrow. Was the weretouched boy referring to

the mimic he was stuck to or to Lone's genitalia?
« System, inquiry: Will the mimic's adhesive weaken over time? »
[Affirmative.]
« System, inquiry: How long will that take? »
[System response: The adhesive substance begins to break down

in as little as five minutes after the mimic's death.]
Tycon propped up the halberd onto the wall, "There's a kitchen.

I'm taking Sasha to see if there are any dried herbs or vegetable
oils I can pilfer."
"Wait, what about us, Boss?!" Lone cried out.
"The adhesive will break down shortly. You two will be fine."
...
It took quite a bit of pulling and bodily contact, but Barza Keith, the
Lone Shadowdark, finally peeled himself free of Levi Wolfrider.
They both agreed to never speak of it again.
Lone didn't trust anything in the room and wanted to leave.

Wolfbanger did not.
Wolfbanger opened a chest. His hands were stuck. It was another
mimic. Lone beat it to death with the halberd.
Lone wanted to take a rest-- maybe Invictus could stay in the

tower overnight. The beds looked comfy. Absentmindedly, he
touched the bedsheets. His hands were stuck.
The bed was a mimic. Wolfbanger laughed at his misfortune. Lone

chuckled at the absurdity of recent events. The wardrobe dresser
laughed because everyone else was laughing.
They killed the bed. Then they killed the wardrobe.
The curtain drapes sported golden knotted tassels that managed

to pop Lone in the eye and delivered dozens more bruises to
Wolfbanger. They killed that too.
Aggravated, Lone struck the coatrack by the door with his wolf-
hammer while they were walking out of the room. The hammer
stuck. It was a mimic.
The coatrack beat the hells out of the two and chased them out.
...
In the kitchens, Tycon had found a small store of salt, dried herbs,
tea leaves, and a few other dried goods.
He looted all of it.
Placing some firewood into a stove, he brewed a pot of tea for

himself and Sasha, adding a few pieces of dried fruit for flavor.
The fruit infusion was popular in the Kingdom... and Sasha
preferred sweeter things than not.
Nothing in the Tower thus far hinted at the identity of its owner.
The base floor seemed to be kept relatively spartan, with
tapestries on the walls nondescript, and various decorations
culturally neutral.
He felt it was a place of learning suited to contain a multitude of

peoples from across the realm... either that or the Tower Wizard
did not care for the frivolities.
Levi Wolfrider and the Lone Shadowdark wandered into the

kitchens with haggard, bruised appearances.
Tycon was sitting at the table with Sasha, drinking tea and sharing
slices of one of Tycon's cured pork sausages.
"Gentlemen... May I ask what took you so long?" He pointed to

Lone's swollen eye, "And what happened to you?"
The two shared a look of tacit mutual understanding. It seemed

the two had grown somewhat closer.
"We're late because... we... had some things to take care of,
Boss," Lone answered. "And for what happened to us..."
Wolfrider twisted his lips, "Lone took the knot."
Tycon pursed his lips. Did the two have sexual relations? ...As
long as it didn't affect their work ethic, he supposed he could
ignore it.
Did this mean that Lone no longer desired Sorina Capulet?
...and did he take the entire knot?
Lone grimaced, "Boss? Wh-why are you looking at us like that?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "You two are standing rather close."
The two leapt away from each other, Lone smashing his shin into
a chair.
"Me?! With the Lonely Shadowdark?? No way!!" Wolfrider

insisted.
Lone furiously rubbed his injured leg, "Y-yeah! It's not like that,
Boss!"
Tycon shook his head, "Nevermind. Have you two discovered

anything of interest? Perhaps something to induce the identity of
the tower's inhabitants?"
"Yeah!" Lone yelled out, "This tower is STUPID!!"
Tycon lifted his teacup to his lips, "That is neither helpful nor
interesting, young man."
Wolfrider frowned, "Nothin', Boss. I don't think anyone's lived on

this floor for a long time."
The weretouched boy's sense of smell was excellent. Tycon did

not doubt his judgment.
"Wait, but how is everything still so clean?" Lone asked.
"Not too surprising for a Wizard Tower." Tycon explained, "There

are plenty of magical means to keep a tower free of dust,
especially in the Kingdom. Magical creativity is an art in this
nation, after all."
Tycon thought for a moment, "Permanency spells on cleaning

enchantments are plentiful. Wizards often form contracts with
house-fae who are paid with the privilege of cleaning. I'd imagine
there are even animated brooms."
Both Lone and Wolfrider shuddered at Tycon's mention of

animated cleaning supplies.
"F*ck brooms," Wolfrider bared his teeth.
Lone grimaced and looked to a wall, "Y-yeah, I don't want to see

another animate inanimate object ever again."
That made no sense.
Though confused, Tycon kept an impassive face, "Rest for a short

while, and we'll continue up the tower."
Chapter 184 Fighting Styles
he stairs were modeled after those of a mundane tower's,

T
incredibly uneven and circling counter-clockwise so attackers had
the wall to their right. While not aesthetically pleasing, the
defensiveness of the design was laudable.
If the choice was purposeful, the Tower Wizard was a smart man.
Tycon did not like to have intelligent men as his enemies.
Wolfrider led the way. Tycon forced him to. The Bronze-Rank
Warden was as hardy and resilient as he was, but Tycon was
better suited to utilizing his Support skills from a safe position with
Sasha.
"Master Lone, how is Mister Levi's halberd ability?" Tycon asked

Lone, "Was it effective?"
"Actually, yeah." Lone tilted his head up in thought, "More than a

few times, the mimics were distracted by Wolfbanger's weird
attacks and they tried to attack him but they couldn't."
Tycon nodded, "It's not a common practice, using a halberd. The

fighting styles of the Green Circle Druids prefer bludgeoning
weapons like staves and cudgels."
Lone raised an eyebrow, "Huh? Then... why are you having Levi
use a halberd instead? Wouldn't it be better for him to fight how he
was trained?"
It was a good question.
It was usually best for a combatant to use weapons they were

most comfortable with. Swords or axes were likely better for Lone
than his wolf-hammers. The dark iron hammers, however, were of
higher quality than anything Invictus had come across.
"Wardens forego a shield, unlike Heavy Armor Knights like
Leserre. They don't need a free hand for defensive spells, like
Swordmage Dragan. With a Warden's thorn-enchantments and
Mist-Form Weapon attacks, they remain a threatening presence
on the battlefield even without. A hafted weapon only increases
that threat."
"Ohhh," Lone nodded in understanding, "That makes a lot of

sense... What weapons am I good for, Boss?"
Tycon mulled over the thought, "You are naturally strong and
attack quickly, without allowing the enemy respite. A quick barrage
of attacks suits you more than the single-sword precision of Mister
Wroe's fighting style or Korr's heavy-handed attacks."
"Quick and without letting the enemy react... So like... axes and
swords?"
Tycon smirked and nodded, "Excellent judgment. I'm of the same

mind."
Tycon sighed before adding, "Admittedly, I was hoping you'd pick

up the Fighter Class by now, with all the training you've done...
Either your Affinity Rate with the class is low or..."
Or Lone was not suited for combat and would take moons and
years of training more to become strong. Any warrior could be
trained and will improve over time. In an adventurer's guild,
however, the slower learners would quickly be overshadowed by
the gifted.
As Guild Invictus routinely utilized a small team instead of squads

like Guild Staghorn or whole platoons like the Sea Wolves, if Lone
wasn't capable of learning quickly enough, he'd be better suited
returning to Nice or Merylsward instead of continuing to travel with
him.
"Or what, Boss?" Lone asked.
"No, nevermind." Tycon changed the subject, "Perhaps we should

train you in more weapon fighting styles? Weaponmaster is a
good class. And it's always good to pick up new skills."
"Yeah. I love picking up new skills. Both Tamaki and Wolfbanger

said that I picked up the survival and tracking skills really well,"
Lone smiled with pride.
Tycon halted his ascent up the steps. Sasha's face abruptly

collided with his behind.
The chocolate elf pouted, aggrieved.
Tycon poked her cheek, "I'm sorry, little one."
"What is it, Boss?" Lone asked.
Tycon cursed inwardly for having missed the details. Lone must
have had a higher affinity to the Ranger class than to Fighter.
Dual-Wielding Rangers were well known for their quick attacks
and took easily to forest environments-- it was a perfect class for
him.
Tycon punched Lone in the kidney. He twisted his side in surprise

to the sudden shock. (Tycon held an arm out so he wouldn't fall
down the stairs.) "We're going to train you to be a Ranger."
Lone rubbed his leather-armored side, "Oh, wait, like the elven
Rangers from the legends?"
"There's plenty of human rangers, as well," Tycon rolled his eyes.

"I don't have the patience to teach you any elven swordsmanship."
Elven sword techniques were trash. They were only effective in

the hands of the elves because adult Elven Rangers practiced
their arts for upwards of a hundred years.
"Oh... alright," Lone sounded disappointed.
Guild Invictus reached the second floor of the Wizard Tower,

coming upon a hallway filled with the shattered white marble. A
severed statue head peered up at Wolfrider with lifeless eyes. He
gingerly kicked it away.
The hallway was filled with pedestals, each with written plaques
on their bases, each base noticeably bereft of a statue.
White-marbled statue... corpses, for want of a better word, were

strewn about the hallway. Angels had their wings forcibly torn off
and shattered against the walls. A massive bear was missing a
hole in its center, whereabout its heart would be. More than a few
demon statues were crumbled to dust, with only the occasional
horn or hoof hinting at their previous owner.
Lone whistled, "What do you think happened here?"
The serene decor of the courtyard contained dilapidated statues

of gently posed creatures. The broken statues in the hallway were
in varied states of desperate combat or horror... with a few of them
bleeding from their eyes, mouths, and other orifices.
Tycon inspected one of the statues, assisted by his System's

analysis, "It's not blood."
"Wh-what is it, then?" Lone asked.
"Do you really want to know?" Tycon frowned.
Lone gulped... but nodded.
"It's a naturally occurring bacteria that lives in soil and water that
produces a bright, jelly-like pigment."
Lone stared blankly.
Tycon took a deep breath and sighed, "It's not blood. Just... just
trust me on that."
"I... err... alright."
...
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, walked warily down the red
carpet hallway, making sure each of the statues he passed by was
truly dead.
He was tired of animated creatures beating the hells out of him...

but at this point, nothing truly surprised him anymore.
Sir Tycon had revealed that a new training regimen was in store
for him... According to the green-haired noble, once he class-
changed to Ranger, he would be able to practice Bronze-Rank
techniques. That meant he'd be able to effectively use mana...
And that meant he could use what Yaeger taught him.
He didn't want his weakness being the reason he lost someone

else important to him.
And it was pretty nice that he was going to get paid! He had
originally signed on as a free-hire, so it's not like he was actually
expecting a salary. He might even be able to afford soap, so he
could clean his armor!
Soap was expensive, but a single bar was so strong that it would
easily last a few weeks, only using a small chunk at a time. It was
more important to him that the stink of sweat was gone, rather
than smelling clean.
Wolfbanger paused, pointing ahead of the group.
Lone's eyes opened wide, realizing he recognized the statue

ahead.
Chapter 185 Overcoming The
Past
uild Invictus walked upon a red and gold rug covering the middle
G
of a stone-floor hallway. Displayed upon the walls were paintings
of battles from past wars and a dozen empty, stone pedestals.
The statue of a familiar-looking man lay frozen on the floor ahead

of Guild Invictus. It was posed as if desperately crawling away. His
hand was reached out towards Lone, his expression crying out,
begging to be saved.
Wolfbanger whined quietly, "Why's its back look so weird?"
On the statue's back atop its shoulder blades, where the marble
would be smooth and polished, it was instead jagged as if
something was broken off.
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "It appears to have been an angel

statue..."
Nearby, a trail of crumbled and cracked parts of an angel's marble

wings were scattered onto the stone beside the rug.
Tycon continued, "And it appears someone-- likely Miss Lulu, tore

the angel's wings off, piece by piece until it ceased to move."
Even though the statue wasn't alive, Lone shuddered at the

savagery.
"Mister Lone, is something the matter? You look troubled?" Tycon

asked.
Lone grimaced. How would he explain it? It didn't make sense...

"That statue looks a lot like my old guild leader..."
Tycon nodded quietly. Lone twisted his lips. He had been relaxed
for so long in Guild Invictus that he forgot it was Boss Tycon who
murdered all the members of the Shadowdark Wolves, save for
him. That he was the only survivor was the reason he took on the
name the Lone Shadowdark.
And he also seemed to remember that Baron Tycon could turn

into a snake? Could he really do that or did he imagine it? A lot of
weird things happened that night.
Lone shrugged, "I know it's not him... But there were a lot of things
I wanted to say to him that I didn't get to."
The noble swept back his green hair, nonchalantly... "I believe I've
mentioned on several occasions that I don't particularly care about
your love-life, Mister Lone."
"What? No! That's not what I was talking about!"
"There's no need to be reserved. I don't care about your sexual

orientation, as long as it doesn't affect--"
"That's not what it was, Boss! I just... you know. Denman was
always strong and I always looked up to him."
It wasn't easy joining the Shadowdark Wolves. Denman was

probably the only decent person among them, and even then...
the humiliation he endured as a novice adventurer still weighed on
his self-esteem.
Even during his time on Saint Guinefort with the Sea Wolves, as
grueling and full of yelling and physical violence as it was... at the
end of the day, he was able to relax with the instructors. He was
able to see that they were human, too (with the exception of
Eleven of Seven-- who was still pretty easy to get along with.)
It was a privilege afforded to him by being a part of Guild Invictus.

Joining them was one of the best decisions he'd made in his life.
But as well as he was doing, he would never forget the tiresome
hells he had to endure early in his adventuring career.
Tycon held a palm up, motioning toward the statue, "In that case,
go ahead, Mister Lone."
It was a small notion, but it rekindled Lone's pride and confidence.

Boss Tycon didn't have to allow him forward-- it was slightly selfish
and mostly stupid... but Lone wanted it. He wanted a chance at
the closure he never got.
Lone nodded solemnly and grabbed the two wolf-hammers off of

his waist. The heavy dark-iron maces felt comfortable in his
hands, "I'll take a look."
The little elf girl, Sasha, tugged on Tycon's cloak and hissed
something. Lone couldn't understand it-- he really needed to
practice his animal-speech. Or snake-speech? Were they the
same thing?
Tycon nodded to her, "Mister Lone, the young lady wishes you to
be careful. As you may have surmised, the statue is animated and
may attack you."
"Tch. Go ahead. You're responsible for your own actions,"

Wolfbanger added.
Lone walked forward over the red carpet, stepping over the
crumbled marble debris. The angel statue remained relatively
undamaged, save for the wings broken off of its back.
He cleared his throat.
"Denman... I know it's not really you, but I never really got the
chance to say goodbye.
"You were uh... swallowed by the ceiling after... a Warlock cast a

spell where hands came out of it. And then it ate you... I'm uh...
really not good at explaining this.
"But thank you for taking me in. You were a piece of shite that was
not as bad as anyone else I worked with. I didn't really like you,
but I didn't want you to die without a corpse."
Lone twisted his lips, "But overall, I'm glad you're dead. And...
yeah. I think that's it."
"You suck, Lone!" Wolfbanger yelled from behind.
Tycon jabbed the wolf-boy in the side with a quick punch that
caused him to double-over in pain, "Not now, pup."
Lone sighed, "Flame on."
He lifted up his dark-iron wolf-hammer, Moon-Moon. Channeling

his mana, the weapon's ruby-colored eyes glowed and the
weapon's head lit ablaze in a solemn flame.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is... thank you. I'm doing well now. I
hope you're doing okay in the afterlife... but you probably aren't
because you're in whatever hell your spirit went to...
"So goodbye."
Lone dropped his body weight, bringing down Moon-Moon with

force. In this strike, he sought forgiveness for his weakness-- to be
freed from the chains of his past.
The statue raised its left hand to block the strike, the sound of
cracking stone reverberating through the hallway. Two of its
marble fingers fell onto the rug, broken and useless.
"What the--"
Denman sat up in a kneel and lunged forward, planting a solid

punch into Lone's abdomen and quenching his wolf-hammer's
flames.
"Mister LONE!!" Tycon yelled, "You were TOLD it was still a threat!
Take this seriously or I will have you stand down!"
"No! I can handle it!" Lone had reeled back after the blow to his
gut. He could still fight. The punch was strong but his armor
reduced the blow to maybe some bruising, "Let me fight!!"
"Then cease your babbling and do so!" the noble growled.

Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark had grown ten times stronger
than he was in the past. He needed to win. He was determined to
win.
He needed to prove to his teammates that he was worthy of being

part of Guild Invictus.
And he needed to prove it to himself.
He pointed at the statue with one of his wolf-hammers, "Death to

the ENEMIES OF INVICTUS!!"
Chapter 186 Three Wolf Moon
arza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark admired the naked

B
musculature of the marble statue, the mass, the muscle
insertions, all carved to perfection. The statue displayed peak
physical perfection... minus missing genitals. How the thing was
broken off made it look like its size was intimidating.
He was fighting down the urge to vomit. Denman's doppelganger

had delivered a good, solid blow to his stomach, right beneath the
sternum.
Lone scowled in anger. He was only hit because he was careless.
Breathing deeply and flourishing his wolf-hammers, he began to

grin with confidence, "Let me introduce you..."
Flexing his left arm, he raised his weapon proudly, "This is Moon."
Flexing his right, he flourished the hammer with a spin before

thrusting it forward, "This is Moon-Moon."
The statue appeared unimpressed.
...Of course, it wouldn't be impressed. It was a statue.
Lone felt a blush creep onto his face. He remained standing in his
heroic position, hoping no one would notice.
In the silence, Wolfbanger's muttering was easy to hear, "Your

naming senses are f*cking stupid."
Lone felt a vein on his forehead twitch. He had spent several suns
thinking long and hard about those names. He was really proud of
them!
Wolves howl at the moon! That's their thing. And his name was
Shadowdark-- as in the Lone Shadowdark Wolf. It was a really
cool title. Wolfbanger was just too stupid to realize his genius.
The statue kept its blank eyes directed at Lone while it walked
over and retrieved a stone sword from among the debris.
Lone swung his arms to stretch his back and scoffed, "I guess I
have to fight it."
"Of course you have to fight it! This was your idea!" Wolfbanger
cried.
"I mean-- it's the same as I can't avoid it," Lone retorted, slightly
aggrieved.
Wolfbanger narrowed his eyes, "Yeah, DUH!!"
"Mister Lone, I advise you to remain on your guard." Tycon

warned, "A stone blade without an edge is still a weapon."
"Don't worry, Boss. I still have a trump card I can use." Lone
twisted his lips. Whether the enemy was armed or not, he was still
more than confident.
Lone dashed forward, hoping for the best. Dropping low, he

smashed upward, hoping the statue would guard. He'd be able to
take advantage of the unbalancing.
The statue rotated its body, and the first hammer-strike glanced off
of its stone exterior ineffectively. As the second hammer-strike
came, the statue accurately struck Lone's wrist, forcing him to
release his grip on his weapon.
Aww, butt. Was his wrist fractured?
The Denman statue suddenly glowed with a blurry, colorless

mana. Air swirled around its sword like a miniature tornado.
Lone narrowed his eyes, "What the--"
That didn't look good. That didn't look good at all.

"Mister LONE!" Tycon snarled, "Don't just stand there!"
Lone swung his remaining wolf-hammer, cracking the Denman's

statue in the side of the head. He kicked the statue backward and
leapt forward, bringing down his hammer again onto Denman's
likeness.
The statue swayed its head to the side at the force upon its
cheek... then slowly turned back, revealing half of its face, cracked
and crumbling. The statue responded by swinging its blade wide...
Lone was ready for it, "Shadowdark Sect: Movement Technique!!"
Leaning backward to dodge the sword, Lone let his body fall to the
ground. He swiped his mace at the statue's legs, knocking it off
his feet and onto its side. He ignored the straining muscles on his
side as he hammered down against the statue's chest.
...
Tycondrius grimaced at the situation.
He did not at all understand why Lone threw himself onto the floor.
Then he shouted that it was a sect technique. Who was he trying
to convince? ...Also, Tycon was fairly certain that Lone fabricated
the sect he cited.
What in the seven hells and eleven heavens did the young man
think he was doing?
Annoyed, Tycon observed Lone's actions... He proved surprisingly

effective with his back on the ground.
Tycon eyed the frayed rope belt around the young man's waist-- it
was the item he had claimed after the Saltspray Keep raid.
« System... identify: Lone's magical belt. »
[Rope of Slave Fighting. Third-Circle Magical Belt. User's reflexes

are improved when unbalanced or prone.]
The corner of Tycon's mouth twitched. It was a defensive item,
with an incredibly rare conditional... and Lone was most certainly
using it incorrectly.
What kind of combatant throws themselves onto the ground in a

fight? This wasn't a wrestling match-- this was a fight where a
wind-magic enchanted sword had the reach and lethality to
eviscerate the young man.
From what Tycon saw, Lone was no better on the ground than he
was at standing. The belt was enchanted to reduce a
disadvantage-- not to create a new... awkward and idiotic fighting
style.
He was going to kill him if the angel statue didn't do it for him.
...
The Lone Shadowdark rolled backward, getting to his feet.

Adrenaline coursed through his veins and he felt the silvery surge
of his mana pooling in his core.
There it was. It was back. Throughout exploring the Magic Tower,

he had felt Yaeger's presence... hinting at the strength he could
unlock that was rightly his.
He held his weapon to the ceiling, ignoring the pain in his

stomach, ignoring his throbbing left wrist, "Moon-Moon... Howl for
me."
The angered eyes of his wolf-hammer, Moon-Moon glowed red

before it exploded powerfully, lighting in a roiling flame. Lone felt
the mana surge from his body into his weapon... as the weapon
transformed...
As if it had a mind of its own, Moon-moon leapt out his hand and
onto the floor. The second hammer, Moon, shot towards it and
they melded together... and in a burst of flames and a metallic,
echoing howl of a wolf, the weapon was reborn...
Where once was a hammer, remaining was a flaming, polished
metallic black, two-tailed wolf. Its fur consisted of sharp metal
spines and its teeth were thick razor blades, capable of crunching
through stone. Its feet clanked heavily upon the rug as it stepped
forward in front of Lone, growling at the Denman statue in his
defense.
Lone smirked, "Let's do this together... Moon-Moon-Moon."

Chapter 187 Nerves Of Steel
Tycon raised an eyebrow in amusement.
The young man did indeed have a terrible naming sense.
However, something had happened that Tycon was hoping for.
Lone used a Skill. It didn't seem like a Skill developed on his own,
but one unlocked by virtue of his enchanted weapons. Still, it was
an impressive feat.
The concentrated ambient mana pervading the Magic Tower was

effective in nurturing magical Classes. For martial Classes like
Lone and Tycon, himself, the atmosphere was less effective, but
still granted a substantial increase in sensory and mana
perception.
« System, inquiry: Status of the Lone Shadowdark »
[Lone Shadowdark, Bronze-Rank Human Warrior]
Hm. The young man hadn't broken through just yet.
But at the very least, his breakthrough was close. His desperate
fight against the Bronze-Rank statue was pushing him to his
limits.
The battle was important to Lone's growth and development. As

annoyed as Tycon was about the debacle, he would not move to
help unless asked.
The risk of a Low-Tier Class being killed was worth the battle
experience he would gain... And while the probability was low, it
was not impossible for Lone to break through during the fight and
gain a Mid or High-Tier Class.
"Stars and stones! What are you waiting for, man?" Tycon
shouted, "Finish the fight!"
...
Lone ran forward, Moon-Moon-Moon charging ahead. The wolf

jumped up, biting and clawing, its teeth clamping down hard into
the stone of the statue's arm.
Right behind his dark-iron wolf, he grabbed onto its twin tails. The
creature dissipated in a resounding howl and a burst of metal
shards, leaving Lone again wielding his dark-iron hammers.
Lone stepped back into a combat stance, "Wolf Fang Fist-

Hammer!!"
Pushing through the excruciating pain in his left wrist, Lone

launched attack after attack. He bashed the statue's chest. He
cracked its already-chipped head. He smashed both hammers
down hard onto the statue's shoulders.
Trying to regain its combat advantage, the statue lifted up its

sword. Lone struck the sword, sending it hurtling towards a wall,
shattering upon the collision.
Yes! One more strike! One more strike and everything would be
over!
Lone headbutted the statue.
Besides giving him a splitting headache, the attack was ineffective

against Denman.
Shite. He should have thought that one through.
"Bahahahaha!! Boss! BOSS! Did you see that?" Wolfbanger

cackled in the background.
"I did... Indeed, I did," Tycon admitted.
Lone visualized Tycon grimacing and shaking his head.

He had seen it more times than he cared to admit.
The statue grabbed Lone's head and jumped forward, slamming

him against the tower wall. Lone felt his consciousness shake,
threatening to fade away. He grit his teeth, unwilling to give in.
While pressing the side of his head against a wall, the statue
launched a full-powered punch at Lone's elbow, breaking it.
"GGGGghhhh--- GRAHHHHHHHHHGHHH!!" Lone screamed.

The statue began to tug at his arm, immediately dislocating his
shoulder and threatening to rip his useless appendage from his
body.
"Mister LONE!!" Tycon called, "Do you require assistance? I'd

rather prefer you *not* be killed."
"NOOOOO!" Lone screamed, "STAY WHERE YOU ARE!!"
"Boss, he's gonna die," Wolfbanger complained.
"Tsss." Tycon scoffed, "Not necessarily. Steel courses through that

young man's blood."
This was nothing! He had endured far worse as a member of

Invictus.
He was Barza Keith.
He was the Lone Shadowdark.
And he was immortal.
Lone began striking the statue's arm with his weapon, trying
desperately to weaken the hold. The statue grabbed his head and
once more rattled his skull against the wall. Lone could barely
think-- his head ached horribly and he was dazed and nauseous.
Using the statue's grip to keep him steady, he placed both boots
against the statue's chest. Pushing with a desperate burst of
strength, he finally broke free from the statue's grip, collapsing in a
heap against the bloodstained wall.
Blood poured down his face. His right eye was swollen shut. The
world around him shook from his dizziness. Pain surged through
his body from his broken arm, simultaneously numb and hurting
like hells at the same time.
He leaned over and vomited.
There. Felt a little better.
But only a little.
Supporting himself on the wall and careful not to jostle his broken
arm, he got to his feet and picked up one of his hammers, Moon-
Moon.
Denman stood in a combat stance, ready.
Lone needed to end the fight before anyone intervened!
With a bloodcurdling screech, he charged forward.
Eh. What's a good attack name? ...Ah. Thought of one.
Lone jumped forward through the air in a reckless attack.
"FULL-POWERED LEAPING MOON ATTACK!!"
A shock abruptly stopped Lone's barrage and he spat out blood.

Though reluctant, he opened his eyes to look down. The statue
had enchanted its right hand with wind magic... and the pointed
hand was thrust into his abdomen, tearing through his chest
armor.
It was far heavier of a wound than Lone was expecting to take.
The statue could enchant its hand with wind magic.
That was absolutely not something Lone thought it could do.
...It did make a lot of sense, though-- if the Denman statue could
enchant a stone sword, it could enchant its stone hand.
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark grinned, dark blood streaming
down his mouth.
At least his plan had worked.
"I've always wanted to say this..."
The statue's right hand was caught. Lone outstretched his right,
strongly gripping the handle of Moon-Moon, "Fuck you, Denman."
He swung his wolf-hammer at the statue's head. It blocked with its

arm.
He swung again. Its arm cracked deeply, falling to the floor and
breaking.
He swung a third time. Lone's wolf-hammer collided with the

statue's half-broken head, shattering it into white dust and an
explosion of stone shards.
The statue collapsed backward, its entire body ruined and in

pieces. A white cloud of powder drifted over him, stinging his
eyes.
The Lone Shadowdark fell to his knees, placing his forehead onto
the debris-ridden floor.
"...And thank you."

Chapter 188 Maedar
A single tear fell down the Lone Shadowdark's cheek.
He was glad that the white cloud of dust grew thick enough to hide
it.
It was a hard-fought battle and he earned a hole in his stomach

for his efforts... But he finished the fight... and without any help,
even from Tycon's support Skills.
Blood and sweat matted his dark hair to his forehead.
Lone moved to wipe his face.
Eh?
His wolf-hammer dropped to the floor.
Seven hells.
Was he losing consciousness?
He dropped his weapon. It was the worst thing that could happen.
Every time he or Pale dropped their weapons during training,
Boss Tycon would scream and beat them.
Boss Tycon haaaaaaated it when he dropped his weapon.
Every time he would almost drop it, he'd grip his weapon tighter.
He was trained that even when he would lose consciousness he
wouldn't let go... so why?
His entire body felt stiff... numb. But he was still aware of what
was going on. He couldn't even feel the wound in his stomach
anymore.
What was going--
...
Wolfrider held his halberd at the ready, "What's with that cloud? Is
it another enemy?"
Tycondrius grimaced as he observed the white mana-fog. Judging

by the number of stone statues, he had an inkling of the cloud's
effects.
« System, analysis: The magical cloud enveloping Lone. »
[Petrifying Cloud. Third-Circle Transmutation. The target and all its

carried gear is transmuted into an inert statue.]
Tycon took in a deep breath and sighed. Importing so much

marble-stone and crafting so many statues was an expensive
ordeal. He had feared that the Wizard, instead, had access to a
Flesh to Stone Spell. It was reasonable that from there, the
Wizard had cast a different spell to animate the statues, keeping
them as loyal, mindless slaves.
The statue's destruction activated a defensive measure-- an

intelligent Wizard design. A weakened combatant was more
susceptible to being affected by a sudden spell attack. And even if
the combatant wasn't injured, repeated petrifying clouds would
give adventurers of any Rank pause.
The cloud dissipated, revealing a majestic marble-statue of the

injured Lone.
"By the gods!" Wolfrider yelped, "This guy was sooooo stupid!
That's what he gets for trusting that pink-haired girl!"
Tycon raised an eyebrow... Lone's condition had nothing to do

with trusting the maidservant. It seemed Wolfrider had a penchant
for placing the blame on circumstances he didn't like, regardless
of the logic.
"...Right. I'll restore his condition, then," Tycon sighed again,
relaxing his shoulders, as he walked toward Lone.
Being turned to stone was a death sentence for an adventurer. It

was practically impossible to cure the condition anywhere outside
the Free Nation, where a male medusa could be sought out.
Female medusa had a petrifying gaze, while the rare males had a
de-petrification breath. Tycon imagined that several thousand
years ago, females were responsible for hunting creatures, where
the males would take care of the clutch and de-petrify stored food.
He much preferred the existence of... keeping livestock and...

restaurants in urban areas. The creation of ice and boxes
enchanted with cold magic were also a modern amenity that kept
food far more fresh than stone and not-stone.
Tycon observed Lone's damages: swollen left wrist, limply

hanging left arm, a hole in his stomach and ruined armor.
At the very least, the young man reached his small breakthrough.
That was worth the trouble... though Tycon would have preferred it
if Lone had taken less damage. Lone's combat power would be
lower for the remainder of the tower-- and for a few suns or weeks
depending on how long his arm took to heal with magical
assistance.
Tycon focused his mana, concentrating on the natural feeling of

energy pooling in his core. The mana expenditure of his Flesh to
Stone ability was less than that of his Iron Dragon Rend Skill. The
ambient mana in the Wizard Tower further alleviated the cost-- but
it was still uncomfortable to utilize so much at once.
He placed a hand on the kneeling Lone's shoulder and gently

breathed upon his white-marble skin. Lone's flesh began to regain
its color, slowly spreading from his cheek, down his neck, and to
the rest of his body.
Not enough. Tycon groaned inwardly. He took another deep

breath and blew...
Once his body and clothing had regained their color, Lone
shuddered. Flecks of white dust fell from his clothes, dissipating
into mana and reabsorbed and recirculated by the Tower.
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, blinked and rubbed his eyes.
Both of his hands immediately gripped onto his again-bleeding
stomach injury as he winced in pain.
"Ugh... Ow... Why-- why are you blowing into my ear?"
Lone looked to his left, where Levi Wolfrider was blowing.
Tycon furrowed his brows. He did not know why Wolfrider was
blowing into Lone's ear.
...Did Wolfrider also have a Stone to Flesh ability?
And Lone was already cured of his petrification status. Why was
the weretouched boy still blowing?
After noticing everyone's stares, Wolfrider crossed his arms and

turned away in a huff, "Sh-shut up, we saved you."
Tycon's mouth twitched, "Right... it was a joint effort, I suppose."
...
Tycondrius cast Inspirational Surge on the Lone Shadowdark,

closing his stomach wound. Sasha asked for the blessings of the
snake god in order to further heal Lone-- notably his broken arm.
Divine Healing magic was far more effective for treating injuries
than Tycondrius' accelerated healing Skill. However, being a low-
level caster and still wholly unused to controlling her mana, Sasha
grew sleepy. It was a sign of mana exhaustion-- a light level of it
that wasn't greatly debilitating. If it wasn't for the Magic Tower's
ambient mana, she would have likely laid down to take a nap.
Unlike when Dragan broke his arm in Merylsward, Lone could

operate his recently fractured arm without pain or worry... Still,
Tycon advised him against using his left for strenuous operations
for the next several suns.
Wolfbanger tried to wrap an impromptu sling around Lone.
The white-furred weretouched boy's bandage-wrapping skills were

horrendous.
Tycon ordered Lone to go without the sling.
"Come now, Invictus." Tycon gathered Sasha, Lone, and

Wolfrider, "Let us search the rooms for 'clues' and ascend to the
next floor. We should be able to at least meet with Lulu soon."
Lone sighed, "I hope we don't find any more mimics."

Chapter 189 Beyond His
Patience
here was nothing of interest in the remaining rooms on the

T
second floor that Wolfrider could pilfer. The hallway paintings,
furniture, and stone carvings were too unwieldy for the
weretouched boy to carry on his own.
He did try.
Tycondrius and his companions came across a large planning

room. At its center was a long table, flanked by several high-
backed chairs. Military weapons and maps were kept in good
condition and displayed prominently on the walls. A well-stocked
bookshelf contained classic writings on military doctrine-- most of
which Tycon was already familiar with.
Guild Invictus searched the room.
The books flew off the shelves to attack them. Invictus was
victorious, but the books were irrevocably ruined-- stabbed,
slashed, and burnt.
A coat-rack and a few animated brooms attacked them. Invictus

was also victorious. Lone savagely beat the coatrack as if the
mere sight of it caused his blood to boil.
The planning-table grabbed a sword and shield off of the wall.
While unexpected, Tycon managed to flank it and cleave it in half

with the Shatterspike.
Unfortunately, he was unable to do so before the 8-fulm length

table embarrassed both Lone and Wolfrider with its advanced
combat prowess.
After the planning room debacle and a short rest, Invictus climbed
the staircase to reach the 3rd floor.
Wolfrider paused, his ears perking up, "Oh. I think I hear Lulu."
Just as quickly, the boy's ears drooped and he turned to hide his
face. Was... he blushing?
Tycon paid little mind to it. He'd find out the reason, shortly...
Ascending to the top of the staircase and entering the door, Guild
Invictus was greeted by the maid girl, Margeaux, whose face was
in a blush suspiciously similar to Wolfrider's.
Ever the charismatic hero, Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark

was first to approach her.
Tycon raised a hand up to stop him, but Lone had acted too
quickly.
The swelling on Lone's face had gone down and the cut above his
eyes had mended. However, he hadn't washed off the blood on
his face and clothing. The bruising on his face granted him a
gruesome, yellowing pallor. The tell-tale hole in his armor revealed
the raw, freshly mended skin underneath.
Heedless of his lackluster appearance, Lone grabbed the girl's

hand and gazed into her vapid eyes, "What's wrong, Margeaux?"
As if to answer her question, Lulu, Guild Invictus' token whore

pranced into the hallway from around the corner. She presented a
phallic stone object to the pink-haired maid, "I'm done! Here ya
go! I know you were watching meeeeeee~"
Tycon observed the familiar object from a few yalms away. He

was wondering why the angel statue Lone was fighting was
devoid of genitalia. The answer was revealed in Lulu's hands.
Used.
Margeaux stood stupefied, gawking at Lulu's brazen offering.

Tycon gently guided Sasha behind him in order to block her view.
As curious as the chocolate elf was, she didn't fuss, likely because
she was still shy around Margeaux.
Without skipping a beat, Lulu offered the stone 'device' to

Wolfrider, "How about you? Want it? I can wash it off?
Unlesssssss~ you prefer it like this~?"
"N-no thank you, Miss Lulu," Wolfrider was surprisingly obedient

to the demoness.
That was good. As playful as she was, Lulu had a keen intellect
and sharp wit. She did not seem to be the type to broke outward
disrespect.
Unlike Lone, Lulu's cloth robes hadn't gained an inkling of blood or

debris. Resting her folded parasol on her shoulder, she swayed
from side to side as if she was bored.
Tycon saluted the demoness with his hand to his heart, "Report, if
you would."
"Mmmm... Alr~ight. I will if you say pleeeease!~"
Tycon blinked. It was a peculiar request, but easy enough to

satisfy, "Very well... Report, Miss Lulu, if you please."
Excitedly, Lulu pulled out a dark, desiccated, leather-skin about

the size of a kite shield, "Tadaaaaa~!"
Tycon took it and grimaced, "Necromancy, then?"
« System, analysis: Blackened skin. »
[Lingering aura of Third-Circle Necromancy.]
Peculiar. A Third-Circle Necromancy spell's aura only lasted

minutes after it--
Tycon tossed the skin against the wall and carved it into pieces
with his cutlass.
Lulu cackled, "Hahahahaha! Yeah... Sorry, Boss, I couldn't resist!!"
She smirked and rubbed her shoulder onto Tycon.
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Indeed. I was nearly fooled."
A thin crease appeared between Lone's eyebrows, "Boss? What's

wrong?
Tycon's mouth twitched, "The skin was a portion of a still-living...

no, a still magically active undead creature."
« System, inquiry: What creature did that skin belong to? »
[System response: Gold-Rank Bound Flayed Beast.]
A deep grimace set into Tycon's face. Flayed Beasts were highly-
ranked creatures utilized as war weapons by the Sleeping
Country. Such a ritual required a dozen necromancers and the
torture of captured dire-beasts. The brutal practice had fallen into
disfavor epochs ago when Witch-Queen Arenfjord assumed the
throne.
It was a Bound Creature, though... meaning it was weaker than if

it occurred naturally. Guild Invictus would stand an excellent
chance against it.
Tycondrius had finally gained a clue to the Magic Tower's owner. It

was very likely he or she was from Nemaya Strana. The magic
involved in the creation of a Flayed Beast and binding it to a
summoner was the result of epochs of advanced necromancy
research... advancements unique to the Sleeping Country.
Shutting his eyes to concentrate, Tycon had the System retrieve

all of its information concerning the creature.
"What's the issue, Boss? Isn't it just some undead?" Lone asked,
"I've fought undead before with my old adventuring company--
skeletons are pretty easy to take out."
"They're not just ANY skeletons, dummy," Wolfrider reprimanded...

"Uh, right, Boss?"
Though Tycon's eyes were still closed, he felt his right eye twitch
in annoyance. Couldn't they see he was trying to think?
"It's called a Flayed Beast... a large, quadrupedal creature. Emits

a cloud of poison. Claws secrete poison. Skin is magic-resistant.
Worse still, the beast is faster than a living animal of the same
size."
"The poison is painful but not debilitating..." Tycon opened his

eyes, "The fight is manageable, as long as we can defeat the
creature quickly enough."
Lone grasped Margeaux's hand and nodded confidently, "I'll fight

it."
Good. That was expected.
Wolfrider twisted his lips, but still nodded, "Yeah, alright. I sure
wish I still had my greathammer, though."
Tycon felt his opposite eyebrow twitch.
"The halberd is... a superior weapon. With the hafted weapon's

range, you will be able to largely avoid the area of effect of the
creature's inevitable poison cloud."
Wolfrider frowned, "I didn't ask for it, though!"
Tycon's body trembled with anger. He had given the boy his own
halberd out of the thrice-damned goodness of his black heart.
The weretouched boy didn't seem to notice.
Lone and Margeaux took on looks of worry and Lulu covered her
mouth to stifle a laugh.
Tycon turned away and quietly took a deep breath, struggling to

keep calm.
The weretouched boy was beyond his patience.

It was at that moment that Tycon decided... Levi Wolfrider was an
acceptable casualty.
Chapter 190 Aberration
ycondrius approached Invictus' chocolate elf, Sasha, fully intent

T
on using her body to rid himself of his frustration.
With a merciless hand, Tycon mussed Sasha's vividly white hair,

making certain to keep her naturally formed hair-clump upright
and majestic. Only after several seconds charging Sasha's hair
with frizzy static was Tycon able to calm his nerves.
Hm... The young lady needed a bath.
Sasha pouted her lips, but as usual, she did not move to stop him.
Once Tycon was satisfied, he smiled and gently poked the tip of
the young elf's nose.
"(Wouldst thou assist us in battle, Beautiful Child?)" Tycon asked

in Parseltongue.
Sasha averted her gaze, staring at the ground and mumbling. The
sprout on her hair bobbed when she did.
Curious, Tycon moved his face closer to the young girl. Sasha
was taller than both Pale and Taree, so he didn't feel as ridiculous
leaning closer to hear.
"(Sasarame fears the aberration)," she softly hissed.
"Be not afraid." Tycon stood back up and chuckled, "They have
not the strength to take thee away from my protection."
Sasha looked up, her pout turning into a subtle smile. It appeared
that Tycon's encouragement reached her well.
It was highly unlikely that an undead creature of base intelligence
would attack her. The creature would seek out threats... and
Tycon was not planning to have Sasha participate in direct
combat. He would have her utilize her Sanctuary spell, preventing
her from being attacked... and perhaps she could pray to the
snake god for a blessing.
Whatever prayers she used, the prayers increased Guild Invictus'

speed and sensory perception. Even with the Magic Tower's
ambient mana, every advantage was useful in a life-or-death
situation.
While Sasha utilized solid, First-Circle spells, she wasn't at all

conditioned for combat. She flinched at loud noises and had no
martial weapons training. Compared to Lone, even though Sasha
was a Bronze-Ranker and had a higher-tier Class, the Lone
Shadowdark's training made him the superior combatant.
And as far as the aberration...
"Miss Margeaux, are you skilled in combat?" Tycon asked bluntly.
The pink-haired girl stood up and moved away from Lone, her
cheeks flushed crimson, "Oh! I'm sorry, what was that, Sir?"
[Margeaux, Bronze-Rank Aberrant-blood Expert]
Tycon expected almost nothing from the girl. If Guild Invictus

hadn't found her, they would not have gone out of their way to
search for her. Her class, Expert, was of the same tier as Warrior,
but was far more useless to him, as it wasn't a Combat Class.
It was likely she was good at something... maybe cooking or

cleaning or studying. Her build and demeanor suggested that it
was something useless. Flower-picking, perhaps?
Thus far, Sasha had made fast friends with Rico, Eilean, and Lulu-
- all women with forward and welcoming personalities. Margeaux's
personality leaned towards the timid side... Tycon doubted they
would get to know each other.
It was just as well. Tycon had no use for a timid Bronze-Ranker--
with Seldin Korr as a somewhat-exception. Korr was an
exceptional combatant, a veteran mercenary, and had the high-
tier Berserk Knight Class. She was an Iron-Rank whose attacks
consistently broke apart steel weapons.
Margeaux was...
"What are you good at, anyroad, Miss Margeaux?" Tycon

narrowed his eyes.
He was still in a poor mood.
The maid averted her gaze and tapped the points of her fingers
together, "...I'm good at animal husbandry."
"Nice, me too," Lulu interjected, placing herself between Tycon

and the shy maid. "Wanna bang?"
Tycon firmly grabbed the demoness' ear and pulled her to the
side.
"Ohhhh~! Harder, Boss!!" Lulu moaned.
Tycon glared, incredulous, "How... how could you sexualize me

pulling your ear?"
"'Cuz I'm me! Teehee!" She pursed her lips and winked.
Tycon sighed... but lifted the corners of his mouth when faced with
the demoness. He vaguely felt that Lulu was trying to cheer him
up with her antics... If anything, Tycon couldn't treat the woman's
promiscuity with any sense of seriousness.
"Oh! Right!" Lulu gasped, "I almost forgot!"
"Wh-what is it?" Lone asked warily.
...Lone's earlier confidence appeared to have transformed

completely into worry and panic. Tycon sighed inwardly in
disappointment.
Lulu stuck out her tongue and tapped her knuckles against the top
of her head, "There's not just one Flayed Beast, there's two of
them!"
...
Tycon spent extra preparations on the fight. He had loosed the

binding on his razor whip, to make it easier to draw. Since the
enemy couldn't be killed in one strike, he opted to use the
Shatterspike instead of his faster, lighter cutlass.
He took off his pistol bandoliers and gave them to Lone.
"Lulu will engage her target first. Wolfrider, you will move to
intercept the other target," Tycon ordered.
Wolfrider opened his mouth, "But Boss--"
Tycon swiped his hand to stop him, "If you cannot do at least that,
we will all die. We are counting on you, young man. If you do not
feel you are capable, tell me now."
Levi Wolfrider stared, his mouth still agape, stunned by Tycon's

forcefulness.
Tycon waited patiently for an answer.
Reluctantly, the boy nodded, "N-no... I can do it."
"Good. To you, I entrust the safety of Lone, Sasha, and myself."
Wolfrider fidgeted uncomfortably, "G-got it, Boss... but what if I--"
Tycon turned away. He didn't care for Wolfrider's complaints,

"Lulu, if you need assistance with your target, let me know."
"Uhuhuhugh," Lulu laughed, deep and creepily. "Awww~! You care

about me, Boss!"
"Of course, I care." Tycon nodded, "You are a valuable member of

my Guild Invictus."
The demoness smiled radiantly-- an odd smile, in that Tycon didn't
sense any strange sexual innuendos behind it.
"Lone. Sasha."
Lone held two pistols up in the air, his fingers off the triggers,
"Ready, Boss."
Sasha nodded shyly, her fingers interlaced.
Tycondrius kicked in the double doors, "GO!!"
Lulu ran past his right, her umbrella ready. Wolfrider passed his
left, running with his halberd pointed forward.
Quickly, Tycon identified the Flayed Beast Wolfrider was fast

approaching. It seemed the creature was caught off guard by
Invictus' abrupt entrance.
Tycon pointed to it, mana sheathing his gloved hand, "Death to

the enemies of Invictus!!"
Chapter 191 Force-Activation
[Wizard Tower: Floor 3, Necromancy Lab]
Tycondrius smashed the thick double-doors open with a mana-

charged front kick. The large room inside held half-dozen
cupboards keeping chemicals and catalysts, along with tables and
desks for study and research. Anatomy charts of various
creatures covered the walls, with a great deal of them being of
humans.
Metal cages were displayed prominently in seemingly random

parts of the lab, many with skeletal inhabitants or severed body
parts in various stages of decay. Human-sized cages hung from
the ceiling, 4 troll-sized cages were at the room's center, and
others more of varying sizes were strewn about the room.
Lulu was first to dash forward, rushing toward a Flayed Beast on

the right half of the room.
"Six-Sealed-Point array, Boss!!" She yelled.
Tycon narrowed his eyes. Of course, it was.
Wolfrider had gone off to engage the second Flayed Beast,

engaging it near some of the heavy-wooded laboratory
workbenches. The Flayed Beast was a blackened skeleton, nearly
as large as Lang Hai in his Sea Wolf form, and towering nearly
twice Wolfrider's height. It appeared to wear a loosely fitting,
rotting blanket, draped from its form.
In its attempt to eviscerate Wolfrider, its front claws easily tore into
a 4-ilm thick table. The journals and glass instruments upon it
crashed into the walls and floor.
Wolfrider stared at the creature then back at Tycon as if he hadn't
understood what he was volunteered for.
Lone walked forward, his pistols pointed to the ceiling, pointed

forward at the beast.
Tycon held out his arm to stop him, "Not yet."
"But, Boss, Wolfbanger is--"
Tycon twisted his face into a furious snarl, pointing angrily at Lone
with his free hand, "You will gods-damned HOLD when I TELL
YOU TO!!"
Lone immediately straightened his back, a response that had

been drilled into him from training.
"Tss..." Tycon scoffed. He was more irritable than he thought he

was. However, he had done nothing he felt the need to apologize
for, "Wait for Wolfrider to establish himself as a threat. You are in
no condition to take unnecessary damage."
Lone nodded sharply, "Tell me when, Boss."
Tycon groaned inwardly. Of course, he would. Lone was a

weapon-- a honed and deadly one, "Get into a clear shooting
position."
"Understood, Boss," Lone saluted with his right pistol touching his
shoulder.
Nodding, Tycon turned to Sasha and hissed orders to her.
"(Beautiful Child, I request thy Protection Spell. Following that,

protect thyself with a Sanctuary Barrier and sing thy praises to the
snake god.)"
"(Thy wish is Sasarame's will, Ivory Prince.)"
A thin green film of divine energy briefly washed over Tycon's

body, causing his hair to rise and flow. Sasha's protective spell
was an additional layer of armor the Flayed Beast would have to
breach to injure him.
Without another word, Tycon dashed forward, mana flowing freely

through his core and through his legs.
« System, identify: The weakened corners of the array in the

room. »
[Understood.]
The System revealed to him transparent blue glows that only

Tycon could see. Just as Lulu said, there were six points. Tycon
immediately identified the multi-point array's layered points,
formed by arcane markings on the cages throughout the room.
The Tower Wizard was a genius. Had Lulu not immediately

identified the array, Invictus would have fallen prone to an
Enervation effect, inflicting them with mana exhaustion and
weakness... and in Lone's case, instant death.
Tycon cut apart a metal cage with the Shatterspike, noting the
magical array painted on the underside of its thick metal ceiling,
"Lulu! How many do you need me to break!?"
"Juuuuust one, Bosssss!!" The demoness yelled.
Underneath Lulu's Flayed Beast, a geyser of chilling frost erupted

from the floor and broke apart the tiles. Lulu stabbed out with her
paper umbrella, accurately striking the center of the creature's
skull-forehead. The air cracked as an obscene amount of mana
was concentrated into the strike. The lithe woman and her
mundane umbrella sent the giant, half-tonze skeleton flying across
the hallway...
...And into another of Lulu's frost geysers.
The Flayed Beast roared in anger and annoyance, struggling to its

feet. The frost spells didn't seem to affect it initially, but after 2, it
was beginning to slow.
Lulu pirouetted with her umbrella pointed at the ceiling. The curls
of her short blonde hair bobbed as she balanced on one leg. Over
a dozen alternating fire and frost spheres formed behind her.
...Tycon decided that Lulu would be fine.
He refocused his attention to Wolfrider.
The weretouched boy held up his halberd to block a downward

slam from a Flayed Beast claw. His knees buckled, trying to hold
up the weight, "B-boss! Help me!"
Tycon slowed his pace to a walk, keeping his longsword ready. He

kept his voice at a conversational level. He didn't feel like yelling
over the din of combat, "Mister Levi, you will not win being
defensive. Attack the creature."
"WHAT? Boss, I can't attack, I--"
The Flayed Beast stepped to the side and slammed its shoulder
hard into Wolfrider, toppling him backward. Quickly, the boy got to
his feet and began yelling, "Boss, are you STUPID?! WHAT DO--"
Quietly and patiently, Tycon stared at the boy. Soon, Wolfrider

grew quiet. The boy was injured, confused, and in a state of
disbelief.
Lifting his hand, Tycon pointed at the charging Flayed Beast, "I
told you to attack."
« System, activate Commander's Strike. Target: Levi Wolfrider. »
[Activating... Commander's Strike failed.]
« System, force activation. »
[Warning. Forcing activation of a Support Skill on an unwilling

target will heavily drain the user's mana and may cause
unnecessary strain to the target's--]
« --Confirm force activation. »

[Understood. Activating...]
"Mister Levi..." Tycon spoke quietly, but he knew Levi's ears were
attentive to his every word, "I am not asking you. You will do as I
say."
Almost immediately, Tycon saw the rush of foreign mana enter

Wolfrider's body. He thrust his body forward, curving his spine and
baring his teeth. He turned toward the Flayed Beast and thrust his
halberd into the leaping creature's maw. Taking his right fist off of
the haft, he bent his body low, then shifted his weight upward,
uppercutting the beast where its throat would be.
"Good," Tycon nodded. "Now do so, again."

Chapter 192 Iron Sights
[Fifteen minutes prior.]
"Boss, wouldn't I do better using Moon-Moon-Moon against the

enemies?"
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark examined the pistols Tycon

had armed him with. He understood how they worked. Pressing
the trigger released the hammer, igniting the Orkish sugar in the
barrel. The explosion would send a metal bullet tearing into an
enemy at a speed that a Gold-Rank would struggle to follow. The
resulting injury was incredibly destructive, far greater than that of
a crossbow quarrel.
Though Lone was good with a bow, he hadn't used pistols before.
The handsome green-haired noble curled the side of his lip in an

arrogant smirk, "A Ranger is trained in all martial weapons. I have
faith in you, Mister Lone."
Tycon leaned forward to whisper into his ear, "But if you shoot me
with that, I'll stab you in both eyes and leave you for dead on the
side of the road."
An icy chill ran down Lone's spine.
Boss' threat was far worse than his usual ones...
Lone couldn't recall a single time that Baron Tycon had broken a
promise.
Tycon stepped back and smiled-- but his eyes weren't smiling, "Do
you understand me, Mister Lone?"
"I-- I do, Boss!" Lone yelped.

"After the initial volley, your assistance will be crucial."
Lone grimaced, "What do you mean, Boss? But I'm the... weakest
guy here? Err... not including Sasha, anyroad."
The nobleman rolled his golden eyes, "Stars and stones, Barza
Keith, don't you get tired of doubting yourself? I'm not asking for
your opinion, I'm telling you the plan."
Lone holstered his two pistols, averting his gaze, "A-alright, Boss.
What do you need me to do?"
[Present time.]
Lone held his pistols pointed upward as he rushed to get into

position.
Wolfrider was holding on well against the left target with Tycon
approaching from his side.
Lone kicked over a table to use as cover and hid behind it, resting
his outstretched arms and aimed pistols upon it to keep his aim
steady. He aimed at the beast's side, well away from its front
where Wolfrider fought with Boss Tycon's halberd.
He didn't need to check beside him, but he knew Sasha was

there. As shy as the dark elf was around him, she seemed not to
mind him as much if he didn't look directly at her. Sasha politely
hiss-chanted her prayers to the snake god, having the weird effect
of calming Lone's nerves.
He felt as if he were a hunter, slowly coiling around his prey. Once

his prey was crushed, its hopes extinguished, and its spine
broken, it would be the greatest feeling in the world.
He glanced over to where Lulu was. Lone knew she was strong...
but she was still a little blonde girl, devoid of muscle. She had an
Arcane class? It was hard to tell if she was actually strong or not...
If she got into trouble, Lone would rush over and help her out.
Margeaux was watching from the entrance. It would be great if he
looked heroic in front of her.
Seven hells, the Flayed Beasts moved fast... pouncing faster than
any wolf or bird Lone had ever seen. But at least Lulu would have
a mana ward or--
Lone choked on his own saliva seeing her launch the Flayed
Beast back with a poke of her parasol.
He examined the parasol before, while Lulu was off sexually

assaulting statues in the courtyard. It wasn't made out of special
materials, at all. It felt that the tiniest amount of force could tear a
hole through the paper.
Geysers of elemental magic burst from the floor. Spheres of

magical frost and fire were summoned through a dozen magic
circles. Cackling like a madwoman, Lulu placed her hand onto an
already-drawn magic circle on the floor and swords made of
lightning managed to imprison her Flayed Beast.
The wooden laboratory tables gained sentience, lit on fire, ran at

the creature and exploded in a series of blinding-white firebombs.
Just like Boss Tycon said, it seemed the fire elemental spells hurt
the creature more... Even if the creature resisted her magic, it
seemed that Lulu could cast more than enough spells to keep the
beast pinned down.
Slowly, Lone turned his head. He'd... he'd just keep watching
Wolfbanger fight.
Margeaux was watching. He needed to keep professional and

stick to the plan! Guild Invictus needed to win before he could get
any closer to her.
He was tired of getting mixed up with powerful women. In Nice, he

lost his memory and woke with black eyes and bruises all over his
body. He was pretty sure it had something to do with Korr. In the
Ivory Judge Sect, every female he met was way stronger than he
was. In Merylsward... Egh... Lone did *not* want to think about the
creepy, unclean way he lost his V-Card to Madison.
And he only found out long after he messed with Rico of the Sea
Wolves that she was Gold-Rank... and that she was 3 years old!
Lone almost committed a crime!
Uughhhhh. Boss Tycon probably didn't have to deal with all these
super-powerful women trying to kill him. He was incredibly strong,
after all.
Nope. Lone only wanted to deal with normal girls-- like Sorina...
But Margeaux was a close second. Her boobs were huge. And he
was pretty sure Sorina hated him. It was a no-brainer which girl he
was planning to pursue.
Maybe he could convince Boss Tycon to stay in the Kingdom a bit

longer before heading to the Holy Country. Guild Invictus probably
needed supplies.
He looked over to the doorway and winked at Margeaux, who

waved back.
Yeah. She was super hot.
Lone shook away his extraneous thoughts and sharpened his

focus.
The Flayed Beast was becoming engrossed in Wolfbanger's

reckless attacks.
Wait, reckless? That wasn't how Wolfbanger fought, at all...
Oh, that's what it was. Boss Tycon was channeling his mana to
guide his attacks.
It just seemed so strange that Levi was taking so much damage...

and Boss looked a bit more upset than usual. He had the same
strained look on his face as when he uses Iron Dragon Rend...
Lone watched patiently, his pistols trained on the Flayed Beast.

Once he placed two pistol shots into the creature's skull, he'd rush
in and be the hero.
The beasts were vulnerable to fire.
Moon-Moon-Moon would have the chance to guide him and Guild

Invictus to victory.
Chapter 193 Never Drop Your
Weapon
Tycondrius observed Lulu's progress from afar.
It had seemed she tapped into the room's Magic Array and used it
to trap her Flayed Beast in a cage made from flowing electricity.
The ability to disable a magical trap in combat made the woman a
genius. Being able to redirect its energy and use it to amplify her
own magic made her a monster.
It was just as well. Sol Invictus was made up of monsters.
...and Barza... who was doing an excellent job and Tycon was
very proud of him.
Tycon's core thrummed in strain, leaving him gasping for breath.

The mana usage of a forced Commander's Strike had left him
fatigued. He took a deep breath of the mana-rich atmosphere,
which began to immediately recover his energies.
Though he could rest, he would rather capitalize on his

advantage.
« System, force-activate Commander's Strike. Authorized. »
Like a virus, his own mana had already seeped into Levi
Wolfrider's. Tycon clenched his fist, exacerbating the mana in the
weretouched boy's body.
"GYAHHHHRRRHH!?!" The weretouched boy screamed in agony

as if his body was aflame.
With the boy's fatigue, his body sought mana from the
environment-- easily attained from the tower's energies. But if he
was like a patient desperately seeking a blood transfusion, Tycon
was the fraudulent charlatan that, instead of blood, pumped
chicken soup and sand into his veins.
The sodding rat deserved it.
Wolfrider's swung his weapon with a flash, the instantaneous

movement ending with his halberd slamming down atop the
Flayed Beast's skull. Its jaw collided against the laboratory floor,
marking the tiles with a web of cracks. He turned and slashed the
halberd at the creature's foreleg, promptly rending it from its body.
And finally, he thrust the halberd blade's point into the beast's
green-flame right eye.
The creature's echoing shriek reverberated throughout the large

room but was largely drowned out by Wolfrider's own.
In its painful throes, the Flayed Beast began to exude a thick,

green noxious gas.
Poison.
Tycon's mana-connection with Wolfrider abruptly halted once

more, leaving him lightheaded and briefly unbalanced.
As sorry as a state the Flayed Beast was in, Wolfrider's was

worse. The effects of the mana fervor had left the boy fatigued
and haggard. His ears drooped and his tongue stuck out of the
side of his maw. His white fur was a mess with blood dripping
down his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. And it was obvious to
Tycon that the boy had dislocated his left shoulder.
...Worse still was that the beast's poisoned claws had yet to infect
his blood.
The boy couldn't take much more.
"LONE!!" Tycon called out.
Two loud explosions rang out as Lone's bullets accurately struck

the Flayed Beast's skull and torso.
Tycon scoffed as he saw Lone charge out from his cover.
If Sasha had been attentive, she would have cast a Protection

spell on Lone. She had plenty of time to do so. Tycon needed to
beat the shyness out of her...
...by using positive reinforcement.
However, the young lady hadn't yet froze up or flinched thus far.
That was a point to be lauded. She would grow quickly, adapting
to combat and other mercenary activities, traveling in Invictus.
Pointing again at the noxious skin-and-bones creature, Tycon

spoke to Wolfrider in a quiet voice, "You're not done, Mister Levi."
The boy's eyes shot up in shock, then turned to anger, then

flinched in horror, "B-boss, but... I feel so--"
The boy coughed up a thick wad of blood.
Internal damage.
Frowning at the boy with the blood-stained fur, Tycon sought deep
within him... searching meticulously for a reason to care.
He found none.
Tycon continued to speak in slow, measured words. He would not

waste the effort in raising his voice for this whelp, "Mister Levi. I.
don't. give a damn about your feelings."
"Now, since you've disabled the creature's left foreleg..." Tycon

turned to Lone, "Pin LEFT!!"
Lone rushed towards the Flayed Beast, running alongside his fiery
Dark-Iron Wolf.
"Pin left!!" He confirmed. The summoned creature, Moon-Moon-

Moon, slammed its heavy flaming body into the beast's hind left
leg.
Taking a deep breath of mana-filled air, Tycon pointed his palm at
Levi Wolfrider.
"GHRHRKKK!!" The boy's chest heaved up as foreign mana took

over his senses once more. He choked blood, marking the walls a
deep red, he grit his scarlet teeth and blinked away the tears of
pain. He turned and sprinted to the opposite side of the Flayed
Beast, then slammed his already-dislocated shoulder into its side.
The creature toppled over, but Wolfrider collapsed to the floor,

crying and vomiting blood. The boy was wracked with pain from
the stinging fumes, the mana exhaustion, and more than a few of
the creature's strikes upon his armor.
The halberd slipped out of the boy's hands.
Tycon saw it fall... slowly... all of his senses sharpened to a razor-

thin edge...
It clanged upon the floor, uselessly.
Before Tycon knew it, he had wound up a kick.
What was he doing? Tycon gained cognizance and realized he

was about to strike the boy.
Wolfrider dropped his weapon. You don't drop your weapon.
Tycon aimed and delivered the kick solidly to Wolfrider's

midsection.
"You know better than to drop your weapon, pup. Now, get the
hells up."
"Boss..." Wolfrider groaned.
Tycon closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. When he opened

them, Wolfrider had grasped at his halberd and was struggling to
stand. Good.
Tycon did not know what he would have done, otherwise. He

merely knew he would not have chosen to repeat himself.
"Quickly now, Mister Levi." Tycon turned away from the boy and
drew his razor whip, "That is not the best you can do."
« No, not until he's earned it. »
Tycon lashed his whip out, wrapping around the snapping Flayed
Beast's skeletal jaw. Holding tight, he pulled the creature's head
down to prevent it from biting into Lone's torso.
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, transformed his wolf back into
a single weapon. Wielding it with both hands, he struck the
creature's side with the flaming wolf-hammer, then again upon the
base of its spine.
Wolfrider had recovered somewhat. With a telegraphed thrust that

was painfully slow, he stabbed his halberd deep into the trapped
undead's hide.
The undead creature's green-flame eyes surged with life and it

emitted its noxious gas more strongly, forcing Lone to leap back.
The poison was no issue to Tycon, so he concentrated on keeping

the beast firmly in place.
It glared at Sasha, the girl who had been doing nothing but casting
defensive spells throughout the fight. It struggled to break free
from Tycon's hold and rend its claws into the young dark elf.
Tycon scoffed. He would never let that happen.
He drew the Shatterspike from his belt and drove it into the
creature's right eye where Wolfrider had struck it earlier. With a
tremble and the burst of air like its last breath, the blackened
skeleton collapsed...
As its defensive mana began to dissipate, its hanging skin almost

immediately lit ablaze from Lone's fiery weapon.
"Do not rest yet, Invictus." Tycon warned, "There is another."

Chapter 194 Lulu Offense
Formation
ulu, the blonde demoness could not easily defeat her Flayed
L
Beast alone. She was, however, quite capable of rebuffing the
creature's rushing advances with her retinue of slowing and
entrapment spells. When it came within jaw-snapping range, the
tiny blonde would tap the end of her parasol upon it and send it
sprawling back, crashing into laboratory equipment.
The woman's mana expenditure must have been immense.
Even if it wasn't, Guild Invictus would converge upon the

remaining creature to ensure its speedy demise.
Because of the tower's mana-rich atmosphere, Tycon was willing

to push his mana reserves. Forcing Wolfrider to attack against his
will drained him near his limit. Breathing in deeply, the fresh mana
flow was as refreshing as a drink from a cool, clean spring on a
tiresome day.
After only a few moments, Tycon's energies were restored enough

to cast a Skill he had kept long in reserve.
"Sol Invictus!!" He yelled, "ATTAAAACK!!!!"
« System, activate Lulu Offense Formation. »
...Tycon did not know what the skill actually did. He had
discovered it, browsing a list of Skills he had at high Completion-
Rating. Judging only by the name, it was an offensive formation
with Lulu at its core.
[Activating...]
Tycon, Lone, and Sasha dashed forward as mana assisted their
swift movements across the room... and the trio arrived adjacent
to Lulu.
Tycon held his whip back, ready to strike, while his sword pointed
forward.
Lone held his wolf-hammer above his head, ready to bring it

down.
Sasha held her arms locked-straight and both of her fists forward,
trying her best to scowl angrily.
And the three of them were facing... Lulu.
"Ohoho!" Lulu chuckled, "You made a formation just for me,

Boss~?"
Lone and Tycon immediately turned their bodies to face the

Flayed Beast, currently trapped in a lightning cage.
Sweat ran down the back of Tycon's head. What the hells was
with that skill? It seemed like it was designed to fight Lulu.
Lulu didn't seem to notice. And if she did, she didn't seem to be
offended by it.
...Tycon decided to stop thinking about it.
He ran forward, lashing out with his whip and wrapping it around
the Flayed Beast's left foreleg. At the same time Lulu dispelled her
lightning cage.
"Invictus! Pin left!"
...
The remaining Flayed Beast was felled quickly enough. Lulu

revealed a unique skill-- she was able to open a rift to the Eternal
Battlefield, effectively importing a torrent of metal shrapnel. Since
the jagged bullet-like bits were quite physical, the undead creature
did not have the benefit of its spell resistance. And with the
creature pinned down, it could not escape the wicked barrage.
Tycon grabbed a chair from one of the nearby tables and sat
down to rest. He needed a short break to recover from his mental
fatigue and to prevent the creeping onset of a headache.
...He considered heading back down to the kitchens to fry some

potatoes with the Tower Wizard's stove.
The Lone Shadowdark took the victory as free reign to take his
hammer to the large creature's skull.
What was he doing? Was there a need to waste so much energy?
The young Shadowdark turned back to the room's entrance to

shoot a radiant smile at... Margeaux.
Ohhhh. Tycon understood the phenomenon. It was a primitive

display of showmanship, performed by Lone, in order to attract a
mate.
The pink-haired maid was hurrying over, her soft, pudgy face full
of concern.
...Tycon wondered if the girl knew if the tower had a hidden stash
of food or dried meat. That would prove her useful, for once.
Lulu's shrill laugh, a mad witch's cackle, shook Tycon out of his
deep, delicious thoughts. Slowly, he opened his eyes to slits to
see the demoness doubled over in laughter. Something tugged at
his hand... and he turned to see Sasha pointing back toward the
Flayed Beast.
A human-sized, mass of black was writhing while standing upright.

The grotesque stood aside two fallen wolf-hammers.
...It seemed the black, leathery skin that once hung from the
Flayed Beast had wrapped itself around Lone. The fool was soon
to suffocate and pass out.
"Hmm... That's right. We quickly destroyed and burnt the hides of
the previous Flayed Beasts," Tycon mused.
"MmmmHRHGGHH!! MHHRHGHHH!!" Lone mumbled loudly. He

fell to the ground, wriggling and struggling.
He looked like a sea cucumber. Tycon had found them especially

delicious, braised with wine. It was one of his favorite dishes,
dining on Saint Guinefort.
Tycon was hungry.
Margeaux, the useless half-elf, grabbed Tycon's arm and shook

him, "Sir Tycon-- sir. Please, you have to help him!"
Tycon rolled his eyes and gently pried the woman's weak grasp off
of his arm, "Very well."
...He was planning to help Lone without the woman's nagging.
Standing up, he started towards the wrapped Warrior.
Tycon had briefly considered being rude to the pink-haired

annoyance. However, his sense of pride and professionalism was
more important to him than the fleeting enjoyment he'd gain from
talking down to a mundane commoner.
Crouching down, Tycon peeled back the skin covering Lone's

mouth.
"BOSS! HELP!!! I'M TRAPPED IN A KILLER BLANKET!!!!!"
Tycon opened his fingers. With a rubbery snap, the Flayed Beast's
skin again wrapped around Lone's nose and mouth. The young
man resumed his panicked squirming.
"Mister Lone." Tycon gently chided, "I am right here. There is no

need to shout."
Sounds of muffled sobbing emanated from the killer blanket as

tears began to stream down Lone's cheeks.
"Ughhh," Tycon groaned and peeled back the skin restricting
Lone's breathing again, "Good afternoon, Mister Lone."
"G-good afternoon, Boss... Would you... ergh... please help me?"
Smiling, Tycon pat Lone on the shoulder. The killer blanket

suddenly constricted. Lone exhaled in pain.
"...Well, that last bit was my mistake." Tycon gingerly retracted his
hand, "But I must say that you were being rather careless,
yourself."
Lone was surprisingly silent. The young man's face was beginning
to change colors. Tycon surmised that the factor affecting his
facial color was also preventing him from speaking.
Tycon felt a broad grimace stretch across his face. He needed to

free Lone before he accrued any irremediable damage.
"Haaayyyy~ Bosssss~!" Lulu sang sweetly.
If Tycon didn't know any better, he'd have compared the woman's
deep and musical voice to an angel's, "What is it, Miss Lulu?"
"You want me ta..." Instead of finishing her sentence, the

demoness twirled a strand of her blonde hair and held out her
palm. A fist-sized sphere of concentrated flame appeared, slowly
rotating in place.
Tycon twisted his lips, "What are the chances of that fireball also
killing Lone?"
"Not a hundred!!" Lulu nodded proudly.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "How about if the chances are out of
100... percent?"
"Oh," Lulu closed her hand, the fireball dissipating in a sizzle, "Y-
yeah... then it is a hundred."
Tycon rolled his eyes. Demons had a love of wordplay.

"Sasha." Tycon summoned Invictus' chocolate elf, who trotted
over obediently, "Have you learned the Sacred Flame spell?"
She nodded in excitement.
Tycon summoned his cutlass out of his spatial ring, "Use your
spell to heat up my sword. Hopefully, the divine flames will cause
the creature's skin to recoil and release Mister Lone..."
The other result was the flayed skin crushing him tighter.
It was a risk Tycon was willing to take.

Chapter 195 Smells Like Home
ycondrius held up his cutlass, observing the divine energy.

T
Sasha's Sacred Flame Spell coated the blade, dripping silvery
wisps onto the tile.
It was also very hot.
The heated blade would not be pleasant to touch directly.
"Mister Lone, are you mentally prepared for this?"
Barza Keith, the blue-in-the-face Shadowdark, shook his head

frantically as if he had a choice.
Tycon smiled with chagrin as he pressed the flat of the blade

against the blackened leather atop Lone's thigh. The thigh area
had fewer nerve endings. The inflicted burn should have a limited
effect on Lone and his fighting power-- once he got over the pain,
anyroad.
Thankfully, the black-leather skin writhed in... discomfort? It

loosened its deadly grip, allowing Lone to take a deep breath...
With that breath, he chose to loose a blood-curdling scream.
Tycon frowned at the unpleasant noise. Though the reaction could

have been physical and involuntary, the young man had a habit of
yelling both during combat and upon injury. Tycon could not
measure whether Lone was in excruciating pain or whether he
was overreacting.
...Not that it mattered, for the task at hand.
Flipping the cutlass blade, Tycon pressed it against Lone's

opposite thigh.
"BAWWW-HAW-HAW-HAAAWWSSSSSS!!!" Lone choked pitifully
on his sobs.
"Kihihihhihi~!" Lulu grabbed one of Lone's wolf-hammers.
"Tres Lunas, howl for me," she whispered sweetly. The dark-iron
weapon blazed alive with a green-colored flame, easily twice the
size and thrice the fury than if it were in Lone's hands.
She pressed the hammer against the still-entrapped Warrior's

chest.
"LUUUUUU~LUUUUUUUUUU!!!" Lone sobbed harder.
The chocolate elf Sasha approached with amusement and

excitement on her face. She pressed her tiny elven hands against
Lone's stomach and began to channel her Sacred Flame,
"Ehehe~"
"WHHHHHHHHHHYYYYYYYYYY?!?!?!???"
The Flayed Beast's skin released Lone, squirming and shriveling

up in multi-colored flames.
Scraps and bits of the skin remained on Lone's person, embers

still burning dimly. He curled his body, holding himself and sobbing
like a spurned lover.
Lulu rubbed the fallen man's crotch with her bare foot, dousing
one of the larger embers with a sizzle, "Pleasure and pain,
cutie~!"
"Wh-hah-haah-hyyyyyyy~!??" Lone placed his hands onto his face

to muffle his mewling.
Tycon groaned at the demoness, "Ughhh... Let him be, Miss Lulu."
"Awww, come on, Boss!!" The blonde girl grabbed at Tycon's arm.
Unlike with Margeaux, he could not simply pry the woman off.
Sasha mimicked Lulu, embracing Tycon's other arm.
"At least let me spit in his mouth~!" Lulu begged.

Tycon narrowed his eyes to disapproving slits, "Is that... is that a
sexual fetish?"
"It totally is," she confirmed.
"...Right. Do whatever you want. Just fix... that," Tycon gestured

towards Invictus' Weeping Warrior before rolling his eyes and
walking away.
...
Tycon flipped Levi Wolfrider onto his back, facing the ceiling. It
appeared the poison's effects were diminishing, as the boy's
ragged breathing had begun to normalize.
"Mister Wolfrider, congratulations. You appear to have survived a

hard-fought battle. You were instrumental in Guild Invictus'
success."
The young dog-wolf-boy groaned in pain, his body convulsing

sporadically.
Tycon smirked as he leaned over and offered his hand, "It would
be a shame to die here, wouldn't it?"
« Yes, I suppose Mister Wolfrider has earned it. »
[Activating...]
Wolfrider hacked out a glob of blood and phlegm. He reached up

to clasp Tycon's offered wrist.
Tycon pulled the boy up, "Not comfortable on the floor, I take it,
Mister Wolfrider?"
The miserable-looking boy cracked a smile, "D-dying is for

cowards, Boss..."
"Very good," Tycon started to turn away but hesitated... "Was

there something else?"
Wolfrider's mouth twitched, "Y-yeah... Thanks, Boss."
Tycon found the weretouched boy's gratitude peculiar... "And to

what exactly are you referring to, young man?"
The young boy coughed again, hanging his shoulders and looking
miserable. He bent over and picked up his halberd, "Just... thank
you for believing in me."
Facing the floor, the boy turned up his eyes and ears, "I... I just
want to make you proud."
Tycon closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "What garbage. I
advise you to never seek another man's approval as your goal."
Taking a bundle of bandages from his belt pouch, he tossed them

up for Levi to catch, "Take some time to realize what's truly
important to you... then grasp that goal by its figurative throat.
Realize your own ideals-- not mine."
Tycon shrugged as he turned about, "That's the type of person I

can be proud of."
"Y-yes, Boss!" Wolfrider shouted as Tycon walked off.
"I'll be waiting."
...
After a short break for some food and a few casts of Sasha's
divine healing spells, Guild Invictus was prepared to ascend to the
fourth floor of the Wizard Tower.
Margeaux led the way with Lone following. The latter gazed
longingly at the maid girl's behind as they walked.
She stepped back from the door, biting her upper lip in frustration,
"The key I have doesn't seem to work on this door..."
Lone tried his hand at pushing and pulling the door handle,
"Door's locked, Boss."
Tycon nodded, "Mister Wolfrider, go ahead."
The white-furred dog-wolf-boy scratched his cheek, "Wh-what do

you want me to do, Boss?"
"Pick the lock?"
"I... I'm a Warden, not a Thief, Boss..." Wolfrider averted his gaze,
looking embarrassed.
"I am aware... I was just..." Tycon trailed off. He had assumed

(incorrectly) that the young gentleman had practiced other low
skills, considering the boy's penchant for stealing, "Nevermind.
Lulu, the door."
The woman hopped up the stairs and mashed her bits against the
door, pressing her nose against it and taking a deep breath,
"OoohhHHHhh~! Sevennnnn hells! It smells like hoooome!!"
Smells. Like. Home. Those 3 words triggered every blaring

warning signal in Tycon's brain. He immediately turned around,
grabbed Sasha's hand, and began guiding her down the stairs,
"We can find another way to get materials."
"What? Boss, come on-- we're almost at the top?" Lone argued.
"Sir Tycon, please. You're my only hope!" Margeaux whelped in

her weakling-voice.
Tycon ignored the pink-haired maid and glared at Lone, "Mister

Lone, what did Lulu just say?"
Lone's eyes widened in realization, "Oh, shite. Yeah, nevermind.

Let's leave."
"Oh, come on, you guyyyys! Don't be such big babies," Lulu
scolded. With a wave of her hand, a magic circle burnt onto the
wood of the door. The door clicked with the sound of the
mechanism magically unlocking and popped open a few ilms.
It would have been more inviting, had it not been for the acrid
stink of sulfur and burning metal.
"It's a super-friendly part of the Eternal Battlefield. Plus, everyone
knows me! There won't be aaaaany problems!" Lulu insisted.
Tycon's mouth twitched. Concerning Lulu's companion devils

Invictus had previously met, they had bashed with hammer,
sword, and pistol back into the hell from whence they came.
Lone, ever the exemplar of chivalry, had released Margeaux's

hand and was already halfway down the stairs, "Are you guys
coming?"
Both Wolfrider and Sasha showed blank stares of uncertainty.

Neither of them likely understood the gravity of the floor ahead.
...But still, Lulu did appear to be particularly confident.

Chapter 196 Eternal Battlefield
btaining magical components for Lulu's Teleport spell was the

O
most efficient way for Tycondrius to travel to the Holy Country.
"Fine," Tycon sighed, "Guild Invictus! We continue the ascent...

against my better judgment."
Lone looked up the stairwell in disbelief. He had already traveled

half-way down the precarious staircase. He sighed in
exasperation as he began the walk back up.
"Thank the gods!" Margeaux breathed a sigh of relief.
"NOPE!!" Lulu slapped her hard across the face, disheveling her
long pink hair, "If there's anyone you should be thanking, it should
be me, B i t c h!!"
The pink-haired maid held her cheek, surprised and piteous, as

Lulu stepped through the doorway... She seemed to understand
that she was in no condition to argue.
Tycon walked past her, whispering a friendly bit of advice, "I

advise you to avoid the... 'G' word around Miss Lulu. She can be
rather testy about it."
The girl frowned and nodded in aggrieved understanding as

Invictus walked up the steps and through the door.
...
[Wizard Tower: Floor 4, Vision of Hell]
"Now where has Lulu run off to...?" Tycon mused.

The door had opened into a hellish landscape. Orange desert
sands stretched out to the horizon, marred by jagged spikes that
made up cliffs and mountains. The ground itself seemed to give
off an ominous glow, illuminating the area. The skies above were
lit by foreign, colored stars and violent sky-storms of metal debris.
Looking back, Tycon noted that the door was not built into a wall,
but remained stationary, looking as if a simple push could knock it
over.
He knew better. The door was a stable portal that linked to the
Eternal Battlefield. It would take someone of Lulu's prodigious
magical power or greater to disrupt the link.
...It wasn't something Tycon wished to try. He did not want to be

stuck in hell. The food variety was abysmal.
Tycon paused. It was an interesting thought. Perhaps he'd been

stuck in a hell before?
Lone, Wolfrider, and Margeaux stepped out of the door, eyes wide
in wonder.
Sasha closed the door politely, behind them.
Lone walked up beside Tycon, "Boss, where... where in the seven

hells *are* we?"
"The correct question is 'in *which* of the seven hells are we?' We
have crossed into the Eternal Battlefield," Tycon frowned, "Weren't
you listening?"
Lone squinted his eyes as he began to observe the landscape, "I

mean... I don't see any signs of fighting?"
Tycon opened his arms, directed to the ground all around them,
"Look closer."
Margeaux held her hand out, "Miss Sasha, no!"
Sasha scurried forward and grabbed at the ground. She pulled out
something like it was a radish and fell on her bottom. Tycon and
Lone approached. The chocolate elf had pulled out an ancient
sword, but it was completely rusted over and began to crumble
away in her lap.
Amongst the rocks and sand surrounding Invictus were scores of

demon-bones and corroded weapons and armor.
Tycon grabbed Sasha underneath her shoulders and lifted her to

her feet, "Young lady, be careful of touching the things you find
here."
Levi Wolfrider froze, mere ilms away from grabbing onto a

discarded silvery helmet, strangely undamaged by the
atmosphere.
"Like that," Tycon confirmed, "That's definitely cursed."
Wolfrider stood up straight and wiped his hands on his trousers, "I
didn't want it, anyroad."
Lone glanced around the deserted battlefield, flinching at

imagined movements. "Is it safe, Boss Tycon?"
"No, it is not. Why would it be?"
Lone grimaced, "Um... Is it safe... to move to the next floor... with

uh?"
The dark-haired Warrior pointed above, to the sky-storms.
Tycon observed the sky without concern, "It appears there's a

magical barrier protecting our pathway, preventing the rain of
metal from above. Likely, when we get to the other end of the said
pathway, we'll reach the next floor."
Lone peered around their surroundings in various directions, "I... I

don't see it, Boss."
Pondering for a moment in thought, Tycon offered, "Did Lulu spit

in your mouth, earlier?"
"B-boss, that sort of thing doesn't turn me on at all!" Lone crossed
his arms in an X in front of him in vehement denial.
"...Right. If Lulu lent you some of her mana, perhaps you can
focus on it. She left a trail for us to follow."
The Warrior crossed his arms. He seemed to be swishing the

saliva around in his mouth.
...Was he saving Lulu's saliva? No, that made no sense. It had

been over a bell since then. What was he doing?
"Got it, Boss. I can see it!" Lone exclaimed, "I think I'm starting to
get the hang of this mana thing!"
Tycon gave him a troubled smile but otherwise said nothing.
Taking Sasha's hand, Tycon started down the path Lulu had left
for them. With an Arcane Mark spell, she had professionally
drawn an easy-to-follow, pale-green line of mana. The path led
Invictus into a mountain canyon, about 5 horses wide, littered with
decayed bodies and desiccated flags of companies long forgotten.
It didn't take long for the demons to smell fresh meat.
Crawling out from the rocky crags, nearly a dozen red-skinned,

black-horned humanoids dropped down, wearing looted armor
and wielding chipped weapons.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, calculating the demons' strengths,

"Really?"
The Wizard's barrier must have been quite strong. Only Unranked
demons had dared to get in their way... Each of them was capable
of gutting a non-combat Class like Margeaux, but still...
With a shout and a metallic wolf howl, Lone had his weapon
transform into its dark-iron wolf form, "Boss, we're surrounded."
Levi guarded the rear, with Margeaux and Sasha protected at its
center, "3 or 4 each. Can do."
Tycon wasn't good at his pronunciation in Abyssal, but most
demons knew the Common tongue, "We bear the standard of
Lucifer of Pride. Why don't you ugly red bastards... sod off?"
With a flash of blazing red mana, Tycon displayed the Demon

Seal inscribed on his soul. The demons flinched from its power,
averting their gaze and covering their eyes.
Tycon turned to his party members, "There. We should be alright,

now."
"(The OUTSIDERS have stolen the seal of Lucifer of Pride!!)"
"(We must defend the honor of Luci!!)"
"(How DAAAARE THEY!!!!)"
"B-boss, what are they saying??" Lone asked in a panic.
Wolfrider barked and whined, "Boss!! They're looking really mad,

right now!!"
"Empty night," Tycon placed his face onto his palm.

Chapter 197 Trash
" Ughh..." Groaning and not at all enthusiastic, Tycon drew his
cutlass, "Invictus... We are under 'attack' by... 'fooooul' demons."
Tycon reached for the ram-horns to the demon adjacent to him

and hacked his blade into its neck. He sighed, "Death--"
"--to the enemies of INVICTUS!!" Lone and Wolfrider yelled.
Glancing behind, Tycon watched his two idiot companions charge

their half of the enemies...
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, wielded a wolf-hammer with

both hands. With savage force, he sent it crashing against a
demon's shield, knocking the unsuspecting fellow off of their feet.
"Spread Smash!!" Wolfrider yelled out. His halberd began to glow

with power, sheathing in a swirl of the orange dust that hardened
into jagged stone spikes. He swung overhead and down into the
demon's face, slaying him. The magical rocks exploded with a
thunderous boom, forcing the other demons around them to halt
their attacks and shield their eyes.
Wolfrider rotated his body, spinning his halberd and striking the
back of a different demon's ankles. Their legs swept out
underneath them, the base of the demon's skull cracked against
the red-orange rock. The Lone Shadowdark yelled and with a hop
up, brought his hammer down.
They defeated two demons in under a breath. It was an excellent

display of teamwork.
...Those two were getting along suspiciously well.

Tycon turned back to his own half of demons, his face contorted in
disdain. He released his grip on the first demon's horns, allowing it
to crumple lifelessly to the ground.
"Five of you. One of me," Tycon swiped his cutlass to the side,
flinging the blood off of it.
He examined his enemies... Red-skinned demon-soldiers with

thick, bony brows and vicious, jagged-tooth weaponry.
Many battles in the past, Tycon had been worried, anxious, and
scared. This was not one of those battles.
The soldiers wore looted, piecemeal armor, assembled

haphazardly. Tycon surmised they may have been worn for style
rather than for bodily protection. Their brows were thick and bony
because their faces were sunken from fatigue, malnutrition, or
both. And while their weaponry had rough, savage edges, it was
because the weapons were chipped and in disrepair.
These demons were trash.
Stars above, he decided to say it out loud.
"You lot... I'm surprised that you actually have physical forms. You
might as well all be mindless, scum-sucking scavengers..."
The demons looked at each other, still hesitant on whether to

attack or not.
Tycon took a deep breath and sighed, "You're all trash. No-- you're
worse than trash. You're the bottom of the trash heap. It's like two
bags of trash kissed and made illegitimate children. However, the
trash king had passed a law, forbidding such loathsome creatures
and you were shamefully cast out of the trash kingdom and into
the trash wilds."
That managed to get them riled up. The demons snarled their
complaints in Abyssal.
"(Trash? We're not trash! You're trash!!)"

"(Oh, you'll pay for that, Outsider...)"
"(We shall rebel against the KING!!)"
Tycon stood, his cutlass at the ready.
He had transmigrated into this world without recollection of himself

as Tycondrius. However, he was lucky enough to have a wide
repertoire of learning and gained skills, relevant to the Realms.
And of that knowledge, he knew several different sword styles.
The Elven blade styles were beautiful... but generally ineffective,

lest the practitioner could assume the blade forms as easily as
singing and dancing.
The dwarven arts emphasized strength and stability, usually with a

shield. The orcs preferred heavy weapons, better for chopping
while screaming at the top of their lungs.
It was the humans that mastered the arts of war. They took their
weapons and they simplified the arts, removed everything
unnecessary. And from there, they mixed and matched. They
profaned the original traditions in order to make ugly, half-arsed
styles.
But they were easy to teach. And there were far more humans
than there were elves or dwarves or orcs.
And then the humans made their own beautiful arts. The various
Hidden Sects came about, waging open and secret wars to amass
their power. Heroes were killed, but their legendary arts lived on
long after them, a testament to the mountains of corpses in their
wake.
The White Raven sword techniques were in the middle. They

were easy to teach and only moderately difficult to master. The
forms had complexity and depth, but simple enough to always be
relevant.
The problems were the same as with arguably any art.

Unbalance the enemy. Remain balanced.
Know when to poke or jab and when to commit.
Block or deflect with as little waste of energy as possible.
Open your enemy's defense for you or an ally to strike.
...Tycon closed his eyes, shaking his head. Ascending the Wizard
Tower was taking a frustratingly long amount of time, with far more
annoyances than he wanted to deal with.
He tapped his foot impatiently, "Stars and STONES, I'm not even
LOOKING!! Come at me!!"
The first of the remaining rushed, snarling with stained, spiny

teeth. Tycon lunged forward, popping the demon's face with his
sword's pommel. Tycon forced his arms down for momentum,
smashing a jumping knee into the demon's sternum.
Tycon opened his eyes, "Garbage."
The demon on Tycon's right lifted a chipped battle-axe. Tycon

stepped forward, ilms away from the demon's face. The demon
stared blankly, unsure of what to do. Tycon squinted his eyes in
disbelief, "Ugh, disappointing."
He thrust his free hand out, grabbing the demon's throat, applying
pressure to his carotid arteries. The demon had a bipedal
humanoid form. Unfortunately for it, its weaknesses were very
familiar.
Tycon began pushing the demon back, bashing his cutlass'

pommel into the demon's face over and over again. Soon, Tycon
reached the jagged canyon wall. He kneed the demon in the side
and allowed the pitiful creature the mercy of collapsing onto the
ground.
Tycon reared his head back, gathered the phlegm in his throat,
and spat onto the fallen demon's face.
It was incredibly unprofessional, but Tycon was unworried of the
consequences. Who was the demon going to tell?
Tycon turned back. The remaining demons hadn't moved from

where they stood.
Of course, they didn't.
They were all spineless cowards.
As Tycon approached, a demon with three white horns scratched

his cheek. He growled with a scratchy throat, forcing out words in
the Common tongue, "Art thou... True? Of Lucifer?"
Standing next to the demon, Tycon grimaced. The demon was a

few ilms taller than he was... even more so, with the height of his
horns.
Annoying.
Tycon smashed the guarded pommel of his cutlass into the

demon's crotch, causing the male humanoid to double over in
pain. His gravelly scream seemed to echo into itself. Grabbing the
demon's right arm, Tycon used a burst of mana to quickly strike
the back of its elbow. Unsurprisingly, the arm broke, bending at an
unnatural angle.
The demon tried to simply collapse onto the floor, but Tycon
wouldn't let him. A savage kick to the demon's side spun him onto
his back, clutching where he was struck. Tycon stomped his boot
onto the demon's face, "What's my name?"
The demon roared in agony as Tycon lacerated the outside of the

creature's arm, spilling fresh blood onto the sands.
Another demon stepped forward, fumbling with his Common, "S-

sir... You haf-- have not..."
Chapter 198 Who Are You?
" Hah... haha..." Tycon chuckled, wearing a slight grin. He had

found a new toy.
The demon who spoke out sported two black spikes on his face
like a fancy beard. Tycon stomped one last time on the teeth of
the fallen demon before approaching Spike-Beard.
"You... Ah." Tycon wagged his finger, "You're the smart one. I
should have asked you, to begin with."
The demon took a step back. It opened its mouth, searching

frantically in its mind for something to say.
"What is my name?" Tycon tilted his head, "You've a question?

You've an answer? Tell me... I'm. Absolutely. Thrilled. To hear it."
Tycon continued to step forward. The demon continued to step

back.
The demon sought for a name. It longed for it. It found none.
Of course, there was no answer.
Hard rocks poked into the demon's back. It struggled to press its
body smaller against the walls. Would it bleed? Is it bleeding? Is
the fear enough to make the demon pierce its own flesh upon the
rocks? Crack its bones? Split its skull? Cry and beg to live its
miserable existence?
It opened its mouth. It tried to speak. Nothing. Still nothing.
Tycon stuck his thumb into the demon's mouth, grabbing hold of
its cheek.
Like an intimate lover, he leaned forward to whisper into its
pointed ear, "You... don't know, do you?"
Streams of tears began to fall from the creature's yellow eyes as it

babbled apologies in Abyssal.
"How. Disappointing," Tycon slowly widened his smile into a grin.
With only his grip on the demon's cheek, Tycon smashed the
unfortunate bastard's head against the sharp wall. After several
rock-busting cracks to the side of the demon's skull, it stopped its
futile struggles and lost consciousness.
Tycon turned around, wide-eyed.
"Oh! I've forgotten!"
The remaining demons looked to each other with uncertainty and

fear. There were still four left.
"I never told you my name! Isn't that hilarious?"
The demons cracked weak, terrified smiles, and chuckled politely.
Tycon stood up straight and sheathed his sword. He didn't bother

wiping the blood from the brass handguard, "You worthless shite-
lings will refer to me as Boss. Any issues?"
"N-no, Boss."
"NO ISSUES, BOSS!!"
"GRARHHRGGRHHHOAHHRLA!!!!!"
"Catherine says she has no issues, Boss," one of the demons

translated.
...
It appeared that Lone and Wolfrider had finished. The two of them
had worked as a team to slay their half of the enemies.
...It would have made more sense to split the enemies into thirds,
but everything seemed to work out.
"Oh, I was so scared, Mister Lone!" Margeaux revealed her

dramatic concern.
How useless. How long could one person exist, being weak and
pitiful, until she grew tired of it?
Sasha was safe. She had managed to build a sand-castle of the

red-orange sand. Miniscule flecks of crystal had gotten into her
hands. Tycon sighed. The flecks would develop into a painful and
itchy irritation. They needed to be washed out with running water,
mild soap, and maybe a soft rag.
"Well done, you two," Tycon congratulated wolf-boy and wolf-

hammer. A stronger-than-usual tinge of sarcasm stained his
words. Admittedly, Tycon was still frustrated.
"Um, Boss," Lone frowned, "Should we... take out these demons,
too?"
"Don't bother. They're temporary parts of Invictus now."
Tycon lifted his two arms out to his sides.
His traveling companions gawked in confusion.
"(Raise. The Master. To the exit,)" Tycon ordered in broken

Abyssal.
One on the left and the other on the right, two demons picked up
Tycon by his arms and began carrying him forward at a steady
jog.
Lone shrugged, "Let's... let's follow him."
...
"(Here. Down.)" Tycon commanded his new demon escorts.
He was placed down rather ungently.

Gentle was not... a commonly practiced trait of demonkind.
"Which one are you? Are you Catherine?" Tycon asked one of the
demons who had carried him.
"No, Boss. My name is--"
Tycon punched the demon in the throat, "Work on your gentleness

while carrying persons of importance."
"Y-y-yess.... Boss..." The red-skinned humanoid managed to

cough out.
Lulu was splayed out on a rock, relaxing. Her robes were open,
revealing a naked shoulder and most of her left breast. She sat up
a bit, adjusting her clothing, "Heyy~! Boss. Who are theeeese?
They look *weak*."
"They are. You can have them."
"Hah. I don't want them," She scoffed, smirking like she couldn't
believe what Tycon had offered.
Tycon frowned, "Well, neither do I. If you don't want them, perhaps

I'll just have them killed."
The six demons had knelt down and placed their foreheads to the
floor.
Wait, six? It appeared that two of the defeated followed their

companions instead of hiding back in the crags.
Ludicrous.
"(Please, Mistress Lucifer!! Don't kill us, we'll do anything!!")"
It was the demon with the two black chin-horns. That one seemed
slightly smarter than the others.
""""PLEASE DON'T KILL US!!"""" The demons shouted in unison.

...The fact that they did so in the Common tongue made it a slight
more impressive.
"These low-level demons are surprisingly practiced at begging to

live," Tycon offered.
Lulu frowned, "I dunno... being a parent is a big responsibility."
Tycon opened his mouth to continue speaking but hesitated... He

shook his head, "Anything interesting about the next floor?"
Lulu leered creepily, "Och yahhh? What'cha wanna see on thaaaa

next floor? Mayyyybe your giiiiirlfriiiiennnd?"
Tycon thought of Princess Aurala. Eh... No, they didn't have that
kind of relationship... but it would be nice to see her again. An
evening spent with her would improve his mood greatly.
He frowned, "Seeing a familiar face that could not logically be

here would be greatly disturbing."
"Y-yeah, I guess it would be, huh." Lulu stood up and swept her
blonde curls out of her eyes, "Hey, Boss. I do have a question,
though."
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Yes? Go ahead, Miss Lulu."
The demoness interlaced her fingers and held her arms straight
down, swaying as if she were a nervous teenager, "I mean, now
that we're alone..."
What was she playing at?
"Well, we're not really alone... there's..." Tycon glanced back at

the six-- eh? There were seven!! Where did they keep coming
from??
The blonde woman closed her eyes. She took a step back and
grasped the end of her parasol tightly. Her eyes flashed open,
filled with mana and glowing scarlet red.
"Who are you?" She demanded.

Chapter 199 Personal
Conversation
ycondrius crossed his arms in contemplation. He pursed his lips

T
to the side as he gazed up at the hellsworn sky, full of swirling
steel.
He observed Lulu at a distance.
The barefoot woman was nearly as tall as he was. With her soft,
pink skin, her white, patterned robe, and her paper parasol, she
looked more suited to a summer picnic out than slogging on, in
the heights of a dungeon.
The demon-woman exuded a terrifying swell of power, drawing

from the mana-rich atmosphere of the Wizard Tower and likely
also from the hellscape upon which they stood. Her eyes shone
like they were going to emit concentrated beams of heat energy
and she was poised to crack the mana-sheathed tip of her
umbrella against Tycon's skull.
All things considered, Tycon should have been horrified, pissing

himself, and begging for mercy.
However, he was stuck in an obstinate state of general

annoyance.
Lulu appeared to have found out that Tycon wasn't... Tycon. But
for all the demoness' posturing, she had granted him the
opportunity to explain himself, instead of just attacking outright.
Granted the privilege of thinking on how to answer... First that

came to mind were flowery motivations that dodged the question.
Or he could provide a series of pleasant-sound half-truths...
But Tycon realized that he didn't really care for deceit.
He trusted Lulu, as a person and as a fellow member of Sol

Invictus.
The notion was similar to how Tarquin Wroe drew power from the
unknown beyond-- while Tycon might worry about the Warlock's
magical mishaps, he never once questioned Wroe's loyalty.
Empty night.
Tycon's survival instincts rebelled against even standing so many

paces away from Lulu... He needed to recruit Invictus members
that didn't come with horrifyingly cursed or literally hellish
baggage.
...Anyroad, Lulu, being a cunning demoness, would likely see

through false words.
Tycon shrugged and offered Lulu a simple truth... "I'm your friend."
"Wrong," Lulu countered, "I'm your ally. I'm your guild member. I'm
not your friend."
Tycon raised an eyebrow... "Ally and guild member, yes... But who
would say we aren't friends?"
"Y-you did... You did, Boss," Lulu frowned.
Did her bottom lip just quiver? ...And was he supposed to care?
Tycon placed his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes, "Alright,
then. We'll go with--"
"Am I really your friend??" The demoness had appeared just in

front of Tycon, and he took an involuntary step back in surprise.
Was that... a movement technique?
Lulu's eyes were no longer glowing with destructive intent and

instead were sparkling with expectation.
Tycon narrowed his eyes... "Y-yes... W...why?"
Lulu sighed in relief as she hugged Tycon's arm, "I like the new
you soOOoo much better!! We're friends!! Yay!! ~♥"
...It seemed that Lulu's morale had been improved. That was
good.
High morale improved the guild's efficiency and effectiveness.
Anyroad, Tycon never doubted for a moment that he and Lulu

were friends of a sort.
The System had displayed her name with a blue color. Lulu
trusted Tycon completely.
...Circumstances would dictate just how much Tycon would trust

Lulu with a task.
She had a very particular set of skills. She was a powerful Third-
Circle caster and... she was also... a whore? ...which he was
certain had its uses... not that he could think of any, at the
moment.
The remaining members of Guild Invictus leisurely approached

the exit.
"Hey, Boss," Lone greeted. "What's with the uh... kneeling

demons?"
Tycon gently peeled off Lulu's grip and glanced over at the seven
demons with their foreheads against the floor, "New recruits. Their
fate is yet to be determined. What's with Mister Wolfrider?"
Wolfrider had appeared more frustrated than usual, crossing his

arms and walking a distance away from Lone, Margeaux, and
Sasha.
Lone scratched his head, "I dunno, Boss."
...
Levi Wilfried was continuously surprised at how much of an idiot
Lone was.
How could that guy trust that Margeaux woman-- someone he

JUST met!?
He didn't trust her. He didn't trust her, at all.
What if she was the Tower Wizard? And this was all a part of her
insidious plan?
He'd had enough of her! He decided to bring it up with Boss

Tycon.
"Boss! Could you do something about this dumb woman?"
The green-haired noble narrowed his eyes at him. That was Boss'
usual look, so Levi had learned to more-or-less ignore it.
"How is your... body, Mister Wolfrider?"
"What?" Levi rolled his shoulders, making sure not to let go of his
halberd, "I'm fine. I'm a little sore from using all that mana, but I'm
good. Thanks!"
"...Right. And what would you have me do, concerning Miss

Margeaux?" Boss Tycon asked.
Levi smirked. He felt his tail wagging, "I thiiiiink~ we should kill
her!!"
Boss put his face in his palm. Oh. He didn't seem to think that was
a good idea...
Arrrgh!!Levi needed to find a way to make Boss Tycon understand

his reasoning... He cleared his throat, "I don't trust her at all,
Boss!"
"I am aware of that, young man." Tycon calmly addressed Levi.
It was one of the greatest things about Boss. He was always cool,
calm, and collected...
Tycon shook his head, "We can't just kill civilians as we please--
not without reasonable suspicion."
"But she's--" Levi looked back to Margeaux. She was hiding

behind Lone, using her powers of sluttery to seduce the Warrior
into feeling bad for her!
Levi felt his ears flatten as he grit his teeth and growled. Why was
that two-bit whore touching his friend?! She thought she was
soooo important, getting so friendly with everyone.
He'd been traveling with Invictus for weeks and weeks and he was
just barely on speaking terms with Lone.
It wasn't fair! The maid girl might have used a magic spell-- that's
it.
She had pink hair! You can't trust people with pink hair!! It's
unnatural!!!!
"Mister Levi, I've had quite enough of this."
Eh? Who said that? Levi looked around for a woman's voice.
Margeaux walked up in a huff. Slow and clumsy, she nearly

tripped over a rock.
"Aha! The bitch finally shows her true colors!" Levi grinned.
He elbowed Boss. It was funny.
Tycon glared quietly in response, but Levi knew they understood

each other.
The pink-haired maid girl turned to face Boss, "Sir Tycon, on the
top floor, there is a private room belonging to the Tower Wizard.
With your permission, I'd like to have a short, personal
conversation with Mister Levi."
"YEAH! Sounds good!" Levi yelled.

Chapter 200 Death Atop The
Tower
argeaux and Guild Invictus stood around a wooden door

M
embedded in the red-orange rock. It was at the end of the mana-
formed passageway that protected the group from the Eternal
Battlefield's windstorms and would presumably lead to the 5th
floor of the Wizard Tower.
"Sir Tycon," The maid held out her enchanted key. "Would you
grant me permission to open the door? Or do you not trust me,
either?"
Tycon frowned. It was a matter of course that he didn't trust her...

but concerning the situation, that was clearly the incorrect answer.
He took a step back and offered a polite gesture, "If you would,
Miss Margeaux."
"Thank you, Sir Tycon," The pink-haired half-elf replied. The tone
she adopted was a bit forced and bordered on insolence-- not
specifically directed at him, of course.
Tycon chose to remain neutral in the argument between her and

Wolfrider.
He didn't care much for either of them.
Margeaux stepped forward and placed her key into the door. As
she whispered a series of incantations in the Elven tongue, magic
circles in white dimly appeared, emblazoned upon the wood.
Tycon looked to Lone. The young Shadowdark was staring at Levi

in disbelief, and had been since Margeaux's outburst.
Tycon looked to Sasha. The chocolate elf was watching Lulu with
great interest.
He looked to Lulu. She was whispering sweet words in Abyssal

while lashing the seven demons with a suspiciously familiar, razor-
edged whip.
Tycon looked at his belt. His whip was missing. She must have
taken it when he pried free of her grasp, earlier, "Miss Lulu, are
you going to return that?"
"Oh! Yeah, thanks, Boss! Sorry, I forgot about asking!" Lulu

seemed uncharacteristically apologetic.
While inconvenient, Tycon couldn't fault the demoness. He hadn't

properly secured his whip and Lulu did tend to be... excitable,
concerning her "hobbies."
"No, it's fine, but--"
Lulu placed a finger on her chin and tilted her head, "Did you want
me to wash it after I'm done using it??"
Tycon frowned, "N-no.... That's quite alright."
If Lulu offered to wash it, she must have been planning on doing
something obscene with it. Though Tycon preferred not to spend
coin if he didn't have to... he also didn't want to utilize a weapon
possibly cursed by lust-demon sex magic.
...He'd purchase or requisition a new one.
Tycon turned back to Margeaux, "Concerning the private

discussion with Mister Wolfrider-- if he is fine with it, then go
ahead."
The door in front of Margeaux gently clicked open and the

spinning white mana circles slowed and dimmed. She turned and
bowed politely, "Thank you, Sir Tycon, for the basic human
courtesy."
Ugh. Her voice was still dripping with annoyance.

Tycon wanted no part of that. Wolfrider was on his own.
He and the rest of Guild Invictus followed the maid in, leaving the
whipped and lacerated demons behind.
[Wizard Tower: Top Floor]
The top floor looked similar to the first floor in that the decor was...
boring.
In Wizard Towers, Tycon expected to see fantastical severed

horns from terrible lizards or entrapped souls of spirit-beasts.
The top floor of the Wizard's tower was reasonably where their
most covetous materials would be held. The decorations,
however, were... maps of the Realm, a painting of a family, and a
tapestry of the flag of the Sleeping Country-- all very mundane
items.
There were 4 rooms: a large main-room with a desk, a bath, a

simple bedroom, and a study with a workbench and a few shelves
stocked with books.
Margeaux turned on her heel, "Mister Levi, would you join me in

the Master Wizard's study for a short conversation?"
"I don't have anything to discuss with you, whore!!" Levi yelled
back.
Lone glared in confusion.
Tycon took a deep breath in through his nostrils and sighed.
"Oh, wait. Yes, I did," Levi walked into the room.
Margeaux stomped in after him, as angrily as a weak, maid-

woman could stomp, anyroad.
"Massster...?" Sasha tilted her head, "What isssss.... a... whore?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin slits. Lone averted his gaze.
"It's a noble profession," Lulu answered with a genial grin. "Human
civilization couldn't run without it!"
"Oohhhhh," Sasha awkwardly bared her teeth in a smile, trying to

emulate Lulu.
The top floor wasn't very large. Tycon walked a few steps into the
largest room with the desk. There was a large cabinet that likely
held some worthwhile loot... and he also found a body, clearly
dead.
"Found a corpse," Tycon called out to the others, "On a different

note, I seem to remember Mister Wolfrider not trusting Miss
Margeaux."
"A corpse? How'd it die?" Lone asked, walking up, "And yeah-- he
didn't. Kinda weird how he said that... then agreed to be locked in
a room alone with her."
Tycon paused, "Locked, you say?"
"Yeah, Boss. They locked the door as soon as they closed it."
Tycon sighed and walked back to the study door. He tried the
handle to ensure that the door was actually locked-- it didn't
budge.
He knocked twice against the wood, "Wolfrider, respond."
There was no response.
Tycon banged on the door, "Wolfrider! Are you in there??

Respond."
Nothing.
He turned to Lulu, "Have you prepared any more Knock spells?"
"Oh! No, Boss. I only had one for today~" The demoness twirled
her blonde hair without a trace of concern.
"Right." Tycon took a step back from the door, "Lone, break it."
"On it, Boss," Lone grabbed one of his wolf-hammers. He stepped
back, then rushed forward with a yell and bashed his weapon
against the door. A single crack formed on the reinforced wood.
With another strike, the cracks deepened and spread.
And with another, Tycon lost his patience and snatched the wolf-
hammer away from him, "Seven hells, Mister Lone, have you
never broken open a door before?"
Lone narrowed his eyes in confusion, "Um, no? Why would I?"
"Ugh. Observe," Tycon smashed the wolf-hammer against the

door, near where the locking mechanism should be.
With a single strike, the door flew wide open.
"I did most of the work," Lone grumbled.
Tycon rolled his eyes and moved past Lone, into the room.
The first thing he noticed was that Levi Wolfrider had dropped his
halberd.
Looking to Margeaux, it seemed it was not out of carelessness,

but rather, he had been disarmed.
The wolf boy was struggling, mumbling cries for help, his furry
head entangled within Margeaux's long pink hair.
Fresh blood stained her lips and mouth, staining the front of her
clothing.
Chapter 201 The Best You Can
Do
agic, strangling hair. The concept was not unfamiliar to

M
Tycondrius.
Even from a young age, medusa females could utilize their hair as
a weapon and could easily strangle a Bronze-Ranker to death.
Upon entering adulthood, they could also magically transform their
hair into snake-heads capable of delivering venomous strikes
capable of disabling Iron-Rankers.
Medusa women were terrifying to humans... which was

unfortunate for the latter, as the species propagated through
medusa and human couplings.
"Margeaux?! What are you doing???!" Barza Keith, the Lone

Shadowdark, cried out, "Are you CHEATING ON ME???"
Tycondrius, having his thought processes completely derailed.

completely dropped his guard. He turned to Lone, "You can't be
serious."
Lone grimaced, sucking in air through his teeth, "Okay! I'll admit
that that's a dumb concern, considering the situation."
Margeaux lifted her head up, her hair still wrapped around
Wolfrider's mouth and throat, "No, baby! It's not what it looks like!"
...What? Blood was dribbling down Margeaux's mouth and onto

her chest and the bloody floor. Wolfrider was bleeding out.
Tycon raised his hands up in confusion.

It looked like she was... eating him? And she was saying... she
wasn't?
How particularly bad... was the argument Margeaux and Wolfrider

were having... And it made this woman...? Eghh...
Tycon sighed and dropped his arms. It didn't matter.
Mister Wolfrider was a troublesome individual and probably

deserved it.
"I'd like to request you not do anything rash, Miss Margeaux,"

Tycon slowly began gravitating his hand towards his cutlass... "Or
anything *else* rash, anyroad."
"D-don't move!! Or... or I'll kill him!!" The maid girl screamed,
spattering blood and saliva like an uncouth barbarian.
Tycon's eyes narrowed to thin slits, "Are you uh... aware that that
is not a meaningful threat?"
In a bright flash of light and a loud bang, the small study was filled
with a cloud of white smoke. The sweet smell of burnt Orkish
Sugar filled the room.
As the haze began to clear, Tycon relaxed his stance. Blood was
running down Margeaux's cheek. A spray of blood was painted
softly on the wall behind where she stood. The fired bullet had
entered through her eye and pierced through her brain, killing her
almost instantly.
Wolfrider laid beside her. His head was turned too far to the side,
his neck broken. A neat hole had been drilled into the center of his
forehead. Though the wolf-boy's body still twitched and convulsed,
no amount of healing magic would fix those injuries.
Lone's hand trembled, still holding onto his smoking pistol.
"If you drop that, I will beat you." Tycon warned, " The
craftsmanship of the tool is rather precise."
Lulu popped her head into the doorway, "OoooOOOh! Did she eat
his BRAIN?!?"
Sasha popped her head in below Lulu's.
Lone carefully re-holstered the pistol, "Boss... I..."
"Good thinking, Mister Lone," Tycon patted the man on the

shoulder.
"Boss-- but... I just got Levi killed?"
Tycon shrugged, "I would have killed him myself if I could. As you
know, the Magical Contract restricted me from doing so."
"I uh... It what?" Lone wore his classic 'doesn't know what's going
on' expression.
Tycon rolled his eyes, "I've read it to you before, but it appears
you hadn't listened."
He took a deep breath before explaining, "The contract states that

I am not to inflict malicious or unnecessary harm or death to any
of our loyal members..."
"Then... then shouldn't I be suffering a Mana Backlash right now?"

Lone asked.
"Nonsense," Tycon shook his head before grinning, "With Magical

Contracts, the highest priorities apply. In this case, protecting
yourself and the members of Sol Invictus was most important...
And of course, you didn't aim to *directly* harm our former ally."
Lone nodded in thought, "I see..."
Tycon shrugged as he turned back to the approaching Lulu, "Quite

redundant, I think. It seems rather asinine to sign someone on if
there was a lack of trust... Who thought of that 'thou shalt not
harm' nonsense, anyroad?"
"You did, Boss!" Lulu answered cheerfully.

"Oh. In that case, it was an intelligent decision, full of foresight.
Bravo," Tycon replied in rapid-fire to hide his embarrassment.
He approached the corpse of Levi Wolfrider. Blood ran down his

eyes, nose, and mouth. A thin trail of blood also seeped from the
hole bored into his skull. His eyes remained wide open as if he still
couldn't believe he was dead.
Kneeling down, Tycon closed the boy's eyelids, "Levi Wolfrider, I

hereby release you from service to Sol Invictus. 'Requesciat in
Pacem.'"
Tycon whispered a small prayer in the language of the Holy

Country. It seemed appropriate.
Standing up, Tycon took his halberd back. It needed a good oiling.
Wolfrider wouldn't be needing it, where he was going.
Tycon turned back, but was immediately met with Lone's downed
spirits and pitiful expression.
He sighed, "If it will make you feel any better, perhaps you should
examine the maid-woman's hair."
"But I..." Lone frowned, but realized he had no reason to argue,

"Fine."
The young man walked over and knelt down, examining the
aberrant-blooded woman's pink hair in his hands, "Wh-why does it
feel like that? It's wriggling?"
"Indeed. Margeaux wasn't human.
"Did you notice that Wolfrider wasn't able to fight back? There
must have been some magic she cast to prevent him from doing
so...
"Further, observe the precise hole bored into Wolfriders' forehead.

Recall he was a Bronze-Ranker. Our mutual friend, Margeaux,
was far more insidious than she had initially let on if she was
capable of--"
"SUCKING HIM OFF!!!!!!" Lulu interjected, "TOOOOOOOO
DEAAAAAAATH!!"
Tycon's mouth twitched, "Right, that."
He shrugged, "As I mentioned earlier, with your quick thinking

Lone... and the still unknown abilities of the hostile party, you have
potentially saved me, Sasha, and even Lulu. You're a hero, Mister
Lone."
"Proud of you, big guy!!" Lulu bumped Lone's thigh with her
behind.
"Proud..." Sasha swayed her hips. The chocolate elf remained in

the doorway of the study, four fulms away from Lone.
She was a shy, young lady.
Lone stood up, "A hero, huh... It sure doesn't feel like it."
Tycon closed his eyes and took a breath, "No... It often does not."
Lone stared at his still shaking hands, "I just... I feel like I could
have prevented it."
Tycon shook his head, "It was the best you could do."
"But it wasn't the--"
"It was the best you could do, with the time and tools you were
allotted," Tycon insisted. "It is done, Mister Lone. I advise any
feelings of inferiority be rectified with an increase in training and
not drowning yourself in doubt."
He walked past Lone, patting the silent Warrior's shoulder, "The

result is acceptable. You did well. Next drink's on me... the house
ale-- booze isn't cheap, after all."
Lone held out his still-shaking pistol hand. With his opposite hand,
he held onto his wrist, forcing it to still. With a deep sigh and
heavy footsteps, he turned and followed Tycon out of the Wizard's
study.
Chapter 202 Failed Assassin
he best that Tycondrius could do for Lone's psyche was to

T
proceed as normal.
It might seem heartless, but the rote normalcy of the adventuring

minutiae could offer him some stability. They had a quest to
complete. Working towards mission completion could also distract
the man from his regrets and from darker thoughts.
Two people died because of Lone's conscious decision and both

were people he had an emotional investment in.
Regret was normal. Overly harsh evaluation of one's own actions

was normal. These things were not exclusive to adventuring.
Ultimately, Tycon was proud of the young man. A swift, well-made

decision was ultimately superior to a perfect one, enacted too late.
As his superior and for the glory of Sol Invictus, Tycon sincerely
wished for Lone to succeed... as an adventurer, as a Chosen One,
as it were. But if he were to continue living the life of an
adventurer, there would come another time when lives could be
lost as a result of a single decision.
Lone needed the mental fortitude to enable him in making a

proper choice.
After all, inaction, even as a result of fear or uncertainty, was still a

choice.
Tycon could provide normalcy. He could provide gentle

reassurance. He could provide him with the tools to succeed-- to
drill him as a weapon, to instill instant willingness and obedience
to orders.
However, the last step was one only Lone could take. The young
man would be sieged on all sides by his inner demons: fear,
uncertainty, and regret. Would he be able to fend them off? Or
would he allow himself to be consumed?
There was always light in contrast to the darkness. There was

always hope... even if to get to it, one needed to slog through the
bodies of the fallen and the filth they left in their wake.
Tycon glanced back at the closed door to the study.
Thankfully, Wolfrider was a walking, barking pile of garbage and

wouldn't be missed. On top of that, it was his own damned fault
that he went out the way he did.
Worst of it was he continued being a nuisance in death,

demoralizing his gods-damned Warrior and hopefully future
Ranger.
Stupid pup.
"Boss, I'm gonna work on that locked cabinet," Lulu pranced

around the desk in the main room and began to decipher the
runes protecting the Wizard's hoard.
Tycon turned his attention to the corpse he had found earlier. He

walked over to it and flipped it face-up with the end of his halberd.
It was bloated. Bloody foam leaked from its nose and mouth.
Dark clothes and hood. Dagger on his belt. A Rogue or Assassin,

perhaps?
Tycon briefly scanned the nearby wall where a magic circle had
been inscribed but was devoid of power.
« System, analysis: The inert runes. »
[Human Heartbreaker Trap. Third-Circle Illusion. Causes the

target's heart to explode.]
The trap was quite obvious to him but would be less so for
someone not as knowledgeable... which was odd, considering that
the invader had chosen to trespass a Wizard's Tower.
« System, inquiry: About how long has this gentleman been dead?
»
[System response: Upwards of 3 days.]
A leather carrying case laid on the floor beside the body.

Something inside would likely provide a clue to the man's identity.
Besides that, Tycon hoped that something within would make up

for their guild's frustrating experiences against the Magic Tower's
various traps and defenses.
...It would at least make up for the useless weretouched they'd

lost.
Tycon pulled the dead man's case close and unlatched it.
Ow.
Tycon retracted his hand on reflex. A small drop of blood seeped

out of the side of his finger.
He examined the latch again.
« System, analysis: The protruding spike. »
[System response: The spike contains traces of an unknown Iron-

Rank venom.]
Mundane traps filled with harmful substances tended to be

indicative of the Assassin Class. Tycon's annoyance being bled by
a simple trap was assuaged by the fact that the deadly Iron-Rank
poison was unable to claim a final victim.
He opened the case, as Sasha and Lone looked on in wonder.
An unstrung shortbow. A quiver of arrows. A sword and a dagger.

Vials of holy water.
Utilizing the System, Tycon scanned over the items. It seemed
that the quiver was full of envenomed arrows. The bow, sword,
and dagger were lightly enchanted... as well as the assassin's
boots and trousers.
"Mister Lone, I advise you to take this man's brown trousers."
"Boss, really..." Lone frowned, "Are you playing a joke on me?"
Tycon scratched his cheek in embarrassment, "I admit that I am

not very good at making jokes..."
Lone hesitated, but slowly nodded in agreement, much to Tycon's

chagrin. He began to remove the dead man's boots and trousers.
Tycon took the man's enchanted boots.
[Battle-Knight's Boots. Second-Circle Transmutation. Increases

the armored wearer's speed.]
Lone was examining the man's trousers.
[Never-Soil Trousers. First-Circle Universal. Cleanses odors,

spills, and stains.]
Tycon observed the short sword, it looked to be of a length that he

preferred. But as he reached over, Lone's hand crossed over his.
Both men immediately retracted their hands.
"You want it, Boss?" Lone asked, "Go ahead."
"What?" Tycon growled, "If you want it, you should take it."
"But, Boss... You obviously want it," Lone frowned.
"Pah. I don't need it. It's unprofessional for me to take all the loot."
Tycon narrowed his eyes, allowing his frustration to seep into his
voice, "If you want it, take it!"
...Lone ended up taking the dagger, a fine blade made of a silver

alloy. He could fence it for a fair amount of coin.
He could use it to afford better than the house ale. The young
Warrior could use a stiff drink to distract him from his troubles.
He gave Sasha the shortbow (after he checked it for traps.) He

would teach her how to use it in the coming days.
"Boss, I found something else," Lone exclaimed, holding up a ring.
Tycon scowled, turning up his nose, "Where did you... find that? It
reeks."
"It was hidden up the man's arse, Boss?"

Chapter 203 The Wizard’s
Treasures
ycondrius glared at the Lone Shadowdark in disbelief, "Mister

T
Lone, was that a question or a statement?"
Tycon was at a loss, trying to discern just where Lone had learned
such a loathsome tactic. The Warrior had searched for loot inside
of a corpse's anal cavity. Was it something Dragan had taught
him? It sounded like something Dragan had taught him.
"I uh... it was a fact," Lone looked around for help. Lulu was still
working on opening the Wizard's cabinet. Sasha was pretending
to shoot arrows with her new shortbow, making tiny 'chuu' noises.
Wolfrider and Margeaux were absent, on account of being
deceased.
Tycon crossed his arms, "Why... in the seven hells and eleven
heavens did you think to root around a dead man's arse?"
"I dunno, Boss." Lone began to babble, defending his actions, "He
seemed like the sneaky sort of guy. And... and sneaky sorts hide
things in their butts!"
Lone's logic offended Tycon's senses... "Do you consider me... a

sneaky person?"
"Well... you do wear a dark cloak all the time, Boss?"
Tycon grimaced. He looked at the Assassin's mundane cloak. It

was similar in color and design to his own.
Still, he was not amused, "And does it look like I regularly shove
items of import up my arse, Mister Lone?"
Lone cringed and began to babble meaningless excuses, which
Tycon chose to ignore. Instead, he mentally commanded his
System to analyze the ring... from a hygienic distance.
Tycon cut off the young man's blather, "--Spin the ring's face about
a half-circle, if you would."
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, opened up the ring, revealing

its contents: a folded piece of paper and a small capsule. The
capsule was a lethal ingestible poison. The paper revealed a
series of instructions, directing the death of a Wizard named
Konstantin Dunzis.
As the 5th floor's corpses consisted of an Assassin, a maid, and a

piece of garbage, Tycon induced that the man had failed his
mission.
Konstantin Dunzis... The name sounded familiar.
Tycon looked at the man in the family-portrait. He looked familiar,

too.
He felt a tug on his cloak. Sasha pointed to the side of a room

where a large board, covered in chalk-scrawl had been hung.
Tycon decided to let go of the mystery of the Wizard's identity. He

had more important things to deal with.
...
The large board that Sasha held interest in displayed a complex

ritual, involving several dependent magic circles. The device itself
was a flat wooden board covered by an alchemical substance,
allowing script to be written in chalk which later could be erased
with a damp cloth.
Reusable writing board. Technology was marvelous.
Tycon pointed at the runic lines, written in ancient Elven, "The

complex formula on this board is part of a series meant to be
inscribed around magic circles.
"This line channels and focuses specific energies. This one marks
a dependency to the Central Circle... notably... this main line. Tell
me why that is."
Sasha pursed her lips, thinking over Tycon's question.
Because of the young lady's Oracle Class, Tycon expected her to

understand the rudimentary basics of the script. Even if she
couldn't understand its meaning, the make-up of the magic circles
and their various formations were inherent to all casting Classes.
"(The second Divine Circle does not sing without the Base
Prayer,") Sasha smiled in understanding.
"Correct, young lady." Tycon ruffled Sasha's hair, "Now, we shall

take a step back and address the Spell's main functions... here.
This line in the Central Circle, do you recognize its usage? --And
speak in Common, please."
The chocolate elf pursed her lips, concentrating, "Thissss.... isss...

like... water."
Tycon nodded. It was close, "(How is it like water, Beautiful

Child?)"
"(It controls the flow of mana... It flows like a stream to a river. It

drips like a gentle rain,)" Sasha tilted her head, "(Is Sasarame
correct?)"
"You are, indeed correct. This line limits the flow of mana, and can
be adjusted for a burst of energy, or a longer-lasting, steady
stream of power."
Sasha hissed happily, performing a wiggling dance.
Tycon took a piece of chalk and wrote a few symbols surrounding

the line, "What will happen if I link this line on the left directly to
the one on the right... bypassing the limiter."
Sasha placed her hands on her cheeks, "The mana... will flow... all
of it?"
Tycon nodded, "And what happens when there's an overflow of
mana?"
Sasha pursed her lips to the side again and rubbed one of her
long ears, "The spell... fails."
"Fshhhh..." She made the sound of a spell fizzling out.
Tycon chuckled, "Correct."
Sasha wasn't wrong. However, with the amount of mana the spell
was handling, it was far more likely to cause a catastrophic
explosion, damaging all ritual casters involved.
He turned back to where the blonde demoness was working,

"Lulu, how is your progress on the cabinet?"
Lulu leaned over, "I'm almost... there~!"
The cabinet glowed brightly, and then abruptly dimmed with a

sound of shattering glass, much like the barrier breaking at the
tower's entrance, "OoohHHhhh YESSS!!! It feels so GOOOOD!!"
Tycon kept an impassive expression, "Are you quite done?"
Lulu breathed an exaggerated sigh of relief, "Yup. Come on over,

Boss."
Tycon walked over and glanced into the Wizard's personal stash.
Various arcane components were hidden inside, in particular,
obvious expensive gems and liquids and materials kept in thick
and expensive vials.
Lulu hopped up, lifting one of her heels to her behind, "I've got
your blue gems, Boss!!"
"Very well-- Oooh, are those government bonds?" Tycon swept

the papers up into his spatial ring.
The smaller items of value, gems and high-value coins, he began

placing into his wallet.
"Mister Lone!" Tycon called out, "Invictus is looting everything
unmarked and of value in this room. Any issues?"
Lone shrugged, returning a half-smile, "Nope. Screw this wizard

and his mimics."
Sasha tugged on Tycon's cloak and pointed to Lone with concern.

A coatrack was sneaking up on Lone, likely another of the
Wizard's mimics.
Tycon sighed, "Mister Lone. Contact, rear."
Lone rolled forward, escaping the coatrack's sneak attack, "How

DARE you show yourself before the LONE SHADOWDARK??!?"
The young warrior engaged in battle with the coatrack, his most
hated enemy.
Lone had become quite skilled at fighting mimics.
...How... how many mimics had he fought in this tower?
Lulu rested her chin on Tycon's shoulder from behind, nuzzling

her cheek into his, "So what's the plan, Boss?"
Chapter 204 Beautiful Child
ycondrius gently flicked the demoness' forehead, "I've sent

T
Dragan and a newer Invictus member named Taree towards the
Labyrinth to contact the Gatekeepers."
Lulu rubbed her forehead, grinning happily, "Right... I suppose I

should probably say hello to Raelion... Is that all?"
She was referring to General Raelion, the commander of the

Gatekeepers' military forces. Lulu must have held a high position
to be able to speak of him so casually.
Tycon took in a deep breath and sighed. He took off his glove and
summoned a few more items from his spatial ring... his crossbow
quiver, the Shatterspike longsword, mundane pieces of
maintenance and repair equipment, a bedroll, and basic
adventuring gear.
He peeled off his ring... He did not want to part with it. It was
arguably the most useful item he had.
She took the enchanted ring and examined it, "Oooh, it's
soulbound. I can't break this, Boss."
Tycon winced in emotional pain as he reached out and unbound

the ring from his soul. The mana drain weakened him immensely
and his knees buckled from the expenditure.
Leaning forward against his halberd, Tycon kept his voice hushed,
"There's over 5 million silver worth of opioids in that ring, 150
ponze of it. I want them sold via our channels... get to our Guild
Headquarters in Nice and discuss it with Sorina Capulet."
"Do we have smugglers?" Lulu grinned.

"We control a Dark Guild, in Merylsward. Rogues. The gentleman-
leader's name is Monsieur Reynard... In the ring, there are some
books on business for him and Sorina, as well."
"And what's my cut?"
"15%"
"25~♥," Lulu grabbed onto Tycon's waist and pulled herself close.
Tycon sighed as he palmed Lulu's face and pushed her away,

"Fine. But I'm sure Dragan would be upset if you didn't share any
with him."
"Got it, Boss," Lulu giggled. It was a refreshing sound, pleasant to

the ears.
Tycon shook his head. The safest way of transporting the

contraband was utilizing a spatial item with high security functions.
His spatial ring he had looted from the Ivory Judge Hidden Sect
was perfect for it. And Lulu was more than strong enough to
deliver the goods safely.
"And what do you plan on doing, Miss Lulu?" Tycon changed the
subject. He no longer wished to think about the loss of his ring.
The blonde demoness shrugged, "I think me and the kiddo's are
gonna profane the tower before we report to General Raelion. You
know. Sex stuff."
"Very good." Tycon turned and called out, "Mister Lone, you will
be coming with us, yes?"
Lone walked forward, victorious in his battle against the coat rack,
"Holy Country right? Yeah, I wanna go."
Tycon offered the hilt of the Shatterspike.
"Um, Boss... What's this?"
"Are you daft? It's the Shatterspike. It's a--"

"--a kickass magic sword that cuts through anything!"
Tycon frowned.
"Oh, I interrupted you. Sorry, Boss," Lone rubbed the back of his
head.
"Besides that, take it. The sword and hammer combination will suit
you."
Lone gingerly took the sword from Tycon and held it in his hand,
"R-right... And I can have Moon transform into Tres Leches while I
wield Moon-Moon with Shatterspike."
"R... right..." Tycon pursed his lips. He wanted to tell him that Tres
Leches did not translate to 'Three Moons,' but he risked Lone
renaming his Skill to something even more absurd.
Tycon placed his adventurer's pack on his back, the familiar

weight comforting.
He held his halberd in his right and took Sasha's hand in his left, "
(The Beautiful Child travels with me, beyond the horizon. Is she
willing?)"
The chocolate elf widened her lips in a soft smile. A single clump
of white hair on her head stood up majestically, "(Sasarame is
willing.)"
Tycon nodded to Lulu, who was charging up her magical spell.

She glowed with power and a bluish-white magic circle of power lit
up on the ground, rotating underneath Tycon, Sasha, and Lone.
"See you later, Boss!" Lulu waved.
Tycon smirked, "Yeah... See you."
...
[Meanwhile, in the Free Nation of Brel.]

A woman wearing half-plate strode the halls of the palace, her hair
black with a rebellious green streak down the front. She opened
the double-doors and barged into the throne room.
Two male guards with halberds hurried to stop her. They did not
dare to immediately brandish their weapons.
"Princess, please! The Queen is not to be disturbed!"
"Princess Cass, please don't-- we will be killed if we don't do our

duties."
The young woman glared in annoyance, "Seven hells, why would I

give a shite about a pair of humans?"
Errrrgh. She had picked up her brother's nasty habit of cursing. It

was an annoying trait that she really needed to get rid of.
The guards glanced at each other, then back at Cass, "P... please
forgive us, Princess."
Simultaneously, both guards raised their weapons.
Idiots.
Cass stretched out her hand and outstretched a single finger.
She felt her hair come alive as she channeled her mana. 12 black-
scaled snakes and a single golden-eyed, green shared their
senses with her. They hissed at a few other guards that had
arrived on scene.
Seeing Cass flare up in power, the approaching guards wisely

chose to stop in their tracks. Like a wave, they began to kneel and
prostrate themselves with their foreheads to the floor. It was the
best way to avoid being targeted by her wrath.
Cass had undimmed her petrifying gaze and stared into the eyes
of her attackers. Both halberdiers transformed instantaneously
into majestic statues of beautiful white marble, poised to strike.
She pressed her fingernail to the first human's forehead... a
thousand cracks appeared on its form and it crumbled into dust.
Cass walked past, towards her mother's chambers, with no

additional challenges. .
She raised her hand and made an offensive gesture to the guards
at her back, "Wind Cutter."
A condensed wind-spell launched behind her, cleaving the

remaining guard's stone head from its shoulders.
...
Cass flung the doors of the royal chambers open, being met with
the strong stench of iron, and her naked mother tearing the flesh
for a human male's neck.
"Auuuuuughhhh," Cass groaned, "Are you *serious* mother?"
"What?" Rylania twisted her lips, spitting out a chip of bone, "I was
bored. I eat when I'm bored, you know this, daughter."
Cass placed her hands on her hips, "I've received word about my
brother. Can you have him come home, already? This quest is
absurd!!"
Queen Rylania's majesty was slightly diminished with the blood

running down her chest, but her beauty still bordered on the
divine. Beautiful blonde-orange snakes on her head flicked their
tongues as they observed the armored princess.
Cass quietly hoped that she would grow more alike to her
mother's form, but that wasn't at all the point of the visit!
Rylania shrugged, "He wanted to take the quest, himself. You

know how your brother is... foolishly optimistic. But that's what you
love about him, don't you, Daughter?"
Cass felt her cheeks grow hot, "Wh-what are you talking about,
Mother! We're related!! I don't like him like-that, LIKE-THAT!!"
"Fufufu," the Queen chuckled, wiping her mouth and chest on the
sheets, "Worry not, my love. Your brother's next quest is to please
the Archbishop of the Holy Country. I'm certain Tycondrius will
come crying back into your lap, by then."
"I really don't like him like that, mother!!" Cass insisted.
"Whatever you say, Beautiful Child."

Chapter 205 APPENDIX 1:
Ranks & Circle-Magic
* *You may skip this chapter and the next chapter to return to the
story.**
Detailed in this chapter are Adventurer Rank, Circle Magic, Magic

Rarity, and Rank Imprecision.
ADVENTURER RANK
Adventurers are split into 4 categories, according to their RANK

(Unranked, Bronze, Iron, Gold.)
* Unranked: Normal person. In game terms, has ~35 HP where a

sword deals 50 Damage.
* Bronze-Rank: Stronger than a normal person. Strengthened

constitution can reasonably survive and even fight through a
severe injury like a crossbow bolt to the chest or a dagger to the
abdomen. In game terms, can have ~75 HP.
* Iron-Rank: Strengthened constitution can reasonably survive

what would assuredly kill a normal person. Several stabs and
crossbow shots to the chest. Has access to Skills that can fell
normal persons in a single strike. In game terms, has ~250 HP
and is more difficult to damage successfully.
* Gold-Rank: Can be expected to survive an onslaught of 30+

Unranked or Bronze-Rank adventurers because of martial
prowess. Very difficult to kill, unless utilizing powerful poison,
magic, superior numbers, and the element of surprise. In game
terms, has 500+ HP and is far more difficult to damage. Bronze-
Rank attacks (with the exception of attacks utilizing Orkish Sugar)
deal minimal damage to Gold-Rankers unless they are caught by
surprise.
* Higher Ranks: 13 Adamantine-Rank adventurers are known to

the various nations and are tracked carefully. Ranks beyond that
exist, but are even more rare. Dragon-Ranks are capable of
challenging powerful beasts of myth and legend. A battle with a
Heaven-Rank can destabilize the entire reality plane. A God-Rank
can wage an active war against the armies of an entire plane.
...
CIRCLE MAGIC
Casters, whether their power source is Arcane, Divine, or Primal

are rated by the highest CIRCLE of spells they can cast. Humans
can cast up to Third-Circle spells. It takes a gifted Elven wizard
over 400 years to reach Fourth-Circle proficiency. Circles First
through Third can be synonymous to Bronze through Gold
ranking.
First-Circle: Offensive spells are capable of slaying Unranked and

severely damage Bronze-Rankers.
Second-Circle: Offensive spells are capable of disintegrating

Bronze-Rankers and severely damaging Iron-Rankers.
Third-Circle: Single spells are capable of slaying dozens of men.

A handful of Third-Circle casters can kill hundreds on a battlefield,
to thousands if left unchecked.
...
RARITY OF MAGIC
There are 3 types of magic that are considered rare: Healing,

Teleportation, and Measurement.
Proper healing magic is rare because less than 1 in 3 Casters

draw their powers from the Divine. Non-Divine Healing magics like
alchemist healing potions and Tycon's Inspirational Surge Skill
greatly accelerate healing over time. Divine Spells like
Sasarame's Cure Spell reverses the damage dealt or are
otherwise (inexplicably) more effective.
Teleportation magic is rare because they are outlawed by an

organization called the Gatekeepers, who guard the realm against
threats from the Outer Planes. The various nations' laws support
this ban.
Measurement magic are rare because the mana expenditure is

inefficient and thus far, all efforts to instill permanency to a
measuring device remain costly. A school that promotes learning
of magic usually has 1 such device, which costs thousands of
silver to maintain each year.
...
RANK IS IMPRECISE
Mana-sensitive Classes can detect the mana-expenditure of

others. An Iron-Rank Warrior can compare their own passive
mana to that of a Bronze or Gold rank and know they outclass
them or are greatly outclassed.
However, this becomes more complicated if the Warrior's

opponent may have a different Class Tier (Berserk Knight Korr)...
or are more skilled in combat (Warrior Lone)... or boasts greater
physical attributes (Dread Pirate Lang Hai, Human-Form).
Further, some combatants radiate an aura of power beyond their

Rank (Maximus of Ezyria) while some are weaker than their Rank
suggests (Kimura Tamaki).
Chapter 206 APPENDIX 2:
Classes
**You may skip this chapter to return to the story.**
Detailed in this chapter are Class Tier, Tier Demographics, Named

Guilds, and Glossary of Terms.
CLASS TIER
There are 3 types of class TIERS. There are Low-Tier, Standard

Classes, and High-Tier Classes. Higher Tier classes develop
faster and more powerfully. A High-Tier Iron Rank won't
necessarily lose against a standard Gold-Rank.
However, Lower Tier classes progress ranks more easily. It is not

uncommon for one 5-year war veteran to be an Iron-Rank Warrior
while a peer would be a Bronze-Rank Fighter.
Low-Tier:
Kimura Tamaki, Bronze-Rank Human Fisherman
Lone Shadowdark, Bronze-Rank Human Warrior
Reynard, Bronze-Rank Human Expert
Standard-Tier:
Dragan Ashlord, Iron-Rank Titanblood Swordmage
Kimura Taree, Bronze-Rank Human Martialist
Levi Wolfrider, Bronze-Rank Weretouched Warden

Maximus of Ezyria, Iron-Rank Dovahkiin Warmage
Naedrielle, Iron-Rank Elf Sentinel
Pale Invictus, Bronze-Rank Half-Elf Spear-Warrior
Sasarame, Bronze-Rank Snake Oracle
Tarquin Wroe, Bronze-Rank Human Hexblade
Tycondrius Charm, Iron-Rank Medusa Warlord
High-Tier:
Lucifer, Gold-Rank Demon Umbrella Meister
Seldin Korr, Iron-Rank Human Berserk Knight
Sorina Capulet, Bronze-Rank Human Calculator
...
TIER DEMOGRAPHICS
In Merylsward, a population of 60,000, there are approximately 30

Gold-Rankers, with Martial-Classes to Casters at a 2:1 ratio.
~200 are Iron-Rank classes. ~500 are Bronze-Rankers. Of those,

less than 40% have a standard-tier Class.
Less than 1% of the population (600) work as guards or militia and

are mostly brave Unranked and Bronze-Rank individuals.
For comparison, the United States civilian to military ratio is 0.6%

and the civilian to law-enforcement ratio is 0.2%
...
NAMED GUILDS
Public Guilds
Adventurer's Guild of the Kingdom - A government-funded hub
that makes quests available to adventuring companies, single
adventurers, or otherwise skilled experts
Banker's Guild - Provides banking services and insurance

policies, accessible in any major city
Courier's Guild - Physically or magically delivers mail between

cities
Windwright's Guild - Provides privately-owned, governmentally-

regulated travel services by airship between major cities
Adventuring Companies
Shadowdark Wolves (Bronze) - Formerly led by Warrior Denman
Sol Invictus (Iron) - Led by Warlord Tycondrius of Charm
Staghorn (Iron) - Led by Heavy Armor Knight Emilien Leserre in

Nice
Trayus (Gold) - Led by High Wizard Trayus in Merylsward
Hidden Sects
Sea Wolf Sect - Lang Hai's sect, officially a part of the Kingdom's
Navy
Golden Crow Sect - The sect that the Sea Wolf, Shao Ran, was
part of
Ivory Judge Sect - Led by the Kimura Patriarch
Kingdom Military
Darktide Fleet - Fleet under Grand-Captaine Chantal's command.

Part of the Kingdom's Navy
Knights Arcane - An elite cavalry-centric battalion in the

Kingdom's Army
...
GUILD TERMS
Adventuring Company - A guild of adventurers, traveling in a

company. A company, in this case, ranges from a team (2-5), a
squad (~10), a platoon (~50), or a proper company (2-4 platoons).
Companies comprised of larger than 200 require a legal permit
and are rare outside of times of war.
Dark Guild - A type of guild known for performing illegal acts ie.
extortion, slavery, assassination, and smuggling.
Guild vs Company - These terms are usually used

interchangeably. The proper use of 'company' refers to either a
traveling group or the military term of 2-4 combined platoons.
Mercenary Company - An older term sometimes used

interchangeably with 'adventuring company.' The term remains as,
during wartime, adventurers were often hired as mercenaries
attached to armies.
...
OTHER TERMS
Daeva - A human with traces of angelic ancestry.
Demonblood - A human with traces of demon or devil ancestry.

Also known as devil-bloods. In this setting, demons and devils
have a healthy rivalry, but are not hostile. Demons dislike being
called devils and vice versa, but accept that commonfolk would
not easily know the difference. Even current-generation demons
and devils find it hard to tell the difference...
Dovahkiin - A human with traces of scalefolk ancestry, often

specialized in elemental magic. Will be used unless someone tells
the Author they can be sued for it.
Elf - A long-lived race that has mostly integrated with humankind.

Known for being flighty. Elves reach physical and mental maturity
at 110 years old.
Iredar - While mostly referring to furred Kobolds, the term is used

as a catch-all for underground-dwelling humanoids. Includes
Gnomes... but not Dwarves.
Irvhir - While mostly referring to scalekin Kobolds, the term is used

as a catch-all for scale-folk with lizard ancestry. Several thousand
years ago, the term Irvhir referred to what is now the Iredar.
Historians are unsure or when or why the change occurred.
Mana Ward - A mana-shield generated by Caster Classes, who

often do not have strengthened constitutions like Martial Classes.
Orc - Large, green-skinned humanoids who worship their gods by

engaging in "honorable" battle. To be respected in an Orc tribe,
one must either be brutal or cunning-- preferably both.
Orkish Sugar - Black explosive powder. First discovered by

Dwarves. First utilized by Orc Shamans. First weaponized by
Humans.
Popoto - A gnome-sized, bronze-skinned humanoid, known for

having cute, child-like appearances. Popotoes tend to have a high
affinity for magic.
Titanblood - A human with giant ancestry. Also known as half-

giants.
Chapter 207 Zehr Of Ezyria
"Eeeeek!!!"
"Eternal Flame!! Are you okay, Gianna?"
The horse-drawn wagon ran over a bump in the road, jolting its
passengers. Gianna fanned her reddening face after having been
startled. Rena showed feminine concern for her companion,
though a smirk of amusement failed to leave her face.
"It--it surprised me!" Gianna frowned. She took off her issued
helmet, revealing her blonde ponytail and a forehead glistening
with perspiration.
Justus felt his nerves calm, basking in the simplistic picture of

beauty. He ran his fingers through his short red hair and chuckled,
"Haha, ease off, Rena. When we come under attack, Gia can
warn the whole cohort."
The accusation left the wagon's passengers chuckling at the

absurdity, save for one, a fair-skinned young woman in old leather
armor and her hood pulled low.
Rena covered her mouth with a hand, "Oh, you're just criminal,
Justus. You were too busy staring at my Gianna to be surprised,
yourself."
"S-since when was I *your* Gianna?" the blonde soldier pouted,

crossing her arms over her segmented armor.
Justus rolled his eyes. The crossbow girl was too much.
...Was he really being that obvious?

One of the older soldiers chuckled, "Best be careful, little girl.
You're teasing the Hero of Leopardon, after all."
The wagon erupted in more boisterous laughter, much to Justus'

embarrassment.
"What's this about being a hero, Justus?" Gianna leaned forward.

Her bright blue eyes gazed deep into his soul.
Whatever Justus was trying to say was caught in his throat.
Flame eternal... How long had he been staring?
Justus opened his mouth to speak-- "Buohhh!!"
"Buoh?" Gianna tilted her head and a thin, graceful crease of

confusion formed between her eyebrows.
"Mhm! That's right. Justus and I grew up in a small town called

Leopardon." Rena, sitting beside Justus, had jammed her elbow
into his side. The strike winded him, despite his own set of armor.
Justus held his side and glared at his childhood friend, "It's
nothing, really. I chased some wolves off with my father's sword."
Rena giggled, sweeping back one of her brown bangs behind her
ear, nuzzling her cheek into Justus' shoulder, "You should have
seen it. He was wearing a chamber pot over his head while yelling
and screaming. The wolves ran off, terrified!"
Another of the older soldiers, the grey bearded Modestus,

reached over to rub Justus' head, "Ahaha! You're a good kid, boy.
Don't worry about the little girl picking on you."
Justus didn't like being treated like a kid. It's why he joined the
Rhodok adventuring company as soon as he was of age. But
still... he could sense the care and concern by his peers. That and
Gianna's wholesome smile made him accept the compliments
without complaint.
The wagon driver, Cael, half-turned back with a grin, "Far from
home, aren'tcha, Justus?"
Justus pursed his lips. Decanus Caelistis was a strict leader. He
also loved to insult the men and women under his charge, which
led to a bit of awkwardness when they weren't out training, "Yes,
Decanus. I've always wanted to join a guild in Ezyria."
Cael turned his attention back to the road, "Hah. You did good
then, Fish. The Rhodok adventuring company is the best Gold-
Rank guild in all of Tyrion!!"
"It's the only guild that the Decanus hasn't gotten kicked out of,
yet," One of the other veterans playfully added, causing reserved
laughter from the others.
The gaunt and goateed Decanus turned back again with an

exaggerated scowl, "Ahaha! Shut the hells up, you old fart, before
I pull this wagon over and make you!"
The veteran gave Justus a smirk and he returned a grateful nod.

Caelistis would accept criticism from the older vets, but never from
a newer recruit like himself-- a fish, like the Decanus said.
"Hmph! The best guild in Ezyria is Sol Invictus!!" Rena pouted with
upturned lips, "Isn't that right, Justus?"
Justus sighed inwardly. Why did this girl always want to make
trouble for him?
"Sol Invictus... That's that Gold-Rank arena guild, isn't it?" Gianna
asked.
Justus felt his heart surging with pride. He had grown up on

stories of Sol Invictus... and his parents had even taken him to a
colosseum to watch their most famous fight. Invictus' leader,
Quies, delivered the legendary Maximus of Ezyria his one and
only loss.
Sol Invictus was the reason Justus had sought to join a guild
instead of trying to make it as a solo adventurer like Rena had
wanted him to be.
"Pahh! Hahaha!" Cael burst out into derisive laughter, "Sol
Invictus? They're old news, blondie. They disappeared years ago.
Rumors say they fled the country after they tried their hand at
doing *real* adventurer work."
Justus frowned but didn't argue with Cael's assessment. It was

true that Invictus disappeared from the limelight a few years prior,
but any guess on what happened to them was pure conjecture.
"Whoa!" Cael suddenly pulled on the reins of the horses, jarring

the adventurers as the wagon came to an abrupt stop.
"Eeek!" Gianna yelped again as she fell forward. Justus acted

quickly, catching the woman in his arms and steadying her.
"Are you alright, Gia?" Justus asked. He felt his face warming up,
speaking with her so closely.
"Decanus!!" Rena shouted at the wagon's driver, interrupting the

moment. "What's the big idea?"
Decanus Caelistis looked back angrily, "By the Flame, girl, take a
look! The wagon in front of us is stopped too!"
Rena turned back to Justus and Gianna with her hands on her
hips, "And how long are you two gonna stay like that?"
Gianna looked down at her hand, which was being held by Justus.
Her face turned to shock as she jumped back into her seat, her
face flushed as red as a tomato.
Justus closed his hand and smiled to himself. The sensation of

Gianna's hand in his was nice while it lasted.
Rena crossed her arms and twisted her lips to the side, "How hard
is it to keep your balance, Gianna? Look at Zehr! She hasn't
budged an inch!!"
"Hasn't said a word since joining, either..." One of the veterans

offered.
The thin, hooded figure turned towards the archer at the mention
of her name and gave a wave of acknowledgment.
"See!?" Rena insisted, "Professional adventurer, right there!!"
"Tchh! Yeah, sure." Cael scoffed, "With her secondhand armor

and hole-ridden cloak, she's definitely *not* a worthless person
under that hood."
In the proper style of Decanus Caelistis, his words dripped with

both snake venom and sarcasm. As professional as Zehr acted,
though, her gear left much to be desired.
Cael flagged down one of the company's riders, "You there. Why
have we stopped?"
Chapter 208 Mistaken Identity
he wagon train of the Rhodok adventuring company had over a

T
dozen wagons, carrying some 150 well-trained and well-armed
soldiers. Some 30 mounted riders were dispersed throughout, to
ensure communication and to serve as a light cavalry force.
Cael caught the attention of one of the Equitatus, who had just
reported to the wagon in front of theirs.
The horse-mounted Eques rode closer, briefly checked Caelistis'

rank, and saluted, "Decanus, the lead wagon has discovered
something of interest. Do you have any scouts in your tent group
skilled in tracking?"
Cael placed his chin against his fist in thought, "No, I don't think
we have--"
The thin, hooded warrior stood up, her hand adjusting the sword
on her hip. Everyone in the wagon gawked, including Justus. It
was the largest motion Zehr had made since her silent
introduction at their journey's beginning.
Cael's mouth twitched. It appeared he had also been caught off

guard, "R-right. My mistake. Go ahead, Zehr."
"At once, Decanus, "An unmistakably male voice spoke from

underneath Zehr's hood.
Zehr crouched down, grabbed the edge of the wagon railing, and
hopped off. With the mounted warrior's horse at a trot, the hooded
figure kept pace at a steady jog.
Rena half-stood as she stared at the departing warrior. When she

was certain he was out of earshot, she kept her voice low to
curse, "Flame take me! I thought Zehr was a girl this whole time!!"
Justus grinned, "That's what you get for making assumptions."
"And did you know, Munifex Justus?" Gianna asked playfully. She
had placed a finger on her chin, accentuating a beauty mark next
to her lips.
Justus laughed, placing his hand on the back of his head, "Haha, I
didn't either."
"Miss Rena, if you were curious, why didn't you ask?" Giana
offered.
Justus was curious of Rena's reasoning, as well. The archer

wasn't shy about anything. She was the only fish capable of
talking back to Decanus Caelistis without getting torn to shreds.
Over the past several moons, even Cael had learned not to test
her snake-tongue when she was in one of her... moods.
The brunette archer crossed her arms and shivered in

exaggeration, "Ehehe... She seemed kinda scary-- err... I mean he
did."
Cael scoffed, turning his body to sneer at Rena with his blonde
goatee and wispy mustache, "So there is something the Bitch of
Leopardon is scared of."
Rena stood up with her hands on her hips, "And how about you,
Decanus? How can you call me and Justus fish, but you call Zehr
by her-- by his name!?"
The Decanus shrugged, "Because you two look, talk, and act like
fish. You're fish. And regardless of the shite-armor that hood-and-
cloak wears, he's not really... fish-material."
"I see..." Rena sat down... but popped up again with a face full of
fury, "Flame TAKE YOU, Decanus!! What do you mean BITCH of
Leopardon?!?"
The wagon groaned as a collective whole as Justus placed his

face into his hands. As clever as Rena could be, sometimes there
were only clouds in that head of hers.
Cael swayed back as if moved by the archer's anger, "Heavens
and hells, calm your tits, Fish."
"By. The. Flame. Sexual harassment!!" Rena cried out, "You guys
are all witnesses! I'm being sexually harassed!!"
"C-calm down, Miss Rena. The Decanus didn't mean it like that,"
Gianna shot Justus a guilting look.
Justus coughed into a closed fist. He supposed it was time for him
to stand up for his friend, "Decanus, if I may?"
Cael raised an eyebrow, "Yeah? What is it, then?"
"Asking Munifex Rena to 'calm her tits' is technically incorrect..."

Justus calmly explained.
Rena's eyes lit up, "Yeah, Justus! I knew you loved me!!"
"--as she doesn't have any tits to speak of."
...
Tycondrius cut his hunting knife into the waste pile, grimacing.
One of the scouts approached from the woods, "Same tracks all
around. They're too big to be wolves, though... and there's at least
a dozen of 'em."
"Maybe... we've got some really big wolves to worry about?"

Another scout offered with uncertainty.
"Hah. Flame take your head, man. That's a terrifying thought."
The cavalryman called the scouts over, "Munifex Zehr found some
dung! Come check it out."
Tycon had joined the Rhodok adventuring company as a

freelancer under the pseudonym of Zehr. He had a goal that just
so happened to coincide with their latest Gold-Rank undertaking
and he had a mind to ensure that the company survived at least
until that could be achieved.
The scout looked over his shoulder, "It... resembles wolf-
droppings. Stinks just as bad, that's for sure. What do you think,
Munifex?"
Tycon shut his eyes, pretending to think.
« System, analysis: Droppings. »
⟬ Analyzing... The feces were produced by a male Iredar,

approximately 2.5 bells prior. ⟭
Hidden within Tycon's psyche was a multi-functional System,

capable of automating his Skills, translating languages, and most
importantly, deciphering both the magical and the mundane.
Unfortunately, the results of its analysis did not bode well for the
Rhodok guild.
Tycon stood up, "Iredar droppings. Eques, please advise the

Primus Pilus that we should find a way around this area."
The three men exchanged looks of shock.
The Eques grimaced and sucked in air through his teeth,

"Heavens and hells, Munifex. What's an Iredar?"
"A kobold."
...
Word managed to travel faster than Zehr did. The cloaked

gentleman returned with the sun illuminating his face beneath his
cloak.
Bright green hair flanked the sides of his young face, no older
than 19. His golden eyes were set into a hard stare, disappointed
by recent events.
"Holy Flame... he's... really hot," Rena whispered.
Justus rolled his eyes, "You're drooling, Fish."

Rena wiped off her mouth with the back of her hand like a
barbarian and glared, "You're a fish!"
Decanus Caelistis frowned at Zehr as he climbed back into the

wagon, "I hope you're happy, Munifex Zehr. Now the whole cohort
thinks our tent group's terrified of dog shite on the side of the
road."
Zehr gave a noncommittal shrug, "I have provided my professional

opinion. It is the Primus Pilus' right to ignore it."
Chapter 209 Holy Bolter
he Rhodok adventuring company was crossing into kobold

T
territory.
Nine of the ten members of the tent-group had treated the news
without alarm. The older soldiers were quietly sharing stories
about their homelands or wives or girlfriends, only sparing an
occasional extra glance at the surrounding woods.
Like the others, Justus dismissed the kobold threat. He found it

difficult to be worried about a 3-fulm tall walking dog that barely
weighed 50 librae.
Zehr had spoken very little.. which was nothing new. However,
with the way he carried himself, Justus figured Zehr would speak
only when necessary.
It bothered him.
It was an aching, nagging feeling, deep in his gut, that there may
have been strong reasoning behind Zehr's concerns.
Justus had no idea what that reason could be. The Rhodoks wore
military-grade Tyrion segmented armor and carried Tyrion tower
shields. Even if there were twice as many kobolds as they had
troops, their crude and savage weaponry would be as effective as
hurled insults and strong feelings.
In his uncertainty, Justus looked over to Gianna who sat across

from him, hoping to be greeted by her comfortable smile.
Something had caught her eye... and Justus followed her gaze to
see that it rested on Zehr.
A slight pang of jealousy crept into his heart, but he quickly shook
away the thought. Simply looking at another man had no meaning,
in itself. Besides, he and Gianna didn't have that sort of
relationship. It felt like the entire cohort teased him and Rena as
an old, married couple...
Who would like that kind of woman? ...Not him, that's for sure.
Zehr too, had his attention focused elsewhere. He was turned

away, calmly observing the wagons traveling in front of them. Was
a professional Munifex like Zehr really worried about a bunch of
kobolds? Or was he really just trying to sound important like the
others were saying?
Everyone in their tent group knew what Decanus Caelistis

thought. The man spoke his mind until spit drenched his fuzzy
goatee, and none of what came out of his mouth was flattering.
Zehr stood and calmly accepted the beratement until Cael threw
up his hands in exasperation and a few choice curses.
The Decanus hadn't spoken a word since. Justus (and likely the
others in the tent group) silently thanked Zehr for his selfless
sacrifice.
"Flame, guide my holy bolt..." Rena quietly whispered a prayer.

She tapped her finger against the metal tip of a crossbow bolt in
her opposite hand. Holding it up, its tip glowed a silvery light, like
the sweet guiding flame of a nighttime candle.
The one member of their tent-group shocked into a state of frenzy

was Munifex Rena. Her Class was Holy Bolter, and she was
preparing additional enchanted bolts in the unlikely case of enemy
attack. Dark circles were beginning to form underneath her eyes
from mana fatigue.
When he and Rena were children back in Leopardon, she cried

when she found out she wasn't a Holy Swordsman like he was.
From that sun on, they called him the Hero of Leopardon,
destined to bring fame and glory to the countryside town. And
her...
And from that sun on, Rena worked tirelessly on improving her
skills. By the Flame's guidance, she gained her own Class, able to
stand on her own by Justus' side. The little crying girl grew up, if
only a little bit. However, with all that time being familiar with his
childhood friend, he knew Rena was nearing her limit.
"Hey, Rena... That should be enough, don't you think?"
Rena looked up at Justus abruptly, the silvery glow on her finger

growing bright before fizzling out.
"By. the. Flame!!" Rena cursed, tears of frustration forming at the

corner of her eyes, "Thief!! Triple-thief!! Give me back my mana,
Justuussss!!"
Justus turned away, "Y-you're the one that used all that mana."
He hadn't meant to disrupt her concentration... but he didn't want

to give Rena the satisfaction of an apology. She would lord it over
him for the next moon-- probably longer.
"But seriously," Justus continued, "Don't pass out. I'd probably end
up having to carry you somewhere."
"Pshhhh!" Rena rolled her eyes and groaned, "You'd probably

enjoy that, pervert."
Justus twisted his lips and shrugged, "The feeling of a man's

chest on my back is not my idea of a good time."
"Why you!!"
"Miss Rena," Gianna offered a polite smile, "You probably are

overdoing it. You have rings under your eyes."
"I-- what?!" She pulled out a polished knife to see her reflection,
"Flame take you, Justus! Why didn't you tell me?!"
Justus thought better of responding to the Witch of Leopardon

while she was holding a knife. He copied Zehr in looking away at
the forest... There was nothing, not even a deer or rabbit.
...Though the fact that there was nothing was suspicious, in itself.
The bubbly brunette placed her knife back in its sheath and let out
a long sigh. She slumped back in the hard seat of the wagon,
trying to melt into the wood.
Gianna voiced her concern, "What's wrong, Miss Rena?"
Rena pouted, "It's just... I heard that kobolds... you know. They
capture women and then they do... unspeakable things to them in
their lairs!"
Gianna frowned with a newfound worry, "Is that really what they
say?"
Justus furrowed his eyebrows, "I think... you're thinking of goblins,

Rena."
"No, they're the same thing!!" Rena exclaimed. "R-right?"
Gianna pursed her lips, "I think that's a goblin thing."
A veteran soldier glanced over, "It's a goblin thing."
Decanus Caelistis turned to look over his shoulder, "Goblins,

Fish."
Rena adjusted her seat position and crossed her arms, "Fine. But
still! I don't want to get left behind and captured by kobolds!"
"Nothing's gonna happen, little Fish," Cael groaned.
"But Decanus!? We're in enemy territory! Can't you guys... you

know, be at least a little bit worried?" Rena complained.
Justus widened his eyes in understanding. He had been trying to

understand why he felt like he was tottering on an edge, even if
the logic to it made no sense. Regardless of the size and shape of
the enemy, the effects of an ambush would be several times
greater than a head-on attack.
"We're always gonna be in someone's territory, Fish. It is what it

is," Cael raised his arms in a shrug.
No... That wasn't something to just shrug off as the way it is.
Justus looked into the thick woods flanking the road, hoping he
wouldn't spot eyes gleaming back at him.
Chapter 210 Illud Est Quod Est
ycondrius exhaled out of his nostrils in frustration. The foliage

T
was practically swarming with movement, but despite his
warnings, his peers remained blissfully ignorant. He wondered if
Decanus Constantina's scout group had reported his findings to
the Primus Pilus. If so, it was his own damn fault that his beloved
cohort was going to be needlessly decimated.
The archer, Rena, was babbling nonsensically about getting

captured and savaged by the kobolds.
Tycon found the thought of it absurd. There was no reason above

the seven hells or below the eleven heavens that a common
kobold would capture and mate with a human. Their anatomy was
particularly incompatible with humankind and wouldn't result in
offspring.
A captured human would be held for ransom or used as a hard-

labor slave. Failing that, humans had more use as edible meat
than for grotesque sexual outlets. A kobold copulating with a
human outside of a consensual relationship would be as
abhorrent as a human seducing a pig or a horse.
At the very least, the archer-girl had the common sense to be

worried about a possible attack.
If Tycon was an optimistic person, he would believe that the

Rhodok adventuring company was well familiar with Iredar tactics.
If he could choose, he would drill his troops to quickly assume a
defensive formation, and withdraw to a safe distance-- away from
the cunning traps the Iredar had certainly set.
If he were less than optimistic, he would think that the humans

were grossly underestimating the Iredar threat. Had any of them
experienced an attack by a full Iredar tribe, Holy Bolter Rena's
panic would not be unique to her.
As he observed the young woman, he mentally inquired his

System about her status.
⟬ Rena, Bronze-Rank Human Holy Bolter ⟭
She was a low-level archer-type class. Ranged classes generally

had better survival instincts than their melee counterparts.
Unlike the costly and large, unwieldy Class-Identification and

Mana-Measurement devices developed by the Artificer's Guild,
Tycon's personal System granted him a generally accurate
measurement of a person's abilities.
He hadn't chosen to transmigrate into this Realm, but he was glad

the fates had seen fit to compensate him for his troubles with his
System. It did have its limits. It didn't unlock new skills for him or
come with its own storage space or allow him to increase his
attributes. It wasn't at all omniscient, but it did allow him analysis
and information enough to serve as a "cheat" for a more
comfortable adventuring life.
It was enough, anyroad, that Tycon had no desire to off himself to

try and start over with a different benefit... not that he was certain
such a "reset" was a viable option.
"It is what it is," Decanus Caelistis dismissed Rena's worries with

a foppish shrug.
⟬ Caelistis, Bronze-Rank Human Warrior ⟭
The Decanus with an unstylish goatee had an awe-inspiring ability

to waste words. 'It is what it is.' Such a statement was worth as
much as stating that water is wet. As Caelistis was a Bronze-Rank
with a miserable personality, Tycon respected nothing besides the
man's rank and position.
"That's... that's wrong," the young, red-haired recruit, Justus,

muttered.
⟬ Justus, Bronze-Rank Human Holy Swordsman ⟭
Tycon raised an eyebrow, both pleased and mildly amused. It

seemed there was someone else in their tent group with common
sense. Just like Rena, he had an excellent class: Holy
Swordsman.
"Eh? You say something, Fish?" Caelistis asked with a sneer.
It was a shame that Justus was also Bronze-Rank. Without a rank

difference, if he was stronger than the Decanus, the difference
was negligible. With the 5 or 10 year age difference, it was also
doubtful the young man had the experience and skill to best his
superior.
Justus cleared his throat to speak up, "I've got this weird gut
feeling, Decanus... like we're being watched?"
Yes. Tycon had seen the movement of dozens of Iredar in the

woods. It wasn't impossible that there were hundreds, waiting to
strike. It took far less to feed a similar-sized cohort of kobolds than
of humans. The traveling company, full of potential slaves and
food supplies proved a viable and attractive target.
"Gahhhhh," Caelistis groaned, "You too, Fish? Let them watch,

we'll keep doing what we're doing. It is what it is."
Tycon felt his eye twitch. He pulled back his hood to address
Caelistis, "Decanus, with all due respect... what the hells is that
supposed to mean?"
"Huh, what?" The Decanus narrowed his eyes but could

unfortunately not change the vacuous expression on his face, "It
means what it means. What is, is. Is there a brain beneath that 12
copper helmet, Munifex Zehr?"
Tycon took great pains not to roll his eyes. The man wasn't worth
wasting his words on, "Munifex Justus."
Justus sat up straight, "Huh? Me?"

"...Yes," Tycon glanced left and right... He was fairly certain there
was only one Munifex Justus in the wagon.
"M-munifex Zehr, how can I help you?"
Tycon thought that he had perhaps been too hasty in thinking the
boy was worth conversing with. Still, he had chosen to address
the boy. It wouldn't do to keep his words unsaid.
"Your 'gut feelings' stem from your senses. Though you may not
be able to explain it, it remains that one or more of your sensory
perceptions is warning you that not everything 'is as it is.'"
"Munifex Zehr... that..." A large-breasted blonde tilted her head at

the thought.
⟬ Gianna, Bronze-Rank Human Shield Maiden ⟭
Another rare class. Tycon was surprised at the amount of talent

he had lucked into, joining Decanus Caelistis' tent group.
"Anyroad," Tycon turned back to scan the road in front of the

wagon, "Remaining vigilant costs you nothing. We can rest during
our sleep cycles."
"By the Flame... he is sooooo hawt," the Holy Bolter, Rena

whispered.
If the woman thought she was being subtle, she was not.
Decanus Caelistis pulled on the horses' reins, "Seven hells...

Really, we're stopped again?"
It appeared that the wagon train was coming to a halt for a second
time. Another issue may have been discovered by the scout team
or one of the lead wagons.
"Ooohhhh, look!!" Gianna's voice had raised in pitch to a high

squeal. She sat up to look over the opposite side of the wagon,
"It's a puppy!"
Tycon's eyes widened as adrenaline coursed through his veins
and slowed his sense of time to a crawl.
The floppy-eared, blue-furred kobold raised a heavy crossbow,

leveling its sights onto Gianna's surprised face.
Seven hells of ice and whirling steel. Eleven heavens raining

blood and fire. The Iredar were attacking.
Chapter 211 Military Doctrine
ycon's instincts led his movements. He stood up and snatched

T
Gianna's ponytail, yanking her head back just as the kobold's
crossbow twanged. With his increased senses, Tycon watched the
bolt slowly whizz past the blonde woman's face. Had he not acted,
the woman's eye would have been pierced and the bolt would
have made its home, rattling around inside of her skull.
Decanus Caelistis stood up and threw his 4-fulm pilum, spearing

the kobold in the chest, pinning it to the ground, and ending its
pitiful life
"Shameless trash!" He spat, "Good work, Zehr. Seems you're

good for something."
Justus hastily scanned the forest before seeing to the blonde

woman, "Gia, are you alright?"
With still-shaking hands, she grabbed her helmet from the wagon
floor and securely buckled it onto her head, "Y-yes, somehow."
Rena ratcheted back her crossbow string, arming it with one of

her enchanted bolts. She sighed at Gianna, "I wish Zehr would
pull on my hair..."
Tycon was anxious. They were quickly running out of time,

"Decanus Caelistis."
"Y-yeah? What is it?"
The man still had no idea.
Tycon frowned. He did not know how to properly communicate the

gravity of the situation, "We will come under a massive attack,
shortly. I advise that our tent group immediately retreat into the
eastern forest."
Caelistis snorted in laughter, "Listen, Munifex. I know your pride's

hurt because there are kobolds in the forest and no one's taking
you seriously. I get it. But anything that's out there--"
Tycon's senses sharpened as he heard another thunk of a

crossbow release. He dropped his weight down to a knee as he
witnessed a quarrel lodge into the Decanus' right cheek.
He turned and yelled, "RHODOKS, GET DOWN!!"
Justus turned to look at him, "Zehr, what are you--"
Thrice-damned fool! Tycon yanked the red-haired swordsman's

front leg out from under him, dropping the boy onto his back in a
clumsy metal crash.
Scores of crossbow bolts began to fire from the west, bolts striking
hard against the side of the wagon, with some piercing completely
through.
Gianna and the veterans in their tent group ducked down and
turned their shields towards the attack.
All around them, men and women of the Rhodok adventuring

company were screaming, cursing. The horses attached to the
wagon neighed their last as they collapsed, bleeding before the
barrage of bolts.
"By the Flame! By the Flame! It's happening! I don't wanna get
raaaaaped!!" Rena grabbed the dazed and fallen Justus and
shook the boy relentlessly.
Tycon, taking cover behind Gianna's shield, glared at the archer,

"Munifex Rena, that is *not* going to happen."
The brunette's eyes sparkled, "Are you gonna save me, Zehr?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin slits at the archer... "Yes."

He decided to agree. He hoped it would end the woman's
babbling.
Tycon laid on his back and cocked back both legs. Channeling
mana through his Iron-Rank physique, he smashed his heels
against the eastern side of the wagon, tearing the wooden board
off of its nails.
He unsheathed his short sword and sprang out of the wagon, onto
the side of the trail. With two mana-powered slashes, he broke the
high wheels, though his cheap iron sword shattered in the
process. The side of the wagon collapsed, spilling the tent group
into slightly better cover from the crossbow fire.
Justus managed to get to his feet beside Tycon, "Munifex Zehr, I

don't understand! It sounds like they have hundreds of crossbows!
HOW can they have crossbows??!"
"No, it makes sense," Gianna shook her head. She winced at the
sound of another horse's rattling neigh... "What better weapon to
arm themselves to null their size disadvantage than Tyrion
crossbows?"
"Munifex Justus.... I do not know why the Iredar wield crossbows."

Tycon grit his teeth, "I advise you to accept that they do and we
react accordingly-- 'lest you wish to reject my advice like the fellow
lying behind me."
Justus looked past Tycon at the unmoving Decanus. He gulped

but nodded in obedience.
Caelistis had fallen to their side when Tycon broke the wheels.
Flipping him over onto his back, Gianna let out a shriek seeing the
man's rolled-back eyes and pink froth on his mouth. He had been
peppered with crossbows on his arm, his side, and even in his
neck.
"Requesciat in pacem," Tycon whispered an old Tyrion prayer and

shut the dead man's eyes.
Tycon's gaze hardened as he looted Caelistis' tower shield and
military-issue sword. He examined the man's visored helmet. The
fool died while his visor was opened-- it could have potentially
saved him from the initial bolt that dropped him.
Tycon took the helmet.
Caelistis' judgment concerning the integrity of Tycon's helmet was

correct. The Decanus' modified helm covered his eyes and
cheeks-- it would provide him far better defense than his cheap
one.
"What's the plan now, Munifex Zehr?" A grey bearded veteran

asked. He glanced at the helmet Tycon was putting on, "Or should
I address you as Decanus?"
"Congratulations on your promotion, Decanus Zehr," Gianna tilted

her head and gave a weak smile.
"A battlefield promotion is not something to celebrate," Tycon said

grimly as he tightened the helmet's buckle.
Tycon appreciated that his opinion had become far more

important. The whole Iredar debacle could have been avoided had
it been important earlier, but hypothetical analysis was largely
useless with their current situation.
"We retreat into the eastern forest, shields on our backs. The
foliage will protect us somewhat from their crossbows."
"On our backs? That's not military doctrine," the veteran frowned.
"Let's set up a shield wall," Justus offered.
Tycon shook his head, "There are traps in the eastern forest."
A deep-voiced veteran grit his teeth in anger, "By the Flame, how
can they have traps too..."
Tycon grimaced, "We have a better chance avoiding them if we

scatter. Shields on our backs, run into the forest at an angle. By
the end of this you'll have prayed your fill to the Flame."
Grey Beard chuckled derisively, "--or we'll be talking to Her
directly, I reckon."
A veteran archer crept closer, "Hey, Decanus. How about we split

our tent group. The old folks can set up our moving target and you
can take Gianna and the fish into the forest."
The older soldiers mumbled in agreement.
It was Tycon's turn to scoff, "You bastards are trying to die in

glory?"
Justus clenched his fist, "Zehr, let me go with them. With my

class, I can--"
"Sod that." Tycon interrupted, "In case you've forgotten, this is a

chance ambush, not our guild's last bloody stand. We retreat into
the forest. We regroup. The cohort will survive. The cohort *must*
survive."
Grey Beard nodded slowly... "Alright, we're with you, Decanus."
Gianna smiled, "My shield is yours to command."
"My body is yours, to have and to hold," Rena offered.
"Flame, protect us," Justus nodded gravely.

Chapter 212 A Lesson Of
Modesty
unifex Justus fidgeted anxiously. He tightly gripped his shield

M
and examined his sword. It belonged to his father and was kept in
excellent condition. It was gifted to him when he joined the
Rhodok adventuring company. The last thing he wanted was to
have a letter delivered to his family detailing his death.
"We're fleeing east into the forest?" Justus frowned in worry,

"What if there's more enemies there?"
Zehr glanced past Justus, "Munifex Rena, explain to Justus what

a sector of fire is."
The starry-eyed archer smirked arrogantly, "Because the kobolds

are firing their crossbows from the west, they wouldn't station any
troops east, or they'd get caught in the crossfire."
"Do you understand?" Zehr inquired.
"Yes, Decanus..." Justus considered running into the hail of

crossbow fire, himself, to avoid the embarrassment of his stupid
question.
"Good." Zehr nodded, a perfect picture of a calm, veteran

Decanus, "You there, Archer. It looks like at least two tent groups
that way are bunkered down. Send word to as many Decani as
you can."
"At once, Decanus," The veteran archer dashed off, firing a

chance shot at the kobolds as he went.
Zehr turned to the grey bearded veteran, "Do we all have throwing
spears?"
The Munifices swapped their weapons, each holding their issued
pilum.
"What are we waiting for?" Justus asked, impatience clear on his

face.
The sound of clay pots breaking and shattering surrounded the

tent group in droves.
"What the hells was that?!" Modestus yelled. The grey bearded
veteran furrowed his brows in worry.
Gianna picked up a broken clay fragment and turned it over,

revealing a yellowish, viscous liquid, "This is..."
Zehr peeked over to the wagons ahead, "It's pitch. Your moment
will arrive shortly, Munifex Justus."
"Wait-wait-wait, hold on!" Rena whined, "Pitch burns! Wait! Pitch

EXPLODES!!"
In a mix of men's desperate battlecries and furious kobold barking,

a terrifically loud explosion boomed.
Justus felt a chill run down his spine. Coordinated crossbow fire.
Traps. Pitch pots. He had underestimated the craftiness of the
kobolds. Decanus Caelistis, too. The whole Flame-taken company
had underestimated the beasts.
Why the hells did he think the kobolds were any less intelligent or
ruthless than humans?
Zehr took a deep breath in, "READDYYYYY!!!! PILA!!!"
The Munifices of Justus' tent group turned while remaining in the

kneeling position, a pilum in each of their right hands.
Explosions boomed throughout the trail, the flames' heat causing

sweat to pour down Justus' face. Their own wagon lit in a blaze of
flame.
Men were screaming, dying all around them. Justus didn't know
when he had pissed himself, but he was not the only one in his
tent group who had done so.
Zehr noticed Justus' staring and gave a solemn nod.
Justus gulped hard and nodded back.
"TARGETS!!" Zehr yelled.
As one, the Munifices of three tent groups stood up and threw

their pila.
"MOVE!!" Zehr took off.
Justus sprinted after him, keeping sight of the Decanus' crest.
...
"I... I can't... I can't run... anymore," Rena spoke between her

gasps for breath.
Justus glared at the lightly-armored archer. What she wore was

far lighter than what he did. He, too, was gasping for precious air
and couldn't bother to respond. The mad dash into the forest was
the most terrified he'd ever been. Munifices around him hit snare
traps, pit traps, or fell to crossbow bolts.
Zehr was the fastest man he'd ever seen, dashing ahead of them
all and even disabling one of the snare traps with his sword... and
the man was barely breathing hard. They had been rushing for
nearly 20 minutes, bounding over brush and navigating through
trees. And after that, they slowed their pace to a quick march for
at least a bell.
"C... carry me, Justus," Rena squeaked.
"Not interested," he responded.
Decanus Zehr lifted up his helmet visor, revealing green hair,

golden eyes, and a young face. He addressed the slightly taller,
grey bearded veteran, "Brother-Munifex, what was your name,
again?"
"You honor me, Decanus. My name is Modestus."
The old man had run nearly as fast as Justus and Rena but was
still able to keep a semblance of his decorum in not gasping and
choking.
"A fitting name," Zehr nodded.
"The Flame saw fit to make me immortal, Decanus."
"Very well, Brother-Immortal." Zehr chuckled, "Report."
Modestus frowned and averted his gaze, "We have about 6 tent
groups, but including casualties, we have 4 groups and 3 Decani
amongst them..."
"Does that number include myself?"
"Tch. Of course, Decanus," The old man scoffed and wiped his
brow. Sweat continued to pour down his grizzled features.
"And our own group?" Zehr scanned the area.
The collective members of the Rhodok adventuring company had

taken shelter underneath a rocky outcropping near a freshwater
stream. Over a dozen men, including a 4th Decanus, were too
injured to continue the march or dying.
Modestus continued his report, "Narcissus has a sprained ankle

from a pit trap and Placidus took a bolt to his back, but they'll both
live. Gianna is seeing to them now."
"9 out of 10." Zehr nodded, catching Justus' gaze, "We were
lucky."
Modestus chuckled, "The fish is our good luck charm. Did you
hear, earlier? That one's the Hero of Leopardon."
Justus felt his face heat up from the attention. He had done
nothing to deserve his title as hero. And the one who did deserve
the credit was staring at him with judgmental eyes.
Rena popped up, suddenly full of energy, "And they call me the
Bitch of Leopardon!! Err... I mean Witch! Witch of Leopardon!"
Zehr narrowed his eyes as he approached. Was he angry? Justus

immediately stood up straighter. His idiot childhood friend should
know better than to address a Decanus so casually, even if Zehr
was only recently promoted.
"I would prefer to call you Rena..." The Decanus rained an

eyebrow, "If that's quite alright with you?"
"Ohhhhhh~♥ ...Catch me," Rena swayed back, falling into Justus'

surprised arms.
As heavy as Rena was, Justus was too surprised by Zehr's

nonchalance to dodge. Zehr was a veteran Munifex and knew
how to act according to military protocol. By all means, he should
have been as strict as Caelistis and... every Decanus he had met.
"I'm no hero, Decanus." Justus frowned, "I'm just a fish."
"Tss," Zehr scoffed, "You just survived the first half of a battle.
You're not a fish, anymore."
"Haha, agreed." Modestus laughed. "He's a good kid, I'm telling

you."
Zehr raised an eyebrow, "Perhaps you could learn a lesson of

modesty from the young man, Brother-Immortal."
The older man revealed a crooked grin, "Nah. I know everything

there is to know about being modest."
"Hm. Of course, you do."
"Decanus..." Something about what Zehr said didn't sit right with
Justus, "What do you mean... by... the first half?"
Chapter 213 Trial By Combat
J ustus racked his brain, trying to understand. Zehr implied that the
Rhodok adventuring company had only seen half of the battle.
The Decanus turned back to Modestus, "Brother-Immortal, ask the

other tent groups if there is a map amongst them. I believe there
is a walled village a few miles north, but I would like to be certain."
"At once, Decanus," the old man saluted and hurried off.
Zehr approached Justus and grimaced at the woman in his arms,

"Munifex Rena, you have steady hands, do you not?"
Rena, who had pretended to have fainted, scrambled out of

Justus' arms and saluted, "I don't really have any practice with
that sort of thing-- but if you're okay with being my first, I can give
it a shot!"
Zehr hesitated... "I was going to ask you to help with the triage."
"Right away, Decanus!" The red-faced archer dashed away...
It looked like the Decanus had more to say to her, but he was left
with his mouth agape as he watched her run off.
Was she ever really tired in the first place?
Zehr shut his mouth and gave Justus a weak smile, "And you,
Munifex Justus, look like you are lost. Perhaps you wish you were
elsewhere?"
Zehr's words were teasing and almost-friendly, but his golden

eyes were narrowed in judgment.
"N-no, Decanus," Justus managed to stammer.

"Speak your mind quickly or hold your peace..." Zehr ordered, "I
doubt we are more than a bell ahead of our enemies."
Justus steeled his courage. Zehr had mostly conveyed politeness

and reason, but he still felt nervous being scrutinized by the man's
bright golden eyes, "Decanus, you're saying the kobolds are still
following us?"
The Decanus removed his helmet and gently shook his head of
green hair, spilling down past his ears, "Indeed. And pray that they
are following us. There's a chance they've gone ahead and cut off
our escape."
Zehr shrugged as if it had nothing to do with him.
Justus felt so sick, he could vomit.
It felt like the lives of their entire cohort relied on the mercurial
hands of fate.
"What... what are we going to be on the lookout for?" Justus

asked.
The young Decanus raised an eyebrow, "Excellent question. The

kobolds excel in ambushes, traps, and quick strikes utilizing a
large number of troops."
Justus' eyes widened, "Then the reason the wagon train was
stopped... and-- and the hail of crossbow fire and thrown pitch
pots?"
"Right. They must have been prepared for quite some time," Zehr
nodded. He pointed to the side, directing Justus' attention to the
nearby brook. "We'll follow the stream, northward."
"But... won't they be expecting that?"
Zehr sighed, "We have the dilemma of choosing between speed

and unpredictability. We have injured. Deaths can be prevented if
we--"
That was ridiculous! Justus couldn't accept such a flawed plan,
"But Decanus, more will--"
Suddenly, Justus couldn't breathe. He collapsed to his knees,

grasping at his throat, tears hot at the corners of his eyes.
Zehr's hand had swiftly chopped him in the throat.
"Please don't interrupt me, Munifex." Zehr chided, "Nod your head
if you understand."
Justus didn't want to talk anymore. He wanted to wake up and still

be in the wagon or waking up in his tent after a sleep cycle. Still,
Justus nodded, fearing a second strike.
"Very good. While along the stream is predictable, the slightly

clearer ground will increase our group's overall speed, as well as
make it difficult to set traps." Zehr paused in thought, "Do we have
any skilled Rangers amongst our ragtag collection?"
Justus had managed to regain his breathing. Standing up, he

nodded, "We do, Decanus."
"Excellent. They'll be earning their stipends, today."
...
"This is criminal. This is absolutely criminal," Justus complained.
One of the remaining Decani disputed Zehr's plan to travel

upstream. And they chose to decide the fate of a third of the
Rhodok adventuring company with a trial by combat.
Nevermind that they were being chased by hundreds, maybe

thousands of hostile demi-humans. The pride of a Decanus was
more important to appease than saving their lives.
"Shushhhh," Rena shot a vicious glare at Justus. "This is the first

time I get to see my husband without his shirt on."
"Since when were you two wed?" he grumbled.

"Future husband! Same difference," Rena placed her arms
vertically in front of her chest and rested her chin upon her fists to
watch the show.
The two half-naked Decani stood six paces apart, wielding

quarterstaves in an impromptu ring surrounded by the Munifices.
The red-bearded challenger, Decanus Ferrutius, was just as
surprised by Zehr's body as Justus was-- as everyone was.
Zehr, in his close-fitting leather armor, was easily mistaken for a

woman due to his fair skin and thin features. Without his shirt, all
that was dashed. Stark, clear lines defined his muscles, bulging
and rippling with power.
When he was younger, Justus and his parents visited the larger
cities in Rixus and Kasydon. The carved physiques of Tyrion war-
heroes he had seen there looked plump and weak compared to
Decanus Zehr.
Absentmindedly, Justus rubbed underneath his left pectoral,

closer to his side. How... do you get that muscle so defined?
Rena elbowed him in the opposite side, causing him to jolt in

surprise.
"Wh-what is it?" Justus glared, trying to hide his insecurities.
His childhood friend leered at him like an old man, "I saw you
checkin' out mah man's abs. Are you jealous??"
Justus crossed his arms, "I... I have abs too."
Zehr stood calmly, observing his opponent. He held his

quarterstaff with his fists in front of his thighs in a neutral,
unassuming stance.
Ferrutius approached from the right and raised his staff to attack.
THWAP!! The length of Zehr's staff struck Ferrutius' bare chest,

leaving a painful red welt.
Ferrutius struck down in anger, but Zehr side-stepped to dodge.

THWAP!! Again, Zehr's quarterstaff slapped against Ferrutius'
back, causing the man to groan and bend backward in pain.
Justus watched the duel in deep thought.
Zehr was toying with Ferrutius. As fast as the Decanus could

move, he could easily send an accurate strike at Ferrutius' chin or
temple. Instead, Zehr struck with the broad part of his staff to
inflict loud, painful bruises.
Earlier, Decanus Zehr mentioned wanting to lead a forward group

to scout for traps and possibly skirmish with the kobolds. Justus
wanted to volunteer himself. He was known as the Hero of
Leopardon and had the rare Class, Holy Swordsman. There was
no way he'd be refused, especially since their numbers had
dwindled due to casualties.
But...
Zehr's skill in combat was at a level Justus couldn't even fathom.
Could he really help his Decanus, even if he wanted to?

Chapter 214 Theatrics
J ustus stared at the combatants, focusing, taking in all their

movements.
He couldn't place his finger on it.
Decanus Zehr made the fight look so easy. Every time Ferrutius
moved, it was like Zehr already had a response. He'd dodge, he'd
block and counter, or he'd just interrupt with a quick jab or a
broad, painful whack.
There was no wasted movement. There were no fancy flourishes

or misdirection. It was just... like Zehr could see and react faster
than his opponent.
The old, grey-bearded veteran, Modestus, clicked his tongue,

"Caelistis was right... for once. That guy's no fish."
A few other mumbles were heard throughout the crowd, kept to a

low volume. Justus was thankful that at least a few intelligent
souls understood that the company was still being tracked by
enemies.
Justus shook his head. He couldn't understand the fight. More and
more, Zehr was becoming an anomaly to him-- something Justus
just couldn't compare himself to.
He glanced to his opposite side, where Gianna sat. It seemed she

was just as engrossed in the fight as he was. Frustration welled in
his heart.
Turning to Rena, he complained in a low hush, "This is so

criminal, when is the Decanus going to stop wasting his time?"
"Huhhkkk!!"
Hearing a distinct sound of Decanus Ferrutius, Justus quickly
turned his attention back to the fight.
CLACK. Zehr had struck Ferrutius' quarterstaff out of his hands.
Ferrutius was stumbling back, holding onto his sternum,

weaponless.
Justus blinked his eyes. He couldn't believe it.
Zehr's golden eyes were staring at him. He had turned around

completely, with his back to his opponent.
Had the Decanus heard him? That was impossible... Justus was
30 feet away and whispering. It must have been a coincidence.
Gianna looked up, flinching and letting out a yelp of surprise.
Justus glanced above... and what he saw made his heart drop into
the pit of his gut.
He stood up, not needing to take a step. Reaching his right arm
up to the sky, Justus caught Decanus Ferrutius' quarterstaff.
"Flame, take me..." Rena gawked in awe, "I love that movement
he just did... how he just... moooved."
Justus was too preoccupied to try and understand Rena's

nonsense.
Zehr was staring at him emotionlessly from where he stood in the

ring.
By the Flame... it was all true. The Decanus had heard everything.
The Decanus could have ended the fight at any time. The
Decanus could... accurately launch quarterstaves using other
quarterstaves?
"What the hells was that?" Modestus complained, "Is this a Flame-
scarred circus?"
"Watch out!"
Justus looked to Rena but... it wasn't her who had yelled.
Confused, he looked to his opposite side and understood. It was
Gianna's.
...
Tycondrius stared at Justus from the impromptu ring. The young

man was right. Tycon was getting carried away. It would be best
for him to finish off his opponent quickly.
Decanus Ferrutius was approaching him from behind and to the

right with slow, clumsy steps. Per Tyrion military close-quarter-
combat drills, Tycon expected a punch.
He half-turned his body to see... it was a punch, a wild and

desperate, full-arm swing.
Tycon stepped backward, colliding his shoulder into Ferrutius'

chest and halting the man's movement. Tossing away his own
staff, Tycon grabbed hold of his opponent's outstretched arm.
Then, tucking his body in close, he shifted his body weight to
throw the red-haired Decanus over his shoulder.
He kept a tight grip on the man's wrist, and dropped a knee on the
fallen man's shoulder to keep the arm locked back.
Tycon leaned in, speaking just loudly enough for the other
Decanus to hear, "Follow my plans and I'll let you keep some of
that pride."
"Grrrrh... Errghh..." The red-headed Decanus strained at his

muscles, trying to escape, "Or what?"
Tycon steadily applied pressure to Ferrutius' trapped arm, causing

the man to groan with a new sense of urgency, "You're going to
help me, Decanus, either by supporting me... or by becoming an
example. Make your choice."
...
Justus narrowed his eyes in confusion.

Somehow Decanus Ferrutius had managed to get out of the arm
lock, turning and grappling with Zehr properly. The two rolled on
the ground across the arena, ending with Ferrutius on top.
Ferrutius, with his beard and hair covered in dirt and sweat like a
savage, rained down punches, forcing Zehr to block.
It made no sense. Was Zehr... weak at grappling?
A few members of the crowd clicked their tongues, and one man
loosed a whistle that was quickly hushed by his peers.
Zehr abruptly popped up his lower body, unbalancing Ferrutius

and forcing a swing to go wide.
Then the strangest thing happened...
Zehr kicked his legs up, hooking right under Ferrutius' arms. Then
with Ferrutius' body going forward and Zehr somersaulting on the
ground backward and over his head... Zehr wrapped his arms in a
lock around Ferrutius' calf and ankle.
"I yield! I yield, Decanus," Ferrutius spoke, loud enough for

everyone could hear.
A wave of murmuring rippled through the crowd.
"Heavens and hells..." Modestus cursed, "I can't believe it. I've
joined a louse-ridden circus instead of an adventuring guild."
Rena hopped up in joy, squealing quietly, "Justus... Justus... I

knew he would win. I called it."
Justus looked to Gianna, "Hey... Gia, is everything alright?"
Gianna was still staring at Zehr and Ferrutius with her jaw
unhinged. Justus felt a smoldering frustration in his gut from Gia's
attention being occupied by someone that wasn't himself.
"O-oh, I'm sorry, Justus," the blonde woman tilted her head. "I just
thought Decanus Zehr's finishing ankle lock was interesting... He
resembled a snake for a moment, don't you think?"
Justus returned an uncertain smile, "I'm not sure the Decanus
would appreciate being called a snake."
"If he is, he's an incredibly handsome snake," Rena added. "Oh,

here he comes now."
Zehr approached, drinking from a waterskin. Still shirtless, the

Decanus glistened with sweat, only made more impressive when
he dumped the waterskin's remaining contents onto his green hair.
"D-d-d-decanussss..." Rena stammered, "It's so nice to... see

you..."
"Y-you know," she wet her dried lips and gestured from Zehr's
sculpted chest to his loins, "--all of you."
For a moment, Justus thought he could see steam coming out of

the archer's ears.
"I quite enjoyed your theatrics, Decanus," Gianna smirked.

Chapter 215 True Enemy
" Oh?" Zehr raised an eyebrow at Gianna, chuckling softly,

"Haha... Was I being too obvious?"
"I think you've performed appropriately, Decanus. Not everyone is

well-versed with grappling techniques." Gianna revealed a wide,
knowing smile, "Might I challenge you to match, sometime?"
The Decanus scoffed, "Tss. Really, Munifex Gianna..? Grappling

is not my strong suit... but perhaps after we're out of danger, we
can have an instructional match or two."
Rena raised her hand, "I would like to request a private grappling
match."
"Hm," Zehr placed his hand on his chin, "Perform well, today, and
I might accede to some of your requests--"
The archer fainted, plopping dramatically onto her side.
"R-rena?? What's wrong?" Gianna knelt down and gently shook

her friend.
"...though likely not to the extremes you seem to keep alluding to,"
Zehr finished, frowning.
Justus furrowed his brows. What did Gianna mean when she
complimented Decanus Zehr's 'theatrics'? He racked the concept
around in his brain...
Unable to decipher the puzzle on his own, he decided to ask

directly, "Gia, what did you see?"
Gianna smirked and looked to Decanus Zehr.

Zehr raised an eyebrow, "I, too, would like to know."
Gianna sighed and waved a finger, "The way you rolled around
with Decanus Ferrutius was unnatural. You were obviously using
your own momentum to make it look more violent."
Justus began to link the formerly illogical events of the fight. The
whole flow of Zehr's duel had changed... after he disarmed
Ferrutius! Zehr must have said something to him while they were
grappling. The whole fight after that was just a farce...
His eyes shot open in sudden realization, "Hold on, Decanus!

Were you only pretending to--"
Zehr interrupted Justus by holding a splayed hand out, "Not so

loud, young Munifex. I have my reasons."
Justus felt his face heat up in embarrassment. He lowered his

voice, "But why, Decanus Zehr? You could have beaten Ferrutius
easily?"
Zehr smiled gently. The Decanus closed his fist and tapped it on
Justus' armor, "Know your true enemy, Munifex Justus."
Justus scrunched up his face... "My true enemy is myself... If I

always strive to be better today than I was yesterday, no enemy
can defeat me."
Zehr gave a troubled smile, "Well spoken, but I was actually

referring to the Iredar-- the uh... kobolds."
"Oh..." Justus scratched the back of his head, "Right."
"I saw it better to win Decanus Ferrutius' respect and gain his
support than to embarrass him too thoroughly and gain a new
enemy."
"O-oh..." Justus hadn't even thought of Ferrutius' pride. He

suddenly felt foolish and small-minded... He had a long way to go
if he wanted to be a leader.
"Brother-Immortal," Zehr turned to the old veteran, Modestus,
"Gather anyone with the Ranger or Scout class. I'll be leading
them ahead of our little cohort."
"Eh... Come on, Decanus," Modestus stroked his grey beard,

smiling playfully, "You sure you wouldn't rather send Gianna
instead of this tired old man?"
Justus pursed his lips in confusion. He'd never seen Modestus

talk back to Caelistis.
"I would not. I prefer her company to yours," Zehr explained

simply.
"Ohoho," Modestus chuckled, "Fair enough."
"And besides, why would I feel any remorse about sending an

Immortal to complete my tasks?"
"Oof, well, I can see that this handsome face isn't wanted around
the young folk," Modestus saluted, "Decanus."
Zehr nodded, "Go with honor."
Justus averted his gaze. It seemed Gianna was blushing at Zehr's

off-handed remark but the Decanus hadn't noticed.
It was a bit low of him, but he was glad that Zehr didn't seem
particularly interested in Gia. If the Decanus did choose to pursue
her romantically, Justus was afraid he wouldn't stand a chance.
His childhood friend, Rena, was overtly forward in her advances...

even though she was as much of a virgin as he was. But still, Zehr
remained professional.
...That was probably why she wasn't shy about being forward.
Zehr projected an aura of professionalism and safety that he only
previously really got from Gianna. But concerning safety, Gia had
a Class that let her literally keep people safe with her shield.
He couldn't really understand why Zehr felt that way, but he didn't
feel alone in his thinking. Besides Rena and Gianna, everyone in
the tent group seemed to implicitly trust their new Decanus.
"Decanus Zehr," Shield Maiden Gianna grinned.
Zehr hesitated, "Yes, Miss Gianna?"
"Are you accepting volunteers for your scout team?"
Zehr looked the blonde woman up and down, before returning his
own reserved smirk, "It depends who's asking."
Justus fixed his posture and stood straight, "Decaus Zehr, please
allow me to accompany you on the mission."
Even though he knew he wasn't good enough, he wanted to learn

from the Decanus... The way he moved, the way he led... The
man inspired him.
The Decanus put a hand to his chin, eyeing him judgmentally, "So
eager to die, are we, Munifex?"
Justus felt the sweat forming on his back, being under Zehr's
scrutiny, "No, Decanus. I just want to help."
Gianna picked up her shield and leaned over it, "I'll be coming
with him."
Justus gulped, averting his gaze away from the leaning Gianna's
cleavage. Was she doing that on purpose?
"I didn't think volunteers were so plentiful." Zehr crossed his arms,
smirking, "And I don't remember accepting volunteers, in the first
place."
"Well, you haven't told us no, yet, Decanus," Gianna placed her
hand over her mouth as she giggled.
Zehr, Justus, and Gianna all looked down at the grounded Rena,
expectantly.
She sat up, dirt and leaves in her brown hair, "I wanna go too!"
"I suppose you can come too." Gianna absentmindedly touched
her finger to the beauty mark next to her lips, "The Decanus said
he'd protect you, after all."
Decanus Zehr sighed helplessly, though he wore a subtle smile,

"Very well, you three. Gianna, Rena, coordinate with Munifex
Modestus. I want the forward team to be off in fifteen minutes."
"Wh-what about me?" Justus asked.
"You'll be coming with me, Munifex."
...
Tycondrius led the forward team through the forests, along the
streams. He hadn't told his tent-group the entire truth about the
team's purpose. He had wagered something... and that wager had
paid off.
In less than two bells of travel, the scouts returned to him,

reporting that they had found kobold tracks. With the alarming rate
and frequency, they estimated a settlement was somewhere
nearby, full of dozens to hundreds of Iredar.
A possible attack on the village would buy the Rhodoks the

breathing room they needed to escape north, to the walled village
of Montegarico.
Chapter 216 Kobold Patrols
"Catch me, Justuuuuus~!!"
Munifex Rena dropped from a tree and into Justus' arms.
"By the Flame, Rena, are you a monkey??" Justus scolded.
As they were marching on patrol, he was wearing a heavy circular

shield instead of the rank-and-file tower shield. Had he not, he
wouldn't have both arms to catch the flying woman.
Giana looked up, "Wow. Miss Rena, that jump looked pretty
dangerous."
"Ehehe," The archer girl climbed down from Justus' princess-

carry, "He's never failed to catch me before!"
Gianna, the light of Justus' life, granted the pair her radiant smile,
"I've always been a little envious of the trust between you two."
Justus tried to smile as naturally as he could, "I... I can always

trust you to have my back, Gia."
Gianna's eyes widened in surprise before her expression

softened. Sparkling eyes. Gentleness in her gorgeous smile.
"You're so sweet, Munifex Justus." She bowed her head, "I will be
your shield, ever stalwart."
"...And I will be your blade, forever at your side," Justus nodded.
"Whoa hoh hohhhh," Rena let out a sharp whistle, "Now that I'm
getting a good look at your armor, you're lookin' like a sexy hunk
of MAN, Justus."
Justus was borrowing the muscled cuirass of one of the injured
Decani. Decanus Zehr thought the armor would be better used by
someone in the forward team. And as embarrassing as Justus'
title was as the Hero of Leopardon, he'd heard that was the
deciding factor on being lent the armor.
It was a bit heavier than his Munifex armor because he wore

leathers underneath, but he really liked the way it made him feel--
almost like a real hero.
Gianna placed her finger on her lips, looking Justus up and down,
"He does make a very handsome Decanus-- he just needs the
helmet."
Justus gazed into Gianna's eyes. She often did that when she was
thinking, cutely placing her finger on her lips. It made the beauty
mark on her chin stand out. She had expressed not liking it a few
weeks prior, but Justus had stupidly blurted out that he thought it
made her look beautiful and more mature.
Since then, he hadn't heard her mention it, even once.
...Though it could have been because Caelistis made him run with
weights for an entire week as punishment for speaking out of line.
Rena ran her hand through Justus' red hair, "Right. The helmet
would make iiiiit *perfect.*"
"Did I hear Munifex Rena's voice?"
The trio turned to see Muni-- no, Decanus Zehr approaching.
Justus could almost hear Rena's jaw drop and hit the floor.
Zehr had eschewed his tattered cloak and hood, wearing a

muscled cuirass, polished to a silvery gleam. His well-defined
biceps were revealed and his battle-skirt showed off his well-
muscled legs. His helm reflected the sunlight breaking through the
forest canopy, the majestic black and yellow brush clearly marking
him as a Tyrion Decanus.
Decanus Zehr wore the helmet better than Caelistis ever did.
However... Justus found it odd that the Decanus didn't wear a

shield. Instead, he wore two swords on his waist and carried a
bundle of pila.
Zehr began walking aside the trio, wearing a troubled expression

on his face, "Munifex Justus, your hair is a mess. Please adjust
yourself."
Justus made sure to glare extra-angrily at Rena before walking

towards the water's edge to fix himself.
"Munifex Rena, what did you find? --And before you begin,
understand that I'm referring specifically to anything of pertinence
to the enemy."
"Aww," Rena groaned... "I evaded two kobold squads of nine,

lightly armored, with crossbows and spears."
"And their banner?" Zehr asked.
"Wait, what do you mean 'their banner'?" Rena tilted her head.
"By. The. Flame." Gianna approached Zehr, her eyes wide like a
little girl's, "Do the doggos have little flags?? Do they carry them
around on little sticks?"
"E... eh.... Please... restrain yourself, Munifex," Zehr looked

troubled. He shot a glance at Justus for help.
Justus cleared his throat, "The uh... the kobolds are the enemy,
Gia."
"Oh..." Gianna giggled in embarrassment and took a step back

from Zehr, "Right."
The Decanus thanked Justus with his eyes.
Justus nodded, happy that he could finally help Zehr with

something.
That was something Justus didn't know about Gia until then. The
woman must have really liked dogs.
The kobolds were probably her worst possible enemy...
"I remember... red paint and a black paw painted on one of their
shields?"
Zehr nodded, "Red paint, black paw. Well done, Miss Rena."
"Ohhhhhh~!" Gianna squealed, "That is so precious!~♥"
"Decanus..." The archer poked her two forefingers together, "C-

can you just call me Rena, please?"
Zehr raised an eyebrow, "Very well. Thank you for a job well
done... Rena."
Justus grimaced, "I'm not going to catch you if you swoon."
Rena stuck out her tongue, "You're no fun, Justus."
"You three, with me," Zehr began to increase his marching pace.
Justus jogged forward to walk alongside the slightly-older youth,

"Decanus, all together? Where are we going?"
"Oh? I figured it was obvious." Zehr smirked and patted Justus'

shoulder, "We're going to gather the others and ambush some
patrols."
...
Tycondrius sighed as he hid in the bushes along with the

Munifices. He joined the Rhodok adventuring company as a
mercenary because of the Gold-Rank quest they undertook. He
didn't expect to come into a battlefield promotion and be working
to protect their lower rank Munifices from a kobold tribe.
Red paint. Black paw.

Tycon had seen the same banner on the attacking kobolds from
the earlier attack. It seemed their tribe was somewhere close by.
Settlements tended to be near a water source, and it seemed they
had lucked out.
If only there was more foliage on the east rather than the west, the
Rhodok escapees would have been herded in the opposite
direction.
"Decanus," Ferrutius approached, a sleazy grin on his face.
"Yes, Decanus? Here for another beating?" Tycon smirked.
"Flame take you, Zehr." He rolled his eyes, "I could barely put my
armor back on."
Tycon smirked. Ferrutius' men were in place. Their Decanus

coming to report meant they could soon enact their plan.
Chapter 217 Earning Their Pay
The red-bearded Decanus, Ferrutius, wore a shite-eating grin.
He had news that Tycondrius wanted and it seemed the lesser

man wanted to lord it over him. It was a cheeky attempt at
payback for the man's earlier loss.
"What's on your mind, Decanus?" Tycon asked, "If you're lonely,

I'm told that my man, Modestus, sells his services for 2 silver."
"Prices were raised, Decanus Zehr," Old man Modestus grinned,

"3 slugs for that one-- and that's for a kiss on the cheek."
"3 silver? Those prices are criminal, Brother-Immortal. That's

almost a whole loaf of bread." Tycon wore a look of feigned shock,
"Perhaps we, Decani, can lobby for a discount on account of
Ferrutius' green eyes."
Modestus waved his hands, "Can't do that, Decanus. I've got a

family to feed... Now, if he had blue eyes like Gianna, I could bring
it back down to 2."
Gianna, hiding in the brush a few fulms away, let out a gasp. She
popped her head up, pouting, "Munifex Modestus, are you telling
me you'd charge me for a kiss on the cheek?"
"Nonsense, Miss Gianna," Modestus reassured her. "If I could

earn a kiss on the cheek from you, I could die a happy man."
"And what about that family of yours, Modestus? And what I'm
assuming is a wife?" Gianna teased.
"Right. I'd die a happy man because my wife would kill me,"
Modestus shrugged.
Ferrutius grimaced.
Tycon tapped the man's armored chest, "Speak your mind,

Brother-Decanus."
"Let's trade tent groups, Zehr. I think I'd rather have yours."
Tycon shook his head, "Modestus isn't for sale, Brother-Decanus,

only for rent."
"You honor me, Decanus," Modestus chuckled, causing his belly

to shake.
"Indeed." Decanus Ferrutius chuckled, "You're a Flame-scarred

thief, Brother-Decanus. Anyroad... we're all in place, pila and
crossbows, hidden around."
A Tyrion horn sounded in the distance.
"And that?" Tycon raised an eyebrow.
Ferrutius's smirk widened back into his wide grin, "That would be
the 4-man team I sent to lure some of our kobold friends in."
...
Munifex Justus kept on one knee, waiting patiently. They had

done plenty of waiting, but the adrenaline and anxiety for real
combat frayed his nerves.
Zehr sighed and turned to him with a smile. Justus smiled back,
feeling his mouth twitch. It was like the Decanus could read his
nervousness like chalk scrawled on a wall.
"Having doubts, Munifex?" He spoke in a quiet voice.
Stealth was paramount, but according to the volume of the decoy

team's horn, they were still some distance away.
Justus took in a deep breath. Talking would calm him down a bit.
He responded to the Decanus, keeping his volume as low as he
could, "Why is the scout team only 4? Half a tent group? Doesn't
that reduce their survivability?"
"The Iredar only attack if they have a numerical advantage. I

chose 4 as a good number to bait a 9-dog patrol," Zehr continued
to slowly scan the surroundings, not facing Justus directly.
Justus squinted his eyes to observe the forest, but still found
nothing of interest, "They're like dogs, right? Won't they... smell us,
when they get closer?"
"Rena," Zehr muttered. "It appears Munifex Justus has judged

your ambush position wanting."
Justus heard the sound of something low-crawling in the dirt

beside him. He heard a light jingle of coin as that 'something' took
his wallet.
He turned to glare at Rena, who had just lifted his hard-earned

coin.
"What do you think you're doing?" Justus whispered as angrily as

he could.
"The doggos won't smell us, dummy. We're downwind." The

archer-turned-thief, removed a gold piece and bit into it, "Ooh, real
gold. I'm taking this because you're stupid."
Justus snatched his wallet back, then the saliva-covered coin.
"Okay, fine. I'm sorry for doubting you," He whispered.
Zehr narrowed his golden eyes, "They'll be here shortly. Get to the
kneeling, you two."
Justus stared hard at the location the Decanus was looking at

intently. He glanced at his archer companion. She too was still
moving her eyes, scanning for enemies.
...Decanus Zehr could see better than an Archer class? Justus

realized that he didn't know what class Zehr had. The man could
grapple better than a Fighter. He could sprint faster than a Scout.
He knew the kobolds as well as a Sage. And he'd just learned that
he could see further than an Archer.
Zehr was introduced to their tent-group as a Bronze-Rank Warrior.

The notion was criminal. But Justus couldn't understand why he
would lie. If he was an Iron-Rank or a higher Tier Class, he would
have been inducted as a Decanus or better and with the pay to
match. Besides that, he would have been assigned to the First
Cohort and not the Second...
Was Zehr an enemy? No, that made no sense, either. The

Decanus had been trying his damnedest to save as many men
and women as he could.
Rena quietly steadied her crossbow on her knee and aimed down
the sights, through the brush.
She had spotted something.
Justus slowed his breathing and focused.
It didn't take long for three runners in leather armor to come into
view. Justus wasn't a learned man, but he knew the difference
between three and four.
Flame take those kobold bastards.
The runners ran past the trio, none the wiser to their presence. He
felt stupid for doubting Rena's choice of ambush point.
That's when Justus saw them. There were eight of them, blue-
furred dog-men the size of 6-year-old children. They ran on both
their arms and hind legs, but were weighed down by piecemeal
metal armor, weapons and shields strapped to their backs.
A chill ran down Justus' spine, seeing their speed. He glanced

over to Zehr's confident smile. The Decanus wasn't joking when
he said the scouts would earn their pay for the month with a
measly run.
"Remain calm." Decanus Zehr pointed, "Archers first."

Justus nodded, gripping his pilum tight. He had nearly forgotten.
Zehr lifted one of his pila to rest atop his shoulder and Justus did
the same with his.
The kobolds were within range.
In a smooth and silent motion, Zehr stood, judged the distance,

and hurled his spear.
Chapter 218 Lancepesade
unifex Justus stood up from his hiding position, lifting up his

M
pilum to aim. He took a deep breath, trying his best to calm
himself.
Zehr's pilum speared into the lead kobold's lower abdomen,

dropping it with a pained yelp.
Another kobold was struck in the chest with a silvery bolt, one of
Rena's. It fell backward with a dull thump that Justus was
surprised he was able to hear so clearly.
He aimed. His heart was beating out of his chest.
The kobolds were barking in a loud panic. Some grabbed for their
weapons. Some looked around, desperately trying to find their
attackers. One had dropped to their knees, desperately shaking
one of their fallen comrades.
Justus threw.
Everything was wrong: his breathing, his concentration, his

unsteady hands. His pilum missed, overshooting the kobold
group.
Pila continued to be thrown. Crossbow bolts continued to fire.
Justus ducked back down into the brush. He stared at his hands.
They wouldn't stop shaking. They couldn't stop shaking. Behind
him, the kobolds yelped and growled as they were killed, one after
the other.
Justus slammed his fist against the ground. What was happening
to him? Why couldn't he calm down?!
A pained dog's howl split the air. He could barely hear it over the
sound of his beating heart.
Silence reigned. It hadn't even been a minute, but to Justus, it felt

like an entire bell had passed.
He felt nauseous.
The kobold howled once more.
With still trembling hands, Justus peered over the bush.
The kobold squad of 8 had been annihilated. They lay bloody and
dead, crossbow bolts in their eyes and fur, entire pila piercing their
bodies.
One kobold still howled... in dying agony, but clearly alive.
It was the first kobold, which Zehr had speared.
No, that was impossible. It was inconceivable.
How could Decanus Zehr miss? Was this another trick? A

theatrical farce?
A low chuckle emanated from nearby. It was from the grey

bearded Munifex, Modestus.
"With all due respect, Decanus, you're a damned bastard," The

old man sighed and shook his head. The action made him look...
old. Tired.
Zehr rolled his eyes, "On account of the situation, I'll pretend I
didn't hear that, Brother-Immortal."
Rena put an uncharacteristically gentle hand on Justus' shoulder,

"Hey... hey, are you okay, Justus?"
Justus felt sick. He was shaking. His eyes were hot with tears.
The sound of a howl echoed in his head. The kobold was in

excruciating pain. It was dying. It screamed for help. It begged for
release. He locked the sound away in his brain, a mournful song
he'd never forget for the rest of his life.
"If you're going to vomit, Munifex..." Zehr commanded in a low

voice, "Don't."
Justus felt the bile rise to his throat... but he forced it back down,
swallowing his weakness with an audible gulp.
Sweat ran down his forehead, dripping onto the dirt in rivulets.
Zehr held out his arm, "Don't. He can handle it."
"But Decanus..." Gianna complained.
"If you don't think he can handle it, then go ahead. But the two of
you will be returning to the cohort," Zehr warned.
Justus looked up with blurred vision. Gianna's blue eyes pleaded

with him, praying that he'd be okay. But she didn't move to help
him.
Justus slammed his arms into the dirt, "I'm... I'm okay."
"You're not, right now. But you will be," Zehr nodded. "Brother-
Immortal, lend Munifex Justus your waterskin."
Modestus sat Justus up and lifted the waterskin to his mouth.
Justus drank heavily. Tears dropped down from his eyes and
down his cheeks.
"You're a good kid, Justus. Happens to everyone," Modestus

reassured him.
"Brother-Immortal, I told you to give the young man a drink," Zehr

growled. "Not to treat him like a child."
Justus felt his heart pound in shame as his eyes began to water
again.
"You get used to it..." Justus heard Gianna's sweet voice, marred
by a hint of her own troubled experiences, "We all do."
Justus bared his teeth. The Shield Maiden had confided in him
that she joined the forward group because she knew he was going
to volunteer. A heavily armored class didn't make sense in the
scout group, otherwise... Did she know this would happen?
He took hold of Modestus' waterskin, gargled some water and

spat it out. Still, the acrid taste didn't leave his mouth-- it stuck in
his throat.
He felt ashamed. He felt useless. He felt sick. He felt like he

should have never left home. He felt like he should have taken up
farming or a trade, instead...
His title, Hero of Leopardon, felt like a joke. His entire life leading
up to this point felt like it was a cruel joke.
He turned to Zehr and bowed his head low, "I'm... I'm sorry,
Decanus."
"Lower your voice," He growled. "Apologize at sun's end."
The dying kobold howled again, a bit weaker, but the high-pitched
sound reverberated throughout the forest.
Zehr took a deep breath and exhaled through his nostrils, "There
will be plenty more chances for you to redeem yourself. For now,
focus on getting your shite together, Munifex... And save your
tears for when we're safe at camp-- if there's any left by then."
Justus gathered the phlegm in the back of his throat and spat, "I...
I don't understand, Decanus... Why?"
"You're in a state of shock, young Munifex. As your tent-mates

have alluded to, it's completely normal," Zehr's voice held no
emotion, but the calm explanation managed to rattle Justus' brain
back into rational thought.
"It's... it's not over?"

"It is not. I'm hoping to take out at least 3 squads in this manner,"
Zehr answered.
Justus tried to struggle to his feet, placing his hand on the hilt of
his sword, "I... there's one more. Let me--"
Zehr's firm hand grasped his shoulder and forced him back down,
"That won't be necessary, Munifex."
Justus' eyes shot open, "But... why? It's dying. It's no threat to us."
Modestus clicked his tongue and turned away. Gianna, too,

grimaced and refused to meet his eyes.
"I... I don't understand either, Decanus," Rena's voice squeaked,

soft and uncertain.
The Decanus narrowed his eyes, "Is that so?"
The archer grimaced, lowering her head and pulling in her

shoulders, "Please tell us, Decanus."
Zehr crossed his arms and shook his head, "Brother-Immortal,

inform the Munifices of your reasoning for calling me a bastard."
Justus looked over to the grizzled old man and swallowed hard.
Chapter 219 Howl Of Pain
In the distance, a blue-furred kobold laid on its side. It squirmed

and sniveled, restless. Its legs twitched, pawing at the sky like it
was having a nightmare-- like the pain it was experiencing wasn't
real... like it was desperately trying to wake up.
A Tyrion pilum had pierced through its stomach and out of its
back. The off-white fur on its belly was stained filthy from blood-
soaked dirt.
Justus saw Zehr miss his throw... The line was an easy, straight
shot. Rena's chosen ambush point allowed him the advantage.
Justus had missed as well-- but he couldn't understand why
Zehr's aim had strayed.
...Unless?
No, that still made no sense. Why would the Decanus miss on
purpose? What reason could there be in injuring a demi-human
instead of killing it outright?
Modestus, the old Munifex, clicked his tongue, "You see... the
reason we're keeping one of those Flame-taken shites alive..."
"Ugh..." The man trailed off as he stroked his grey beard, his face
full of frustration, "Flame take it all-- I don't like it either! But it's
them or us. It's a fine order, damned as it is. You'll hear no gripes
from me!"
Rena approached Zehr holding out one of her enchanted bolts,

"Decanus... one shot. Let me do it..."
Her large, childish eyes sparkled as she pleaded in a hoarse

whisper, "Please..."
Zehr reached forward to close the archer's hand around her gift of
a merciful death. He shook his head, "No, Rena. Save your
ammunition."
Justus cleared his throat, "Then make us understand, Decanus."
The golden-eyed Decanus narrowed his eyes, "Are you

challenging me, young man? Your superior officer?"
An ice-cold chill ran down Justus' back and his entire body froze.
What... what was this feeling? What was this horror? He opened
his mouth to explain himself, but his throat felt like it had sealed
up-- he couldn't breathe, he couldn't scream.
"Decanus, your aura," Gianna warned.
Justus collapsed again to his knees. He thought he had gotten

over the shock of his first battle, but the intense wave of fear that
washed over him was nothing like he'd felt during the kobold
slaughter. When he stared into the Decanus' eyes, it was like he
was staring into the eyes of a feral beast, thrice his size.
"Tss..." The Decanus scoffed, "I apologize, young Munifex. I am in

a foul mood."
"Could... you please tell us, Decanus Zehr?" Rena pouted her lips.
She folded her hands with sincerity, allowing her crossbow to
hang from its sling.
Zehr closed his eyes, placing his palm over his mouth in thought.
He tapped his cheekbone impatiently... "I will ask you a series of
questions in order to better facilitate your understanding. Are you
prepared?"
Justus sat up with Rena's help and he nodded, though he kept his
eyes on the dirt. The sudden bout of fear had mostly left him, but
still, he didn't want to meet Zehr's gaze.
"The enemy has sustained a great injury. From there, what are
they capable of doing?" Zehr asked.
Justus grimaced, "He can... struggle to the end."
Zehr nodded, "Correct. However, I'm looking for... specifics."
The dying kobold whimpered and whined. It reared its head up to

howl but stopped abruptly-- coughing up gobs of blood.
Rena's eyes widened, "He can cry for help."
She whispered as if she didn't want it to be true.
Zehr nodded, "Full marks, Rena."
Justus grit his teeth in the horrific realization, "But... it doesn't

sound like it's crying for help. It just sounds like it's in pain."
Modestus shook his head, "It's the same thing. The enemy will
hear the blue-furred bastard and try to help... We... we, humans,
would do the same thing."
Justus shook his head frantically, "No... that's... no. We can't be

doing this! This is... cruel! Too cruel!"
"Munifex Justus, your voice," Zehr reminded, annoyed.
Justus nearly bit his tongue, having realized he had unconsciously

raised his voice.
He looked over to Gianna, who was crouched nearby, "Gia, you

can't agree to this either?"
"Decanus..." Rena whined, "No..."
Justus looked back to Decanus Zehr. He held another pilum to his

ear with his opposite arm outstretched. It was a perfect throwing
stance as if the Decanus was emulating a statue.
Looking over to where the injured kobold lay among the dead, the
creature had dragged itself 5 feet away, leaving a gruesome trail
of blood. Justus forced himself to watch as Zehr's second thrown
pilum pierced through its calf, pinning the creature to the dirt.
Its howl of agony far surpassed all its previous. It cried out in
anguish with a new fervor. Its high pitched whines threatened to
unravel Justus' sense of reason.
Justus returned his gaze to Gianna. She had her eyes shut and
was frowning with a deep grimace.
"Gia..."
...He wanted to say more. He had trouble finding the words-- any
words. Seeing Gianna's dark expression plunged his mind into an
abyss of confusion and regret. How did they get to this point?
Since when has it been okay to commit inhumane atrocities in
order to survive?
"It sickens me..." She admitted, "But I understand the Decanus'

reasoning. The tactic was chosen out of necessity, not out of
malice."
"But... we can just go hunt the patrols? We... we have the troops
for it?" Justus tried to argue, even though he didn't believe his
own words.
"No..." It was Rena who had answered. She held her stomach as
if she too, was growing nauseous, "We have a really good
vantage point here. We're upwind and are hidden from the path.
This is the safest way to ensure minimum casualties."
Justus gulped, remembering how there were only 3 members of

the sent runners instead of 4. He slumped back down into the dirt,
feeling lost and uncertain.
Was this really the life of honor and glory he had sought?
Zehr sighed, "Accurate assessment, Rena. And thank you for your
support, Gianna."
"Forgive me, Decanus." Gianna replied, her eyes closed, "I don't
support this decision. I... I wish it could be different."
"That is acceptable." Zehr nodded, "And you, young Munifex."

Justus pointed at himself, "M-me?"
"Understand that this plan was chosen out of weakness. Only

those privileged enough to be strong can fight with honor. The
Iredar are similar in that they rely on surprise, traps, and
overwhelming numerical advantage."
Justus grimaced, baring his teeth, "But those... are proper military
tactics?"
Zehr allowed himself a light shrug, "Proper military tactics refer to

those that are effective."
It was a harsh truth and thinking on it made Justus' chest ache...

but it was a viewpoint he hadn't heard before.
He glanced back over to the injured kobold. It stared at the sky,

arching its back and howling... Each howl growing weaker and
weaker, trailing off. The creature's death from its injuries neared
ever closer.
Justus shut his eyes, trying to drown out the pained cry with his
thoughts. He needed to become strong. He needed to be the hero
deserving of his title.
If only he was strong enough to wipe out the kobolds by himself,

would he be able to avoid the cruelty and injustice he'd
experienced this sun.
Chapter 220 Howl In
Desperation
he lull in combat was troublesome for Tycondrius. While it

T
allowed him and the forward group to rest, it also allowed the
troops silent introspection.
It was all too easy to give into dread and despair. It also bred
doubt, festering like an infected wound.
It frustrated him.
In his carelessness, he allowed his killing intent to seep through,

nearly causing Munifex Justus to lose control of his bladder.
Again.
Tycon was silently thankful for the sharp-minded Shield Maiden,

Gianna, for noticing it. Of anyone in the cohort, she was the only
one likely to realize that Tycon was not, in fact, the Bronze-Rank
Warrior he said he was.
....Not that it mattered.
After ten minutes, the three runners returned, reporting that they
had lost track of their fourth. They remained verbally hopeful that
their companion would return to the main cohort.
No one truly believed that. Tycon, least of all.
Within the next half-bell, a second pack of kobolds came to

investigate the pained cries of the injured. They were wiped out,
much like the first. The enemy fired blindly into the brush, but the
Rhodoks sustained no injuries.
That pack was comprised of fifteen Iredar, bringing the number of
dead to twenty-one. The first dying kobold had finally found the
sweet embrace of death. The recent attack found two more
kobolds severely injured, living a torturous hell.
Were they to cease their cries, Tycon only needed to toss more
bloody encouragement.
The number of fifteen, however, Tycon found peculiar. Iredar

operated in packs of nine... Fifteen hinted that there was a reason
for them to consolidate.
The most obvious explanation was that the First Cohort had
begun hunting down the patrols. In that case, the Second Cohort's
escape had a higher chance of success.
Tycon shared these thoughts with the forward group. Just as

doubt swelled and festered, the troubled men and women would
grasp onto any hope with the same zeal as the dying kobolds
praying for death.
The Holy Country of Tyrion was one united by religion. Their

worship of the Eternal Flame brought their kinsmen a collective
sense of unity. It could light the courageous hearts of men and
women aflame.
It was an excellent tool, perfect for the current low-morale

situation.
Even with the increased risk in mind, Tycon wanted to eliminate a

third patrol. He wouldn't press his luck any farther than that. Every
Iredar dead would increase the probability of the Second Cohort's
success and survival.
He shut his eyes and listened to the dying kobolds. Their cries
were dissonant music to him, heralding the oncoming battle.
...
Chief One-With-Spots lapped at the river stream. It was tiring

carrying his iron sword around. His archers weren't doing well,
either, hungrily drinking from the clear waters.
"(Chief, we can't keep this pace,)" A golden-furred kobold with

floppy ears crossed his arms. The tongue hanging down the side
of his mouth revealed the older dog's own fatigue.
One-With-Spots bared his teeth momentarily, "(I don't remember

asking for your opinion, Sun-Fur.)"
Sun-Fur pointed at the troops, growling, "(My archers can barely

keep up. If we come into battle, and they don't have the strength
to load their bows, then who suffers?)"
One-With-Spots felt his ears flatten... "(Forgive me, Sun-Fur. I

just...)"
Sun-Fur nuzzled his maw on top of One-With-Spots' neck,

hugging him close, "(I know, Chief.)"
One-With-Spots did not reject the affection. He was worried, truly

worried. His old friend, Sun-Fur felt his pain.
The Iredar Chief sighed, "(Attacking the caravan was a mistake.

The Head Chief's decision was too hasty... The humans' armor is
too thick. Their spears and swords, too sharp.)"
Sun-Fur let go and whined, "(The supplies run low. Caravans grow
more scarce. This raid would have allowed us to move without
worrying for our pups.)"
One-With-Spots marched in a circle, barking in frustration, "(That's

what I mean, Sun-Fur! ...That's... that's what I mean.)"
The golden-furred kobold sighed, "(You worry for your daughter,

Half-Ear...)"
It was true. Half-Ear grew up a sickly pup, but he and his mate
showered their child with no less love than her brothers and
sisters. She grew up healthy and strong, with a beautiful spotted
blue coat like her father. Her right ear remained stunted and short,
as it did when she was born, but it never flopped over her
dominant archer's eye.
She became one of Sun-Fur's best students, surpassing even him

in accuracy and skill.
One-With-Spots let out a yawn, "(I know Half-Ear can take care of
herself, but...)"
Sun-Fur yawned as well, grunting with his tongue out, "(It is a

father's right to worry for their children.)"
A different pack of Iredar approached from upstream. Their Alpha,

a spear-wielder with dark-blue fur running over his eyes, barked in
a troubled greeting.
One-With-Spots stepped forward, warily, "(Scruffy, I thought I

smelled a bad dog.")
Scruffy growled, deep and low, but stabbed the staff-end of his
spear into the dirt, "(There's trouble, One-With-Spots, if you can
quit chasing your own tail long enough for you to see it.)"
One-With-Spots had never gotten along with Scruffy. They had

been friends, once, but that all changed when they competed over
a mate during their adolescence. One-With-Spots had won the
heart of the love of his life, Cinnamon, while Scruffy ended up
mating with a tramp from a different tribe.
Even so, there was something in Scruffy's voice that didn't sit well
with One-With-Spots. He felt a worrisome feeling deep in his gut
and involuntarily let out a troubled whine.
One-With-Spots exchanged a troubled look with Sun-Fur before

looking back to the dark-furred kobold, "(Speak.)"
"(The humans are encroaching upon the forest. Many patrols have
been routed or annihilated.)"
Sun-Fur growled, "(That's not all, is it? What are you hiding,
Scruffy?)"
Scruffy flattened his ears and let out a subtle whine, "(We heard
the howls of one of the patrols, crying for help... It's...)"
One-With-Spots felt his heart drop. He bared his teeth and drew
his iron sword, placing it against Scruffy's neck, "(Don't say it! I'm
warning you, you son of a bitch!!)"
Scruffy growled back, "(Your useless barking won't make it any

less true. I heard your daughter's pitiful howl, crying desperately
for help.)"
Even with the sword at his neck, Scruffy pressed a hard paw into
One-With-Spots' chest, "(Crying desperately for *you*.)"
One-With-Spots tossed his sword away and grabbed both paws

onto Scruffy's armor, "(Then why are you HERE and not
THERE??!)"
Scruffy stared back, unafraid, "(Half-Ear is the best gods-damned

archer in the tribe. Whatever took out her pack can take out
mine.)"
Growling, Scruffy shoved back One-With-Spots before adjusting

his armor, "(Now, are we gonna save her or not?)"
Chapter 221 Howl As One
he metallic ring of a blade being unsheathed shook Munifex

T
Justus from his reverie.
Decanus Zehr had drawn one of his two swords into his left hand,
a pilum still in his right.
Justus sat up, peering off into the distance that Zehr faced. He
didn't see anything, but he felt the tension and killing intent
emanating from the Decanus' aura.
"Decanus..." Justus gulped, "What's--"
"--Hold, young Munifex," Zehr commanded. "Brother-Immortal,

which group is to the immediate west?"
"Should be... Scoutmaster Constantina's group," Modestus knelt

with a rigid spine and narrowed eyes. Sweat matted his grey curls
to his forehead. "She's a mean shot, the kobolds will--"
"Hold, Brother-Immortal." Zehr interrupted again, "Send word to

Decanus Ferrutius. Only allow the Bronze-Rankers to engage in
the first wave."
Modestus narrowed his eyes, "That foregoes the Shield Wall,

Decanus."
Zehr nodded, "Go. Prioritize speed."
The old man sucked air through his teeth before nodding. He got
up and dashed away, faster than a man his age had a right to.
"Rena."
"Yes, Decanus," The archer nodded. Her pupils shook, her nerves
frayed. There was something in the way that Zehr was acting that
put her on edge.
"Meet with Decanus Constantina. You'll fall under her command

for now," Zehr ordered.
A thin crease appeared between Rena's brunette brows, "But

Decanus? I want to stay with--"
Zehr cut her off, "--Keep the high ground, if possible. If you are
spotted, reposition. If you are spotted, do *not* engage."
"Y-yes, Decanus," Rena grit her teeth, her eyes full of worry.
"Shield Maiden Gianna."
"On my honor, Decanus," the blonde woman placed her hand

against her heavy metal armor.
"Try your best to keep up with me," The Decanus ordered, as he

began to stretch his legs. His thick, muscled calves bulged with
energy.
"D-decanus, what about me?" Justus asked.
Zehr narrowed his eyes, causing Justus to reflexively shrink back.

He spoke in slow, measured words, "Listen. Closely. Young
Munifex."
Justus averted his eyes from the pressure Zehr was emitting. He
nodded hurriedly.
The Decanus leaned close, forcing Justus to meet his golden-

eyed gaze, "You may engage only after Gianna and I do..."
The green-haired Decanus' words echoed in his brain. His mind

was racing quickly... More kobolds were coming. Rena was sent
away. Modestus was sent away. Gianna was going away. He had
to do something. Shite. What was it? He just--
The Decanus grabbed onto Justus' armor and pulled him close.
His forehead bumped against the cool metal of Zehr's helmet.
"Say again, your orders," Zehr asked.
Justus opened his mouth, searching for the words, "I... I'm only to
engage... after you and Gianna."
Zehr released him, "Keep saying that in your head, 'lest you
forget. What are your orders?"
"Only engage... after you and Gianna, Decanus."
Rena bit her lip, "Decanus... What's wrong? What's changed?"
Zehr turned to her, "Nothing, young lady. Extra precautions. What

were your orders?"
Rena pointed to herself, "Oh, me? I um... Meet with Decanus

Constantina and her scouts."
"And?"
Rena furrowed her brows, glancing at Justus before looking back

to Decanus Zehr, "Uh... Keep the high ground?"
Zehr lowered his voice, strong, demanding, brooking no

exceptions, "Prioritize safety. Reposition. Risk nothing. What are
your orders?"
Rena repeated her orders with more confidence.
Zehr stood up, no longer bothering to hide his voice, "Gianna,

Shield Maiden of Rhodok!!"
Gianna stood up and loosed a silvery aura of protection, "I hear

you, Decanus!!"
Justus felt his senses sharpen and his skin tighten and harden as
if it were a thick leather. Was this... one of her Shield Maiden
abilities?
"With me!!" Zehr dashed forward like a silvery hammer thrown by
the Flame itself.
...
One-With-Spots held out his left paw over his same shoulder,
signaling his warband to stop.
The dark-blue furred spear-dog, Scruffy growled in annoyance, "

(Bones and biscuits, One-With-Spots, we're not even--)"
"(Not another yip. Something's wrong,)" One-With-Spots barked.

His ears pepped up, listening. There was something. Something
was approaching-- and fast.
Sun-Fur turned left and right, sniffing the air for hostiles. He knew
not to argue. The old dog trusted One-With-Spots' judgment even
more than his own nose.
One-With-Spots' eyes widened abruptly, "(They're here!!)"
He dashed forward. A Tyrion pilum was hurtling through the air

towards him. He grabbed onto his iron blade, gripping it hard with
his paw.
"⌈Moon-Fang Hell Slash⌋!!"
One-With-Spots swung his iron sword, ink-black energy trailing his

blade and launching forward. The thrown pilum disintegrated
against the oppressive mana.
"(AMBUSH!!!)" Sun-Fur howled.
"(Alpha, no!!)" A brown-furred shield pup pushed Scruffy out of the

way.
A second thrown pilum pierced through the pup's side and he

collapsed to the ground with a whimper, "(Alpha... Tell my wife...)"
"(Fido? FIDO!!)" Scruffy fell to his knees, barking angrily and

shaking the fallen pup, "(Wake up, you son of a bitch!! WAKE UP,
GODS-DAMN IT!!!)"
His kobolds fell into a panic, grabbing onto their weapons.
Sun-Fur barked orders, "(Archers, CONTACT FRONT!!)"
"(Get the hells up, Scruffy! He's gone!!)" One-With-Spots yelled.
"(You don't understand, One-With-Spots!! I promised his mother

I'd bring him home safely!!)"
Tears were pouring down Scruffy's cheeks. The hardest thrice-

damned son of a bitch One-With-Spots had ever known was
mewling like a newborn pup.
"(You'll bring back his body and the bones of the enemy!! But You!
Need! To. GET. UP! NOWWWW!!!!!)" One-With-Spots yelled into
Scruffy's ear.
Scruffy stood, slavering and growling. He yelped and barked and

howled like a mad dog, "(I'll KILL you, human scum!! I'll crunch my
teeth into your bones and PISS ON YOUR REMAINS!!)"
The humans were closing in, fast. The heavy clank of an armored
female was sprinting forward as fast as a horse-drawn wagon.
This was it. These were the ones that hurt his daughter. These
were the humans that he needed to defeat.
Was she alive? Was it too late to save her?
It didn't matter. Just like Scruffy, he had to fight-- he had to live to

see the next morning's sun. He'd nurse Half-Ear back to health or
he'd bury her.
But before that, he'd tear out the throats and bellies of every
human that dared to get in his way.
"(With me, Blood Paw Tribe!!)" One-With-Spots yelled, pointing his

sword forward. "(Howl!!! AS ONE!!!)"
The Iredar of the Blood Paw Tribe howled their battlecry, "
(BLOOD! DEATH! AND VENGEANCE!!)"
Chapter 222 Rage At The
Fallen
" (ARRRCHERRRRS!!!!)" Sun-Fur barked his orders, his ears

peaked and his eyes wary, "(AIIIMMM!!!)"
The giant human female lumbered forward, carrying a shield

harder than stone.
One-With-Spots felt his paws sweating profusely. His body was

hot and his fur was unbearable. He panted heavily with the
nervousness of battle. The female before them was a Tyrion
Legionnaire, an armored monster capable of wading through
dozens of kobolds without suffering a scratch.
She was the first. The humans never fought alone, much like the
Iredar... and in a one-to-one fight, only he or Scruffy had a chance
against one of the steel-covered monsters.
Sun-Fur stared down the sights of his own crossbow.
"(SING!!)" He howled.
"Eternal Flame, I am thy ⌈Unstoppable⌋ Vengeance!!" The female

screamed, a silvery light encasing her shield.
Fifteen bows and crossbows released their song, firing a barrage

of arrows and bolts. The female slowed her charge, the bolts
sticking to her shield, an arrow biting deep into her left shoulder.
She did not stop. She would not stop.
Blood, guts, and bone. She had some kind of magic-- She was
what the humans called a Bronze-Ranker... and there was no
guarantee that was the extent of her ability. There was no other
reason she'd have been able to survive, otherwise.
"(I will TEAR into her throat and GNAW on her spine!!!)" Scruffy
howled as he dashed forward on all-fours. "(Blood Paws, WITH
ME!!!)"
"(Scruffy!! NOOO!!!)" One-With-Spots barked, but it was too late.
Ten more Iredar dashed after their Alpha, yipping and howling in
rage.
Scruffy would die if he fought alone. The metal-woman was

stronger than he'd originally thought, shrugging off crossbow bolts
like they were thrown sticks. Only One-With-Spots' mana-powered
strikes could pierce through armor that thick.
He clenched his teeth hard, loosing a menacing growl before

crouching down to dash after him.
"⌈Shadowfang Strike.⌋"
A familiar surprised yelp from one of his kobolds made him

hesitate.
No, it was impossible. One-With-Spots had over 30 kobolds under

his command. Any human that dared to attack them from behind
would be met with spear, sword, and bolt.
It was suicide.
How could the Blood Paws hope to fight humans that knew no
fear?
A human youth stood amongst his kin, his silver armor shining in
the sun. He held Sun-Fur up by the throat with his gangly human
arms. The old dog grasped and scratched with his front paws and
kicking and clawing with his legs, his efforts in vain.
One-With-Spots' troops pointed their weapons, all trained on the

human... but the human towering over them, nearly twice their
heights.
"(Do...)" Sun-Fur whimpered, "(--your duties.)"
One-With-Spots held his sword at the ready, channeling mana into

his sword, "(Don't do anything rash, old dog...)"
"(Heed your Alpha, yellow-fur,)" The human growled in accented

Iredar.
"(My name...)" Sun-Fur bared his teeth.
"(Gods damn it, DON'T DO IT!!)" One-With-Spots hastily swung

his blade, "⌈Moon-Fang HELL SLASH⌋!!"
"(--is SUN-FUR!!!)" The aging dog drew the knife on his back.
The human slammed Sun-Fur down upon the ground, faster than
a crossbow could shoot. One-With-Spots' black-mana wave sliced
harmlessly over the human, severing the heavy limbs of a nearby
tree.
The human plunged the sword it held in its left hand deep into
Sun-Fur's chest, easily piercing through the dog-archer's leathers.
"(SUN-FUR, NOOOOOOOO!!!!!)" One-With-Spots howled in

despair.
The human stood up, covered in the blood of his friend. The dog
was like a second-father to him. And in a single, bloody instant, he
was taken away.
Frenzied mana coursed through One-With-Spots' body.
No. He would not lose his reason. He was not like Scruffy, leaping
into every battle, surviving by the skin of his teeth. He was not like
Sun-Fur, who planned and calculated the positions of each of his
archers with care and precision.
He was One-With-Spots, bathed in blood, his heart hardened by

dozens of battles, and his blade quenched with the blood of
hundreds of dogs, beasts, and men.
He was One-With-Spots, Champion of the Blood Paws.
"(Face me, Human!! I WILL BE YOUR OPPONENT!!!!)"
...
Scruffy leapt powerfully into the air, brandishing his spear.
"(My spear is the spear that will) ⌈Pierce the Heavens!!⌋"
He roared, channeling his boundless rage into his weapon attack.
Striking against the massive metal shield, sparks of silvery fire

burst outward. The armored female stood her ground but was
pushed back, kicking up the dirt.
It wasn't enough. Of course, it wasn't enough. It would NEVER be

enough to slake his bloodthirst.
"(Suffer by my hand! I will break your shield! And I will break

YOU!!)" Scruffy snarled.
The female moved her shield, uncovering her face. Blood ran
down her nostrils, but she ran her tongue above her lips, lapping
up the blood.
"Aren't you... just... precious?" Her eyes gleamed in interest.
Her shield rushed forward, colliding with Scruffy's nose, sending

him hurtling backward and tumbling in the dirt. He struggled to get
back onto his feet-- to command his brothers and sisters to act
with care.
The metal-woman stabbed out from behind her barrier, piercing

the neck of one of his kobold-brothers, "OooOoh, I could just eat
youuuu uuuuup~!"
Scruffy's ears dropped back in a new fear. He had rushed forward

for vengeance, to engage in honorable combat against a
fearsome enemy.
But instead, he found a ravenous monster wearing steel skin.

"(No! Utilize pack tactics!! Three kobolds to a man!!") Scruffy
yelled, hoping desperately that his packmates would listen.
"I've got you, Gia!" A red-haired human yelled as he cut down a

grey-furred spear-dog with his sword.
"(To me!!)" Scruffy yelped, seeing two more humans were fast
approaching besides the two in front of him, "(To me, DAMN
YOU!!)"
"(We're with you, Alpha!!)" "(Kill!!)" --Rover and Sharptooth flanked

him, ready for a combination attack.
Scruffy dashed to the side, lowered his body weight and swept his
spear at the red-haired male's legs, "⌈Knockdown Assault!!⌋"
"Awwww~! You're. So. CUUUUTE~!!!" The female moved nearly

instantaneously, lunging over 5 fulms and slamming her shield
down to guard the male's legs.
"Thanks, Gia!" The male crashed his shield into Sharptooth's

snapping and slavering maw, opening up his guard. Without
mercy, the human's sword eviscerated Scruffy's old friend.
"(NO!! STOP!!!)" Tears began to blur Scruffy's vision. Too many of

his kin were dying-- old dogs, honorable dogs, veterans of dozens
of battles and tribal wars.
Scruffy slammed his spear against the side of the female's shield,
opening her guard. He needed to get past her defenses. She
needed to die. She was their enemy's greatest champion. If she
died, then... then maybe One-With-Spots would have a chance.
"Whoops! Ahahahaa!!" The female laughed as she smashed the

pommel of her sword hard into Scruffy's nose, "You're soOoo
adorable, I wanna take you hoooome and squeeze you until you
diiiie!!"
Rover turned to flee. That was Rover, always the smartest dog in
the pack. They should have all run when they had the chance...
The red-haired male chopped his sword forward. Rover fell to the
ground, burying his snout into the dirt. The back of his neck had
been cut open, revealing the bone underneath.
Fear and regret surged, deep from within the bowels of Scruffy's
gut. He should have never charged forward. He should have
listened to One-With-Spots. He should have never told him he had
heard Half-Ear's dying howls. He should have told the Head Chief
the attack on the humans was too risky.
Scruffy grasped his spear tight.
One.
At least one.
He needed to kill at least one.
Scruffy hurled his spear at one of the approaching humans, a man

wearing a red-crest atop his head.
The human dashed to the side and dodged it.
It wasn't enough.
One. He needed only one.
Then he could die without regret.
Scruffy scrambled onto the monster woman's shield and climbed

to its top. If only he could get past the shield... he could tear out
her soft, tender neck, and feel her life essence flow out of her.
"(I'll KILL you, human!! I'll FEAST on your INSIDES!! I'll string you
up and RAVAGE you in view of your dead!! I'LL KILL YOU!! I'LL
KILL YOUUUU!!!)"
Chapter 223 Ferrutius The
Fool
ycondrius had used his ⌈Shadowfang Strike⌋ to appear in the

T
midst of the main Iredar pack, surrounding himself by spear, bow,
and crossbow. It was a risky decision, but he was determined to
disrupt the enemy's ranged line-- a volley of bolts and arrows
would devastate Decanus Constantina's scouts.
Tycon's hand grasped tightly around the throat of a golden-furred

kobold.
It seemed he had chosen his hostage correctly, as the pack

hesitated to fire upon him.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, feeling the old dog shift its weight.
It struggled to groan what would be its last words, "(My name is...
SUN-FUR!!!)"
Tycon slammed the kobold down against the hard-packed dirt,

dodging a precariously close ⌈Moon-Fang Hell Slash⌋-- a skill that
launched a deadly projectile of mana. The crescent slash shot into
the forest, sundering the thick branches of a nearby hardwood.
Tycon decided he did not want to be hit by that.
Pressing the tip of his sword against the golden kobold's armor,
Tycon shoved the blade through the grounded dog's chest.
"(The dead have no need for names,)" Tycon barked in Iredar,

loud enough for his enemies to hear.
"(SUN-FUR!!!!)" The kobold with mottled fur howled, "

(NOOOOOOOO!!!!!)"
⟬ Spotted Kobold, Bronze-Rank Kobold Fighter. ⟭
The spotted kobold was clearly the pack's Alpha, both as the
strongest Iredar amongst them and the one boasting a rare skill-
type, allowing him to attack with his sword at a range.
"(Face me, Human!! I will be your opponent!!!)" The Alpha yelled.
"(Unlikely,)" Tycon shrugged.
The single Bronze-Ranker wasn't Tycon's aim.
Tycon picked up the dead dog and tossed the corpse into a trio of
bunched up Iredar. Drawing his second sword, he quickly sliced
the kobold throats to his left and right.
Bringing his swords back into a cross, he blocked the Spotted

Alpha's jumping sword strike.
It was a heavy strike, but it was tolerable.
"(Leave my pack alone. Fight me!)" It growled.
Tycon smirked, "(No, I don't think I will.)"
He uncrossed his blades, forcing the Alpha back. Tycon half-

turned to slip a spear thrust, piercing his sword through another
kobold's eye. He slashed his offhand blade to the side, chopping
straight through a dog-archer's trigger hand.
"(You are a COWARD, human!!)" The Alpha yelled, chasing after

Tycon as he weaved through the pack.
Generally, yes, Tycon preferred to act cowardly, avoiding danger,

and only engaging if it was advantageous to him. As ironic as it
seemed, he felt safer inside the kobold pack than out. The Iredar
wisely checked their fire, unwilling to accidentally shoot one of
their own.
"(Have you ever felt so useless in a battle?)" Tycon taunted the

Alpha, "(Are you enjoying watching your kin die, while you do
nothing?)"
The spotted kobold growled in barely-restrained fury but otherwise
kept his maw shut.
It was unfortunate. The Alpha was smarter than his peers. Tycon
did not want to withdraw until he could bait at least one more
activation of the Bronze-Ranker's ⌈Moon-Fang Hell Slash.⌋ A
single well-aimed execution of the skill could kill or critically injure
two or five of his Rhodok archers.
He thought well of Rena and preferred her alive rather than not.
The Alpha swung his heavy iron sword, which Tycon chose to
deflect instead of block. The blade struck against the ground,
kicking up a blinding cloud of dirt and rocks.
...Dangerous.
Though Tycon goaded his opponent, he was cognizant of the

threat the Iredar posed. The one skill the Alpha had revealed had
a devastating rending effect. He'd avoid that.
The Alpha also claimed a high level of strength, irrespective of his

size. Tycon was certain his armor and physique could handle a
mana-powered strike or two... but he hoped to avoid that, as well.
One of the kobold archers was blinded by the dirt cloud, allowing
Tycon to slip his sword's edge against its throat. Dashing into the
opportunistic and fleeting cover, he threw one of his swords back
at the doggedly chasing Alpha.
The metal clang of his sword being deflected rang out, but it had
bought Tycon a moment. He grabbed onto one of the pila he
threw earlier and twisted it out from the corpse of a chocolate-
furred Iredar.
He assumed a proper throwing stance, judged the distance, and

hurled the pilum towards where Shield Maiden Gianna and Holy
Swordsman Justus were fighting.
...
"Gia!!" Munifex Justus yelled.
The dark blue kobold had climbed up onto Gianna's shield,

snarling with ravenous fury.
Justus kicked a dirty-blonde kobold away, but seeing another

opponent rushing him with a wood axe, he dropped to a knee and
braced his shield.
CLANNNNG! The impact rang against the metal barrier. Though

shaken, he swiped his sword underneath his shield,
disemboweling the axe-dog. It dropped its weapon and stumbled
back, clutching at its belly. Blood and entrails spilled from its tiny
paws as it collapsed.
A sudden and pained yelp went up from behind him. He turned to

see... the kobold on Gianna's shield had been speared through...
by a thrown pilum?
Justus looked over from where the pilum was thrown. Decanus
Zehr was fighting for his life INSIDE the mass of kobolds.
The man was INSANE!!
"Munifex, shield UP!!" A voice commanded.
Out of conditioned reflex, Justus heaved his shield up, taking an

unseen blow that caused his still shaking shield-arm to rattle and
ache.
Decanus Ferrutius jammed the end of a pilum into the kobold that
had attacked Justus, leaving a hole in its abdomen. Laughing, the
wild-bearded Decanus drew his pilum back with a twist and again,
thrust it forward, driving it entirely through the creature.
Ferrutius released his weapon, wiping his palm against his filthy
armor. He turned to Justus with a sleazy grin, "Ohhh, it's the fish."
The orange-bearded Decanus unsheathed his sword, "You know,

you should really pay attention."
Justus grabbed the end of the Decanus' spear with his shield arm.
Bracing his arm with his sword hand, he swung the spear
outward, colliding the dying kobold with another enemy that had
leaped at the Decanus.
"I uh... with all due respect, Decanus," Justus smiled sheepishly.
Ferrutius' expression quickly changed from confusion, to shock,

then normalized back to his creepy leer. "Oops! So it's Munifex
Justus! You should have corrected me when I called you a fish.
Now I feel like a fool."
Justus tightened the grip on his sword. Was the Decanus trying to
thank him? He didn't know how to respond, so he kept his
awkward smile.
The Decanus chuckled, "With me!!"
"I hear and obey, Decanus!!" Justus yelled.
The pair rushed forward, their two shields ramming into their
attack group and splitting them apart. With practiced sword slices
and thrusts, Justus struck down one and blocked an attack from
another.
Ferrutius cut down the trio of kobolds in front of them, finally

taking a look at Zehr in the distance. He twisted his face and
cursed, "Flame TAKE you, Decanus Zehr!! What use is glory
when you're going to get yourself KILLED?!?"
"I'm so SORRY, doggie!!!" Gianna screamed. She had reversed

her sword grip and stabbed it downward into a fallen kobold's
neck, "Justus, we have this from here!! Go help the Decanus!!"
Justus froze. What were his orders? His orders were to engage
only after Zehr and Gianna. He did that. He did that!!
He was alive and fighting! Pained barks and whines and yelling
surrounded him-- he could barely think.
He raised his shield to block another kobold's attack, retreating a
step from the force.
His arms only moved as his training demanded.
"Hero of Leopardon!!" Decanus Ferrutius' voice shocked him back

to reality, "I ORDER you to help your Flame-scarred FOOL of a
Decanus!!"
"At once, Decanus!!" Justus yelled back, his voice hoarse.
With aching legs, he abandoned Ferrutius and Gianna, running as

fast as he could towards Decanus Zehr.
Chapter 224 Surrounded
unifex Justus held his shield in front of him, bracing it with his
M
sword arm.
A crossbow bolt banged against it-- oof, that was close. Sweat
poured down Justus' back. The bolt was inches away from
embedding itself into the meat of his thigh.
He smashed his shield full-force into a kobold spear-dog,

knocking it off of its feet.
THNK. Justus staggered back. An archer's crossbow bolt had

bounced off the center of his chestplate. It didn't pierce through
the metal but... seven hells... he was stunned and couldn't
breathe.
Justus narrowed his eyes, refusing to flinch. He watched as the

archer systematically reloaded another bolt. That would finish him
off.
He forced his eyes to stay open. He wanted to see how he died--
However, the archer stopped. It collapsed onto its knees.
With a snap of his wrist, Zehr pulled a handaxe out of the back of
the kobold's skull, a mist of blood spraying into the air.
Zehr immediately spun, trusting Justus with his back as he faced

the unending onslaught of enemies. The Decanus was fighting
like a barbarian, a bloody sword in one hand and a skull-cracking
handaxe in the other...
It reminded Justus of a barbarian... or... an arena gladiator... like

the champions of Sol Invictus.
"Munifex Justus, I thought I told you to stay with the others?" Zehr
growled.
He sounded angry-- angrier than usual. Justus had a feeling that if

there weren't any kobolds around, Zehr's hatchet would have
found a new home in his own skull.
Justus gulped as he tried to normalize his breathing. He made

sure to keep his eyes open, as well, "They-- they sent me here--
to you, Decanus."
"Ugh, right." Zehr groaned.
"Decanus Zehr!!" Justus stepped towards the kobold line,

smashing the bottom of his shield into another spear-dog's knees.
As it dropped its guard, he thrust his sword underneath its chin
and pierced through its snout, "Why did you charge in, by
yourself??"
"I saw an opportunity and I took it," Zehr responded calmly.
The Decanus swept his weapons outward in a wide arc,

decapitating one kobold and forcing the others back.
"Shield towards the forest." Zehr ordered, "Now!"
Justus repositioned his shield, though he didn't understand the

reasoning. Why the forest?
Zehr ducked behind Justus' shield, "CONSTANTINA!!!"
Decanus Constantina? Why would he yell for--
"FIIIRE!!" A woman's voice yelled from the forest. Heralded by

loud clunks of release crossbow mechanisms, speeding bolts
sang from the brush.
Oh. That was why. Half a dozen kobolds were killed or critically
injured in the first volley.
"RELOAD!!" Decanus Constantina's voice rang out amongst the

din of battle, "FIRE AT WILL!!"
The kobolds began to scatter, some shooting back, some holding
their light shields up in vain.
"⌈Moon-Fang Hell Slash⌋!!"
What the-- one of the kobolds had a skill? They... THEY HAD A
SKILL?!?
He felt Zehr grab onto the back of his armor.
...Nothing about Justus' situation was good.
Justus was pulled backward. His back hit the ground, his head
bounced against the dirt. In his daze, he felt his helmet loose and
roll away.
A vicious stream of black mana passed overhead the pair, carving

a deep scar into the rock wall behind him.
More bolts twanged from seemingly every direction... and the

kobolds began to die in flowery bursts of blood mist.
Zehr pulled Justus up, "You did well, Munifex. Go back to the
others. Have them withdraw in the opposite direction. Regroup
with the cohort!!"
Justus was confused. He had only just arrived, "Decanus, but

what about y--"
"WHAT are you ORDERS??" Zehr yelled. He was loosening the

strap on his modified helmet.
Justus furrowed his brow and clenched his teeth, "To go back,
Decanus! To regroup with the cohort!!"
A furious spotted kobold leapt towards the Decanus with his

sword over his head, snarling bloody murder. Zehr met the blade's
swing with his own, knocking the enemy back in a shower of
sparks.
"Decanus, your sword..." Justus felt his pupils dilate, staring at the
bent and misshapen blade in Zehr's hands.
Zehr thrust his Decanus helmet into Justus' chest, "Yes, a shame,
I know. Take this. It's time to--"
Zehr glanced away and Justus followed his eyes.
A kobold was lumbering forward, its left arm raising a stolen

Tyrion sword, its right holding onto its blue-furred side where a
crossbow bolt was protruding.
Suddenly, it stopped.
Blood began to spill out of its mouth as if poured from a bucket. It

fell to its knees, choking and coughing, before falling onto its side,
convulsing in death throes.
What the... what the hells just happened?
Zehr turned his golden eyes back to Justus, "Earn your title, Hero
of Leopardon. Lead the forward group to safety."
Gazing into Zehr's haunting, almost predatory gaze, Justus could

only nod.
Before Justus could do anything else, Zehr turned away and

dashed off. He snatched up the fallen sword, running into the
kobold pack and out the opposite side, leaving two more kobolds
dead.
Crossbow bolts continued to drop the kobolds as the pack began

to scatter, over a dozen of them chasing after Zehr.
And the Decanus was... barking back at them?
Justus grimaced as he breathed hard into his nostrils. With his

shield still turned to the forest, he began to hustle back to Gianna
and Ferrutius.
...
Tycondrius jogged at a leisurely pace.

The battle with the kobold pack had drained some of his stamina
and focus, dodging and killing as he had, but he was fortunate
enough to sustain no injuries.
He glanced over his shoulder. 8 or 9 kobolds remained, including

the spotted Alpha. Decanus Constantine's archers had done well
in culling the majority of the pack. There had been some 40, to
begin with, which had forced Tycon to improvise a change of
plans.
40 Iredar against not-even-half-that amount of Rhodoks would

have led to an unacceptable decimation.
Munifex Justus had performed admirably. As luck would have it,

Tycon was able to pass his unique helmet-- a physical symbol of
leadership, to the young swordsman.
Tycon had seen how the boy fought. His teamwork and natural
combat senses were excellent... He had even managed to save
the rebellious Decanus Ferrutius from harm by virtue of his quick
thinking.
The other two Decani, Constantina and Ferrutius, he deemed

unreliable. Ferrutius was better at arguing and complaining than
he was at leading. Constantina was an excellent leader-- but she
would take her scouts and do as she pleased. It was conducive to
what was hers, but not to the forward group as a whole.
The forward group needed to fight their way out of hostile territory
and it would behoove them to do so as a compliant unit, not an
unorganized gaggle.
Justus would be their spearhead.
Hm.
Tycon had run far enough. He slowed to a brisk walk.
The kobold pack slowed their pace, panting and heaving. A few
barks from their leader had them move to surround their single,
very handsome opponent.
"(You finally stopped running, coward...)" The spotted Alpha spoke
in a serious tone. He appeared as fatigued as his kin, "(You howl
as we do. I know you understand. Accept my challenge of
honorable combat.)"
Tycon turned with a smirk on his face, "(Thank you for using up
your remaining mana on that last skill, pup.)"
The Alpha's ears perked up and he growled low.
That was interesting... Tycon assumed the reaction confirmed his

conjecture-- not that he well knew how to read the emotions of
dog-persons.
"(We have you surrounded, Human!!)" A muscular, thin-furred

kobold barked, "(Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.)"
A few of the other kobolds chuckled uneasily, a bit reminiscent of

hyenas' yapping. The Alpha remained unmoved.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, a wide grin spreading on his face. He

did know that the baring of teeth showed aggression. And he was
fairly certain his enemies were terrified of him.
The pack hesitated.
Tycon chuckled low. He opened his arms to display his arrogance,

holding his sword and hatchet out to his sides, "(All I am
surrounded by is fear and dead dogs.)"
Chapter 225 Violent
Disrespect
dark, female Iredar flexed its muscles, barely contained by its

A
thin coat. It snapped at Tycondrius with its razor-sharp teeth, "
(ATTACK! ATTTAAAAACK!!! RIP AND TEAR!!)"
Four of the kobolds charged simultaneously.
Easy enough. Tycon dashed to the side, so the enemy formed a

line in approaching him.
The thin-furred kobold came at him with her flail raised. Tycon cut
a red line across her throat and kicked her back into her fellows.
Stepping forward, his axe chopped into the side of another
kobold's neck. Using his sword, he deflected an opponent's blade
before lacerating a deep wound on a spear-dog's white-furred
forearm. He thrust his sword into the last sword-dog's gut before
hacking his hatchet down between the spear-dog's eyes.
His hatchet was lodged deep into the Iredar's skull, straight down
its center at an aesthetically pleasing 90-degree angle.
Tycon took a moment to admire his handiwork.
He released his hold on the hatchet. The kobold fell to its knees.
Its eyes rolled back. Then, it collapsed backward like a child's
discarded doll.
The Alpha and the remaining 4 Iredar watched in silence.
Tycon shook his head, laughing to himself. He grabbed the end of

his hatchet and pressed his foot down against a corpse's maw. He
wrenched it out, flinging blood and bits of brain at his ever-so-
patient audience.
There was nothing quite as intimidating as a bit of violent
disrespect.
The Alpha stepped forward, his actions strangely calm and

measured, "(I will fight the human. Return to the tribe.)"
"(Should your packmates run, I will kill them.)" Tycon grinned, "
(The only one with a chance to escape is you, Alpha. How about
you run instead?)"
"(Does your cruelty know no bounds?)" The spotted Alpha howled

in grief, "(WHY?!?! Why, Human?!? You are amongst the
strongest, the fastest, the goodest of boys!! This slaughter is
beneath you! Let my brothers go!!)"
Tycon leaned down to wipe the blood of his hatchet on the white
kobold's fur-- the body he continued to rest his foot on, "(I
suppose I only need one or two of you to return to your tribe. You
would need to report your Alpha's death, no?)"
"(You're not a human, you're a gods-damned monster!!)" A kobold

yelped in fury.
Tycon raised an eyebrow. The pup who spoke up was the

smallest amongst them, a shortbow carrying archer that had
somehow survived Decanus Constantina's onslaught.
The Alpha smacked his paw against the smaller kobold's nose,
barking back to Tycon, "(Human, forgive Nipper! He knows not
what he barks!!)"
"Hmm." Tycon tapped the flat of his sword against his shoulder, "
(Choose one amongst your brothers-- one that you wish to live.)"
The Alpha grabbed the aggrieved pup by the shoulders, "(Listen

to me, Nipper. Return to the tribe. Tell the Chief that we need to
leave this place. Everyone is to pack-- take only what is important.
Head west. We'll head to the Kingdom, far, far away from here.)"
"(But... but Alpha. I... I dishonor you by leaving,)" The pup's ears
drew back as it whimpered.
"(No, pup. You don't dishonor me.)" The spotted Alpha licked the
side of the pup's snout, "(The younger generation must go on--
the tribe must survive. Its fate rests in your very paws.)"
"(Go with honor, Nipper.)" "(You're a good boy.)" "(Run like the
wind, pup.)" --the other kobolds reassured the young one.
Nipper took a hesitant step back, unwilling to leave, "(Alpha... I'll

never forget you.)"
The Alpha nodded, "(I have no regrets. Go. Tell my mate--)"
Tycon threw his hatchet, its edge cracking into the side of the
pup's skull. The pup fell to the dirt, motionless. Its eyes still gazed
on, looking slightly up, as if unaware it had died.
"(What?)" The Alpha tilted his head, one of its blue ears falling flat
on the top of its head, "(No... you didn't.... You couldn't have...)"
The Alpha turned towards Tycon, its entire body trembling. Saliva
and froth began to bubble from its maw, "(What... what have you
done?)"
Tycon smirked. He wanted to incite a frenzied rage into his

opponent. An angered and grief-ridden opponent was more
predictable and easier dispatched than a cunning warrior.
His offer implied an offer of salvation. His true purpose was to

glean the death that would wreak the greatest emotional havoc.
It appeared to be working... if perhaps too well.
The Alpha ducked his body low, growling and barking, "(You're no
human, you're a SNAKE!! You offer nothing but POISON, you
dishonorable cur!! BAAAD HUMAN!! BAAAAAD!!)"
"Your vengeance is right here, Iredar." Tycon bared his teeth in a

mocking grin, "Come and take it."
...
Munifex Justus hurdled over a huge fallen tree, "I still don't
understand why the Decanus gave me his helmet."
He turned back to grasp Gianna's arm, helping her over.
Whew. She was actually pretty heavy with her heavy shield and
armor-- not that he was stupid enough to say that aloud.
"Thank you, Justus-- um..." Gianna glanced down.
Justus followed her gaze. He was still holding onto Gia's hand. He
quickly released it.
"Ah, sorry, Gia. That uh... that tends to happen a lot, doesn't it?"
Justus smiled with no small amount of embarrassment.
A groan of annoyance came from nearby as Decanus Ferrutius

approached, "Seven hells and a bucket of angel shite! Decanus,
put on your Flame-scarred helmet."
"But I... it's not mine, it's his," Justus stared at the Decanus helm
he held.
Gianna took Justus' hand back in hers, "And it was Decanus'

Caelistis before that. Decanus Zehr gave it to you because he
trusted you."
Ferrutius shrugged as he walked past, "You're a good scrapper,

Decanus Justus. And since Zehr went rushing off to sacrifice
himself, you're a decent replacement."
Justus scowled, "He's not dead, Decanus Ferrutius."
"Even if he's not, he's no use to us now," He shrugged... "As a

side, if he is dead, I've got one up over the bastard."
Justus smoldered in anger. Zehr killed nearly a dozen on his own

and led away another ten more. With only those achievements,
the Decanus had done more than enough.
Gianna grasped Justus' hand tightly, "You knew to worry about the
kobolds even before I did. I think Decanus Zehr sensed that."
Gia's soft hand put Justus' mind, somewhat at ease.
"Wellllll~! I don't like it, ONE BIT!!" Rena pouted, walking ahead.
Justus gave Gia another smile before releasing her and hurrying
to catch up to the others. He placed the cooled, crested, modified
Decanus helm upon his head, its protective weight more
comforting than bothersome.
He didn't pull the visor down, though. It seemed too... Zehr-ish for
him to do that.
Rena spun on her heels, stopping to complain, "How could you

just let the Decanus go off like that!?"
"Well, that..." Justus hesitated.
Zehr had given him clear orders-- but that's not an excuse that
Rena would accept. Most likely, he would get the back end of a
crossbow smashed into the side of his helmet for daring to cite
'orders'...
It was true, though!
Gianna walked beside Rena at her opposite side, "Miss Rena...

you saw how fast Decanus Zehr moved. He must have the Scout
class-- he would have better mobility without Justus."
"But... but..."
Justus rolled his eyes. His childhood friend was going to cry.
Rena looked up with moist and sparkling eyes at Gia, "Why didn't
he bring meeeeeeeeee???!"
Chapter 226 Motivation
hield Maiden Gianna gently rubbed Rena's hand, "No, don't cry,
S
Miss Rena. He's going to be okay."
"He said-- Zehr said... he was going to protect me from-- from

getting ravaged by the goblins~" Rena sniffled, an ugly trail of snot
running from her button nose.
"You mean... the kobolds, I think?" Gia smiled, pulling Rena into
her sword arm's embrace. She shot a guilting look at Justus over
Rena's shoulder.
Justus grit his teeth. Rena's bawling would attract the attention of
every kobold within 5 or 10 miles-- and probably some goblins,
too. He had to do something...
...But why was it always him that had to do something about it?
"Hey, Rena, listen..."
The archer left Gia's embrace, turning to Justus with reddened

eyes, "Nope! No way!"
Justus furrowed his brows, "W-what do you mean, 'no way'?"
"You're terrible at making me feel better! You're just gonna make

fun of my boobs or tell me I'm dumb!!"
"What? No, I'm better than that," Justus bit his lower lip. That was
exactly what he was going to do-- just not in that order.
Gianna's blue, icy-cold eyes continued to glare at him.
Flame take this archer girl! She was making him look horrible in
front of his crush! Arrrghh!
"Rena, listen up. Decanus Zehr gave me orders for you, too,"
Justus lied.
He figured he wouldn't get into too much trouble, speaking for the
Decanus. Zehr seemed more-or-less okay with Rena's flirting...
He didn't respond back positively... but he wasn't negative, either?
Seven hells, the man was hard to read.
"R-really?" Rena's lips trembled as she pouted, achieving an extra

pathetic and pitiful look.
Gianna wrapped an arm around Rena, nuzzling her face, as they

began to walk again, "Ohh, you're soooo cute, Miss Rena~!!"
Rena struggled out of Gia's grasp enough to question Justus

again, "What'd he say? Huh? Huhhh?"
"You're one of the best scouts we have, Rena." Justus smiled,

"The Decanus is counting on you (and me) to lead us out without
any casualties."
It was a combination of half-truths that sounded believable. Even

if Decanus Zehr found out, there wasn't really anything incorrect
with the statement. But still, he hoped it would convince--
"OKAY!!" Rena pumped one of her arms in victory, "I'm on it!!"
Raising her crossbow in both arms over her head, she quickened
her pace to scout ahead.
Gianna smiled with furrowed eyebrows, tilting her head, "Is... is

she going to be okay?"
Justus grimaced, sucking air through his teeth, "I... I think so.
Rena doesn't usually get upset for very long."
"Aha... Yes." Gianna chuckled, "It's a rather endearing trait, I

think."
It was true. Rena was a rare light of optimism that always

managed to shine through the dark clouds of his own brooding
and worries-- and that of the others in the tent group, of course.
Justus absentmindedly looked up as he walked, reminiscing about
older, simpler suns. Even then, giving up... surrendering to his
insecurities was a common thought of his.
He trained in Leopardon with his father. He practiced with wooden

swords and training dummies. He trained his body. He did hard
labor throughout the village. It was hard. It was always hard.
He got rejected by the adventurer's guild more than once. And he

was rejected by the local militia, too... He was too young. He was
too weak. He wasn't made of the 'right stuff.'
He liked to think he always had a strong will. But Rena's cheering

him on certainly helped.
And after all that, he somehow became a--
The unmistakable twangs of a crossbow bolt fired in the distance.

Birds chirped and fluttered away from further into the forest.
The traveling forward group stopped in their tracks.
Justus and Gianna shared a silent look.
A series of other crossbows echoed the initial firing.
Shortly, the sounds of running men and women grew closer, with
Rena appearing with some of Decanus Constantina's scouts.
Rena bent over, gasping for breath. There was no bolt loaded in
her crossbow, "Guys... guys..."
Gianna hurried over, offering her waterskin, "Miss Rena? What's

wrong!"
One of the other scouts grimaced, "Kobold patrol-- at least a

dozen, maybe 20."
"Get down!!" Gianna pushed the scout out of the way.
With a loud bang, a crossbow bolt glanced off of her heavy shield.
"To arms, brothers and sisters! We are under attack!!" Justus drew
his sword and raised it up, "Honorable warriors ⌈Never Fall!!⌋"
Light shone through the treetop canopy and onto his sword,
suffusing the blade with a warm golden aura that spread out
through the nearby Rhodoks.
Ferrutius whistled, "Whoa ho hohhhh~! Decanus Justus, you've

been holding out on us!"
"I... I dunno what came over me," Justus stared at his glowing
blade. "I just said what... felt right?"
Gianna beamed from behind her shield, "It feels good, Decanus
Justus, like you're keeping me safe."
Ferrutius banged the flat of his blade against Justus' Decanus

armor, "Best buckle that helm of yours."
Justus frowned, but hastily began to fumble at his helmet strap,

"Or what?"
"Or I'll get more kills than you, haha!" Ferrutius bounded off, shield
and spear in hand.
Justus squinted his eyes in thought. As much as Ferrutius loved to

brag, sometimes he made no sense.
"He's... really excitable, isn't he?" Gianna offered. Another

crossbow bolt dinged against her heavy shield as she smiled.
Another team of scouts ran towards them-- the lead woman raised
a hand signal for them to stop. She lifted her hood slightly,
revealing a scarred, smirking face, pale-green hair peeking out at
the top, "Shields. Perfect."
"We'll hold them off, Constantina. Will you support us?" Justus
asked.
The hooded Scoutmaster glared, "Who the-- Oh, it's you. That
was my plan, regardless of your request."
She turned to her scouts, "Climb."
"At once, Decanus!" The various scouts ran to many-branched

trees and began to climb.
Constantina turned to point at Rena, "And you."
Rena had caught her breath and stood up at attention, "Yes, sir! --
I mean ma'am!!"
The Scoutmaster shook her head, "You have good eyes. Survive
this and I'll transfer you to one of my tent groups..."
Constantina narrowed her eyes, "--I thought I told you to CLIMB!!"
"Y-y-y-y-es, ma'am!!!" Rena babbled as she scrambled up a tree

like a monkey.
"Decanus Constantina," Justus nodded.
The hooded Scoutmaster warily looked him up and down.

"Decanus Justus," She nodded slightly, before ascending towards
the treetops, up after Rena.
...
Justus crept around a tree, hearing the soft padded movements of

the enemy. Peeking over, he counted nine... Five were armed with
spears and melee weaponry, three with ranged. A single kobold
carried a net on a pole... an insidious looking clay pot was cradled
inside of it.
It would be just like earlier. The kobolds were an enemy that

needed to be defeated... especially the crossbowmen. The bolts
would bounce off their shields and armor, but a deep bolt to an
arm or leg would cripple their small group's fighting strength.
Suddenly, one of the kobolds' ears perked up.
The three archers' ears went up almost instantaneously and they

turned their bows up to one of the trees.
Decanus Ferrutius grinned from the branch he was crouched
upon.
"Tyrion steel!!" He shouted.

Chapter 227 Blessed Steel
" Tyrion steel!!" Decanus Ferrutius leaped out from the hiding spot
in his tree.
"--and Human VENGEANCE!!" He drove his pilum into a kobold's

eye, slamming it hard into the dirt. He rolled upon his shield, using
the momentum to stand. Whirling in a circle, the metal end of his
shield knocked two more kobolds off of their footing.
That was his chance!
Justus rushed forward, stabbing into a kobold archer's back,

piercing through its heart. Pulling his sword out, he leapt forward
with a spinning slash.
"Heyaaaaa~!!" His blade sliced through the front half of another

kobold's neck.
"Aha!" The grey-bearded Modestus, following close behind,

stabbed his pilum into one of the downed kobold's throats, then
slammed his shield into an approaching spear-dog, "Well done,
younger brothers!!"
Ferrutius stabbed the throat of the other fallen kobold, then threw
his pilum to impale Modestus' spear-dog, "Ah, it's Brother-
Immortal. How goes your sales?"
With the trio's combined fury and a few crossbow bolts from
Constantina's hidden scouts, the kobold gang was quickly
defeated.
Justus paid special notice to the kobold with the poled net-- it
didn't have a chance to throw a single one of its pots. A foul
stench emanated from a broken one, clutched by its dead paws.
The old man grinned, "Haven't earned a copper. Times are bad for
business, I suppose."
Justus stood up and whipped the blood off of his sword, "What are
you guys talking about?"
Munifex Modestus chuckled, "Hur hur, we'll tell you when you're
older, young Decanus."
The wild-bearded Decanus laughed heartily, clapping Modestus

on the shoulder, "I concur with Brother-Immortal."
Justus rolled his eyes.
Oh. The conversation sounded like something that Decanus Zehr

would have...
"Shields UP!" Justus dashed between the pair, ducking and

covering himself with his medium shield.
Ferrutius and Modestus slammed their own shields down against

the dirt, hunkering down. Bolts and arrows banged against the
metal wall.
"What do you think, Justus?" Ferrutius yelled, "Withdraw or move

forward?"
Justus grit his teeth, "We wait for Gia to catch up, then we push.
We need to get back to the main cohort and these archers might
give chase and pick off our injured."
A groan emanated from behind Ferrutius' shield, "Ughhh... Why

did I bother asking?"
Modestus laughed, "Because you knew what was right, but didn't
want to hear it."
Gianna emerged from the brush, her armor and shield soaked in
blood.
Ferrutius whistled, "It's like the Legend of the Shield Hero,

herself."
Gia smiled, "I heard the plan. You'll protect me, won't you Justus?"
Justus nodded, "My sword is yours, Gia."
...Ferrutius coughed, "The skill, Decanus. Use the skill."
"O-oh, right," Justus smiled with chagrin. He placed the flat of his
blade on Gianna's shoulder, "⌈Never Fall,⌋ Shield Maiden Gianna.
We're counting on you."
Gia shut her eyes with a slightly reddening face. A golden glow lit
up her armor with divine light, "I could get used to this~♥"
Justus smiled, "Come back safely."
"Yes, Decanus," Gia gave him a coy wink.
Justus felt butterflies churning in his stomach.
He liked Gia. He liked her a lot.
The Shield Maiden pivoted to walk towards where the bolts were
firing from. She smashed the pommel of her sword hard against
her shield, the clang reverberating throughout the forest, "Hear
me, my enemies! I carry the blessings of the Eternal Flame and
wield the wills of a thousand Tyrion heroes!! I!!! AM!!!!
⌈UNSTOPPABLE!!⌋"
A silver glow covered her shield on top of the gold of her armor...
and she charged forward. Arrows and bolts fell to the ground
harmlessly, deflected by her shield or the swirling radiance
surrounding her.
Ferrutius leered at Justus, "By the Flame, that's an attractive

woman. Are you pursuing her?"
Justus nodded, grinning with confidence, "Yeah, I am."
...
Decanus Justus wiped the blood off his blade in the dirt. The
kobolds would engage three-to-one, but would quickly fall,
especially with the support of Gia and Modestus.
It was becoming rote to kill-- not something that Justus felt

particularly proud of. As a child, he'd often ask his father about the
battles he'd taken part in. His father's eyes always grew distant,
reminiscing... Justus now understood the nature of those eyes, if
even only a little bit.
He shoved all his worries away, deep into the recesses of his
brain. Like Decanus Zehr said, those could wait until they were
safe.
"Any casualties, Uncle-Immortal?" Justus asked.
Modestus chuckled, "None from our side. One of Ferrutius' tent

group got slung up in a trap and took a bolt to a sensitive area-- or
so I'm told... And Decanus, I'm really not that old. Could you call
me Brother, instead?"
Blood had stained the old veteran's pepper-grey beard.
Justus offered a troubled smile, "Sorry-- it still feels a bit strange."
The cracking of wood and a woman's scream resounded through

the forest, shattering Justus' illusion of safety.
Gia turned up from sharpening her blade on a whetstone, "That

was..."
Justus bolted towards the noise, praying that his instincts were
correct. It was damned hard to locate things by sound in the
echoing forest.
"Decanus!! Where are you going?!" Gianna yelled out after him.
"It's Rena!!" Justus yelled, not bothering to turn back.
He grabbed a tree vine and swung over a fallen log. He hurtled

through the underbrush, not even bothering to check for kobold
traps.
He had heard Rena's voice scream.

His body had moved before rationale could dissuade him... but
just like his other worries, he caged that tightly in the corner of his
mind.
He couldn't lose Rena-- no, he couldn't think like that.
Justus had to save Rena, no matter what situation she was in.
A kobold carrying an axe turned to the stampeding Justus, frozen

like a deer spotted by a hooded lantern.
Justus flourished his sword, mana infusing into its metal,

"⌈Blessed Blade!!⌋"
The golden sword cut through the kobold's weak armor, burning
and sizzling with the heat.
Rena laid next to a fallen tree branch, scooting away in fear from
two approaching kobolds, "Please noooo~!!! I have a
boyyyyyyfriiiieeeeend!!!"
Justus' legs ached, numb and begging for mercy, but he powered
forward, straining his muscles as he leapt again through the air,
"⌈Blessed BLAAAADE!!⌋"
One of the two managed to turn back before the golden sword
pierced through its heart. It yelped and grasped in futility at Justus'
sword hand, but it quickly ceased its struggles and fell limply to
the ground.
Rena screamed again.
Oh, no.
Was he too late?
Justus shoved the stuck kobold off of his sword and stepped
towards his childhood friend.
Tears ran down Rena's cheeks, mixing into a splatter of blood on

her face.
She held her polished hunting knife in her trembling hands,
covered in the blood of her enemy.
The spear-wielding kobold before her had taken a knee and

clutched at its stomach.
"What... what have I done?" She whispered.

Chapter 228 Unyielding
he injured kobold growled low, glaring at the fallen archer. It was

T
lowering its body, about to strike.
"NOOOOOO!!!!" Rena shrieked as she lunged forward, thrusting

her dagger into the kobold's neck.
The kobold grappled with the taller human, rolling around... but
when they stopped, the kobold laid motionless atop her.
Decanus Justus grabbed the kobold by the scruff and tossed it to

the side.
He knelt by the archer's side and shook her, "Rena!! Rena, it's me!
Are you okay??"
Rena blinked her eyes, tears streaming down her face. Bawling,
she dropped her knife and wrapped her arms around him, "I killed
him! Justus, I killed himmmm!!!"
Eleven heavens and seven hells. He embraced Rena tightly.
Only bells prior, Justus had been in the same miserable mess. He
didn't realize it until that moment, but Rena hadn't yet been close
to the killing. It was different, looking down the sighs of a
crossbow.
"I killed him... I... I... It... it was so easy... My knife just... slid in. I
felt him die in my arms," She sobbed into Justus' chest.
Justus grimaced, rubbing Rena's small back.
How could a woman so headstrong, so brave... be this weak and

frail at the same time?
Looking past her, he saw Rena's crossbow, the archer-girl's pride
and joy. Its base had cracked and splintered. The weapon was
useless.
"Hey-- hey, listen to me, Rena," Justus grabbed onto her

shoulders.
The miserable girl sniffled but continued to stare at the bloody dirt.
Justus examined her for injuries...
Blood was pooling around her leg. She had taken a spear stab to
the side of her calf.
Shite.
Justus sheathed his sword and unstrapped his shield. Still

kneeling, he turned his back toward her, "Quick, get on."
He could sense her hesitation, but Rena gingerly placed her arms
over his shoulders and around his chest.
Justus stood up with the girl on his back, using his arms to
support her legs.
He glanced down and grimaced. He was leaving behind his shield

and Rena was leaving behind her knife and crossbow.
He had to.
He was confident in protecting them both with just his sword.

Earlier, a strange golden light had wrapped his blade, allowing him
to kill two kobolds with ease.
...But it wasn't important. What was important was getting to

safety. He needed to get away. He needed to wrap Rena's wound
and staunch the bleeding.
He needed to keep going. They could rest at sun's end.
...
"⌈Moon-Fang HELL SLAAAASHHH!!!!!!⌋"
Tycondrius calculated the aim and direction of the spotted Alpha's

attack. He stepped to the side, dodging the cutting crescent of
mana, and planted his knee into the Iredar's abdomen.
"Yield," Tycon ordered.
"(I will NEVER yield to you!!)" The kobold coughed, choking up

blood.
Tycon grabbed the kobold by the neck with his offhand and
slammed him high against a tree, "You are well out of mana. You
are injured. You have lost."
The kobold snarled and slavered and spat, "(You're a

MONSTER!!)"
"You're repeating yourself," Tycon sighed. He stabbed his sword

into the kobold's right bicep, piercing the wood of the tree. Still, the
kobold did not relinquish the grip on his weapon.
Tycon smashed his elbow into the dog-creature's snout, "Yield."
"N-NOOOO!!" The kobold barked, snapping at Tycon's elbow.
Tycon placed a mana-powered fist deep into the kobold's

abdomen, "(Show me your belly.)"
He grabbed onto the kobold's sword and yanked it out of his

hands.
"N... never. I will NEVER... yield..." Blood and spit dripped down
from the kobold's chipped and broken teeth.
Tycon drew his own sword out of the tree, allowing the kobold to
fall painfully to the dirt.
Without looking, he pointed his sword back, only ilms away from
an approaching kobold's eyes.
"W-wait!!" The alpha reached out a bloodied paw.

Tycon spun quickly, striking the kobold behind him with a kick that
sent it sprawling to the ground. He stood over the defeated Alpha,
"(Show. me. your. belly.)"
Whimpering softly, the dark-blue, spotted kobold rolled onto its

back and showed the soft white fur of its belly, "I... I yield. Mercy...
(Please... enough blood has been spilled on this sun.)"
The two remaining kobolds whined sadly but did not move to help
their Alpha.
Tycon glanced over to the kobold he had struck. Its neck was
broken.
Pathetic. He hadn't used his full force, but an attack of that level
was still enough to kill one of the Iredar.
"You two," Tycon pointed at the survivors. "Your Alpha fought with
honor. You will watch him die with honor."
The kobold with spiked blue fur howled in despair. He knelt to the
ground and scratched at the dirt, "(We will sing of your glory,
Alpha!! No one in the Red Paw tribe will forget your bravery!! You
were a good boy-- the goodest of boys!!)"
The particularly fluffy kobold stepped forward and grabbed at

Tycon's armor, "(Why must you do this, Human?! Does your
cruelty know no end?!?)"
Tycon glared down, "Stop calling me that."
⟬ ⌈Vexing Gaze⌋ conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ⟭
His system's cold voice resonated in his head, a voice only he

could hear.
« Activate. »
⟬ ⌈Vexing Gaze⌋: Ocular ability. Target takes damage from an

illusory poison, affecting both target's mind and body. If
successful, target becomes distracted and may go into
anaphylactic shock. ⟭
⟬ Activating. Death to the enemies of Invictus. ⟭
The kobold began to cough, spitting gobs of red upon the dirt.
Slowly, painfully, it collapsed to the ground, clutching at its chest,
choking and gurgling on its own blood.
The Alpha and the spiked kobold grew silent.
Tycon sheathed his sword and tossed the kobold's iron sword to
stick in the ground, "How many Iredar took part in the initial
attack?"
The Alpha growled, but suffered a kick to the ribs as his reward,
"Swear you'll let Spike go..."
Tycon shook his head, "You are in no position to bargain."
"SWEAR TO ME!!!" Tears spilled down the Alpha's furred

cheeks... "Lie to me if you must..."
Tycon rolled his eyes and sighed, "After that one witnesses your
death, I will allow him to leave."
The Alpha closed his eyes, "Two... two full bands... (We should
have never risked such an attack... but our village has--)"
Tycon tuned out the Alpha's groveling. It wasn't important.
Grimacing, he reviewed the information. Two bands meant some

200 kobolds. The forward group had taken out at least a quarter of
that number, but many more remained.
"And you were the leader of one of the bands?" Tycon inquired.
The kobold sighed... "I... was."
It coughed and wheezed in pain. Judging from the way it moved

and its fading life force, it was also suffering from mana
exhaustion.
"Would you... answer my question? You... who wears human
skin?"
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Speak."

Chapter 229 Dog Of War
The battle against the kobold Alpha was over.
Tycondrius had all the information he wanted.
He could spare a few more moments, out of respect for the dead.
The spotted kobold sat up on its haunches, "(My daughter... her

name is Half-Ear.)"
Tycon crossed his arms, "Does she have... half an ear?"
The kobold's eyes widened, "(Yes, how did you know? Have... you
seen her?)"
Tycon mulled over his thoughts. He did see a female Iredar with a
stunted ear. She was an unfortunate archer whose injured howls
attracted her fellows.
She watched dozens of her kin and kith killed. She cursed the
humans with her final breaths. She died a miserable, slow death,
choking and asphyxiating on her own blood.
Tycon grimaced, shaking his head, "I will have you meet with her,
soon."
The Alpha sighed... "(Why does my tail not wag when you say
that?)"
"...Because she is dead."
The Alpha took a deep breath and let out a mournful whine, "
(This, I knew... And what of the village?)"
With the Iredar casualties incurred, the patrols would withdraw.
The tribe would certainly struggle with the loss of warriors, but that
was none of Tycon's concern.
Tycon shrugged, "It would be wise to relocate. I've no plans to go,

myself, but the humans I travel with-- no, humans as a whole, are
a vengeful lot."
The kobold growled, wincing as it tried to move his injured arm.

He held a paw to his injured bicep to slow the bleeding, "(You are
a good dog... Were you trying to anger me, earlier?)"
Tyocn was amused that since he was no longer considered

human, his status was *elevated* to dog, "Indeed. Did it work?"
The Alpha shook his head, "(It did. And I have suffered for my loss
of control. Perhaps if I were in your position, the roles would be
reversed?)"
He granted the Alpha silence, allowing him to believe as he

wished. Tycon did not hate the enemy. He had no need to be
arrogant before the defeated... "Name yourself."
The Alpha nodded, "(Hear my name)... I am Kerberos. (Good boy

of the Blood Paws.)"
Tycon nodded and drew the kobold's iron sword from the dirt,
"And how do you wish to die, Kerberos, loyal son of the Blood
Paws?"
The kobold stood up and raised its paws, "(In battle... and against
your true form.)"
Tycon tossed the sword back to Kereberos, who caught it with a

trembling paw.
It was a useless gesture. The Alpha was out of mana and they
both knew it. The multitude of bloody injuries on Kerberos' body
made it impossible for him to pose a threat.
...But every warrior wished to die with a blade in their hands.

« System, activate Large Snake-Form... »
⟬ Activating... ⟭
It wasn't Tycon's "true form" per se, but it would satisfy the Alpha's
wish.
Tycon felt the bones of his spine thickening, his muscles twisting
and contorting. His armor and clothing began to meld with his
body, magically stored somewhere-- deep in the abyss, in a way
similar to a spatial ring. Ivory white scales formed and hardened
on his skin as he knelt forward and completed his transformation.
Tycondrius of Charm, in his snake form, was over ten times the
length and weight of the kobold. They called him the Ivory Prince--
likely because of his peculiar shade.
He could have used his sword. He could have used his ⌈Vexing
Gaze⌋ skill. But as brutal and as unforgiving as his earlier tactics
were, he wanted to honor Kerberos by showing him that he'd
never had a chance of victory.
It was a kindness he did not expect from his own enemies.
Tycon slithered forward.
"For... the BLOOD PAWS, I HOWL-- I howl ALONE!!!" Kerberos

screamed.
The Iredar's final strike bounced harmlessly off of Tycon's armored

scales.
Quick. Tycon wrapped his body around the creature.
Tight. The creature-- no creature could escape from his grip.
Slowly... steadily... he increased the pressure.
Its bones popped... they cracked. Its howls and cries abated, not
all at once... slow... agonizing.
The breathing stopped. Seconds more passed. Finally, the corpse
released the sword in its hands.
It fell to the dirt without fanfare.
Tycon's golden gaze rested upon the one remaining kobold-- the
spiky-furred one. Its name was Spike.
It stood with bated breath, staring at the fallen sword.
What was it thinking?
Wide-eyed, it stood in a pool of its own cowardice.
Tycon flicked his forked tongue...
Fear. It knew fear.
Tycon whispered in the softest of voices... "Run."
It took a half-second longer for the mechanisms in the kobold's

brain to work. Tycon's gentle suggestion was likely the best idea it
had heard in its life. It turned, yipping and scampering away as if
its life depended on it.
It didn't matter. Tycon would kill it before sun's end... but he

decided to give it a few minutes of a head start.
He performed a hasty scan of the Iredar bodies around him.
There was nothing worth taking. Their gear was looted and in
disrepair or old. They didn't carry coin, either. Iredar traps and
tactics made them difficult to chase and even more difficult to
eradicate.
Fighting the Iredar was not just dangerous, it was a waste of time.
Frustration welled in his heart, Tycon hoped the Rhodok

leadership was in a state of deep regret.
« System, activate ⌈Shadowform⌋. »

⟬ Activating ⌈Shadowform⌋. ⟭
Tycon's gleaming ivory scales immediately turned ink-black,

shadowy smoke rising up in thin wisps. With his form, he would
blend well with the natural shadows of the forest and would even
move faster than his human running speed.
In general, he would have liked to use his snake form more often.
Unfortunately, he did not fit in his Decanus armor as a snake.
...There were other problems, too. A giant, talking snake was

more likely to be hunted and killed than treated as an amusing
curiosity.
Anyroad...
Iredar had a fantastic sense of smell, far better than his own. The
fleeing Iredar would be able to easily find and regroup with one of
their patrols.
Tycon was betting on it.
He reasoned he could take out one or two more patrols and still
catch up with the main cohort.
Slithering away, he focused his mind on the hunt.
...
It was troublesome being a transmigrated human. Being a snake

was much simpler.
He slithered around in the dirt, not particularly caring where he

went, because he was an apex predator. He had killed some 20
more kobolds with a combination of his ⌈Vexing Gaze⌋ skill and by
virtue of being a giant, shadowy snake with sharp fangs and a life-
crushing grip.
If Tycon was a smaller-- or a weaker snake, he probably would not

have enjoyed himself so much.
Tycon had lost a majority of his memories, both from his current
life, and most everything about his previous life. He did know that
he had transmigrated from another, strikingly similar world. And he
did know that he had access to a personal System.
He did keep his knowledge. He knew how to fight. He knew how

to count and how to read. And he knew that deer was very tasty.
Hm... It was harder to focus as a snake, than as a human...
There were a lot of deer in the forest.
Tycon thought it would be nice to hunt a couple of them for later

use.
After that, he planned to slither his way toward the walled village
of Montegarico.
With any luck, the Rhodoks had survived.

Chapter 230 Montegarico
he walled village of Montegarico seemed like it had been

T
abandoned for years, lonely and destitute under the orange glow
of the setting sun. Still, it was a welcome refuge for the survivors
of the Second Cohort.
Justus, along with Decani Constantina and Ferrutius, led the

remains of their cohort into the settlement. With the loss of Zehr
and one of Constantina's scouts, they were left with 63 men and
women. Counting the Munifices, without the Immunes and those
who were injured, it was barely half of the cohort.
It was the initial kobold assault that took the most men. Many
didn't make it to the forest. Some did reach the tree line but took
injury that ensured they didn't make it out. Others who made it...
haven't been seen, since. Maybe they'd run off, deciding to free
themselves of their mercenary contract. Maybe they were rotting
in the trees, felled by a kobold spear or bolt.
Or maybe, just maybe, Zehr had saved them.
...If he was alive, anyroad.
Justus hoped he was. He didn't seem like he could die, but the
fates were often cruel.
As the dusky glow cooled to a dim evening blue, the Second

Cohort finally reached the town walls. The soldiers of the First
Cohort met them with surprise more so than cheer.
They had met with their own difficulties, Justus was sure.
...not that it mattered to him. At this point, he didn't care for the
glory. He just wanted to lay on the dirt someplace he didn't have to
worry about being attacked in his sleep.
A thought occurred to him that Decanus Zehr had mentioned
earlier...
It was sun's end and he had no tears left to cry.
Walking through the camp, Justus noted that at a cursory glance,

it seemed the First Cohort had taken similar losses.
Justus found the notion inconceivable.
There were more veterans in the First Cohort. They had Equites.
They had Iron-Rankers like the Primus Pilus and the Optio. They
even had a Gold-Ranker!
Justus counted no more than 50 men and women in the camp. A

few would be hidden away in their tents, but... he doubted their
numbers would be substantial.
The wild-bearded Decanus Ferrutius gloated to every soldier he

recognized. The cool-tempered, scarred Decanus Constantina
silently judged all she saw.
Justus made sure the members of his tent group were treated at
the infirmary. He was informed by the pink-haired Rhodok Gold-
Ranker, Fortuna, that she would see to their treatments, herself.
He thought it was a gesture of kindness. Ferrutius informed him in

unkind terms that the First Cohort just didn't have many survivors
left to heal.
Gianna's shoulder injury would be fine with magical healing. The

old immortal, Modestus, seemed to have strained his back. He'd
probably be fine even without special care. Rena slept like a baby.
The sun had been especially long for her...
Justus held a tiny hope that he'd find Decanus Zehr among the
injured... but there were no signs of him.
Justus left the infirmary tents, walking into a gentle rain and into
the hooded Decanus Constantina.
"Hey, you."
Justus looked around him. There was no one else Constantina
could have been referring to.
He put on the friendliest smile he could, "Y... yes? Decanus?"
Constantina was easily the best scout in the cohort. She moved
fast, had deadly aim with a longbow, and gave clear, precise
orders.
However, she was known for having a shite personality. She was
strict with her tent groups. She kept her thoughts quiet. She had a
fearsome temper. And if the rumors were to be believed, she
would cut off the genitals of anyone that mentioned the scar
running from her chin, across her lips, and to her nose.
Justus was trying very hard not to stare.
...He thought her scar was attractive, though.
"The Primus Pilus calls for you," the woman said, no trace of
emotion in her eyes.
Justus pursed his lips, "O-okay."
The hooded woman continued to stand in front of him. With the

falling rain marking the passing of time, it made him anxious.
"Was there anything else, Decanus Constantina?" Justus smiled

sheepishly.
"...I'm only going to say this once." She glared, "If it wasn't for you
and Zehr, we wouldn't have made it."
"O... oh," Justus was stunned.
The woman turned and walked off with wet footsteps, but the
experience stuck with him. Maybe it was because he had
suddenly found himself in a position where he was dealing with a
lot of people he ordinarily had no business dealing with... Zehr,
Ferrutius, Constantina... and now the head Centurion of the
Rhodok adventuring company, the Primus Pilus.
He hurried over to the tent where the Rhodok flag flew the
highest...
...
"I can't stand the arrogant tone of that Decanus Ferrutius." Optio
Sixtus crossed his arms, his heavy gauntlets clanking against his
plate armor, "Our company may be at only half its strength, but
what makes him think he can say what he wants?"
Centurion Cyrac, the Primus Pilus, refilled his Optio's cup with
wine, "Let him talk. Talk is cheap. And he's brought back the best
news of the sun."
Sixtus frowned and took his seat at the table and took off his
helmet, ruffling his short dark-brown hair in frustration... "We can't
abandon the mission."
He grabbed his cup and took a long pull...
"I know..." Cyrac twirled the end of his white, curly beard, "We
can't afford not to. We'll need to recruit after this..."
"And we need to at least pay off the pensions of the dead," Sixtus
reminded.
"Indeed... Not so long ago, plenty of men died with regrets. Steady
pay was the only thing keeping their wives and offspring from
being sold into indentured servitude or prostitution..." Cyrac
sighed.
Sixtus stared into his half-empty cup... "It's a good rule... but yes,
it does not help our financial state."
Cyrac shook his head, "If we don't finish the mission, it'll take
years to rebuild the company. And I doubt I have that much time
left..."
Sixtus remained silent. The young Champion was in no rush to

take over the company... but it was no secret that Centurion Cyrac
was not growing younger.
Amidst the light rain, the sounds of muddy footsteps approached
the tent, "Good evening, Primus Pilus! Decanus Justus requesting
permission to enter!"
Sixtus raised an eyebrow, his cheeks already turning a ruddy hue

from the wine, "Decanus Justus? We don't have a Decanus
named Justus. Tch. What an absurd name."
Cyrac nodded to his Optio, "He's new. And he's likely to be more
agreeable than Ferrutius or Constantina."
Sixtus pursed his lips to the side, "Don't get me started on that--
disagreeable woman."
Cyrac raised his voice, "Come in from the rain, Decanus. And do
brush the mud from your sandals before entering."
Chapter 231 Celebratory Wine
"At once, Primus Pilus..."
Justus brushed the mud off of his sandals as ordered... It may

have been a trick of the light or his frazzled nerves, but he thought
he saw flecks of blood caking his soles.
Taking off his helmet, he entered Primus Pilus' large command

tent and into the dim glow of an oil lamp. A few cots had been set
up for the field officers, as well as a flat-topped footlocker used as
an impromptu table. There, sat a still-armored Decanus and an
old, white-bearded man in a comfortable tunic.
Centurion Cyrac, the Primus Pilus, had been an aging officer

since Modestus was a part of the Tyrion military, proper. The old
man had a dull brass eyepatch covering his right eye, a neatly
trimmed white beard, and aged lines on his face like they were
carved out of weathered rock.
Justus thought it strange that the Primus Pilus had discarded his
armor. The centurion wasn't a small man... but without his armor,
he looked like a friendly tavernkeeper or a farmer who earned
their land by serving their full terms as a soldier.
It was the man whose choices had doomed half of their company
to death.
Optio Sixtus silently scrutinized Justus as soon as he'd entered

the tent. The Optio's face was young and his short, dark-brown
hair had no signs of white. However, with his military
achievements, Justus guessed the man was at least 30 or 35--
not young for a soldier. It was perhaps young for a field-grade
officer.
Sixtus' armor was similar to Gianna's: comprised of thick plates of
polished professionalism. The majestic helm he had placed on the
table was crested with horsehair, dyed dark green. Optio Sixtus
was one of the Rhodoks' handful of Iron-Rankers and his armor
matched his prestige, if slightly out of uniform with Munifex armor.
Justus expected to feel a similar fear, like when judged by Zehr's

predatory gaze. Instead, he felt vague discomfort and the general
fatigue from the fighting and marching.
...Maybe there was magic in the golden eyes of Decanus Zehr.
"Come in, come in, young Decanus. Sit down." Cyrac gestured at
an empty stool, "And just 'Centurion' is fine. A *real* Primus Pilus
leads 1000 loyal Tyrion men and women. I'm just an old,
doddering Pilus Prior, if anything."
Justus gave a friendly smile. It was certainly different treatment

from being called a fish all the time, and he could sense no ill-
feelings from the older gentleman, "Thank you, Pilus Prior."
"Ehehe... Thank you, but no. Just Centurion, will do." Cyrac
chuckled. He poured wine into an empty wooden cup, "Here you
go, drink up. Flame knows you need it, leading the Second Cohort
out through enemy territory, as you did."
Justus felt his brows furrowing as he hesitated. Most of the

achievements belonged to Decanus Zehr. Tactics and
coordination were performed by Scoutmaster Constantina and...
the particularly bloodthirsty Decanus Ferrutius was a very effective
slayer of kobolds.
One was missing. And he knew the other two Decani were not
popular with the Rhodoks' leadership. It was why despite their
skills, they were in the Second Cohort, instead of the First.
Justus offered an apologetic look, "I'm sorry, Centurion, I'm too

young to drink."
The old Centurion paused before erupting into laughter.

"Amusing." Sixtus nodded, the corners of his mouth curling up
ever so slightly, "Young Decanus, be advised: A superior's wish is
a subordinate's order."
Justus averted his gaze, "O... oh. M-my apologies, Optio."
Cyrac frowned, but his eyes still kept their mirth, "Oh, come now,
Sixtus. Decanus Justus, are you allergic, perhaps? I've never
heard of a young soldier rejecting alcohol before."
"...With your permission, Centurion," Justus took the cup in front

of him and looked into it closely. The strong scent of the alcohol
seemed a bit intimidating... but taking a sip, it was sweeter than
he thought it would be.
"It's not the best, haha." Cyrac shrugged, "Our Rhodok

adventuring company has enough to pay its troops, but not
enough for good wine."
"N-no, it's good. Thank you, Centurion," Justus bowed his

head.He was beginning to feel the wine's warmth redden his
cheeks.
"See? Look at this, Sixtus." Cyrac gestured, "This is the younger

generation. This is good. I like this. When I was his age, every
other sun I surrounded myself with wine and whores!"
Optio Sixtus nodded, "Polite. Professional. I have no qualms

about his promotion to Decanus."
Cyrac reached over the table to pat Justus on the shoulder-- a

strong, stalwart arm from a trustworthy leader. Justus' heart
surged with pride at the assessment... but his heart ached in guilt.
Decanus Zehr should have been the one receiving these honors,
not him.
"Cheer up, young Decanus. The battle is over, for now." The
Centurion poured more wine into Justus' cup, the liquid
threatening to spill over the brim, "Tell us! Whose helmet is that?"
"It's... different," Cyrac nodded... "--but I remember seeing it
before."
Justus caressed the modified visored helmet as words caught in

his throat. He was going to tell them it belonged to Decanus Zehr,
but that wasn't exactly right.
"It belonged to Decanus Caelistis."
"Ehhh? That thick-headed thief?" Cyrac's face contorted to

disgust. He turned to Sixtus, "I thought he'd been kicked out?"
Sixtus tilted his head up, frowning, "No, Centurion. He was one
more complaint away from me crucifying him personally. I'd like to
remind you that you were the only officer against the notion."
Cyrac clapped Justus on the shoulder again, "You look better in it

than he did, I'm sure."
Justus wore a wry smile, "Thank you, Centurion."
The old man sighed and shook his head, "Anyroad,

congratulations on your promotion, young man! 'Tis cause for at
least a cup or two of celebration."
Justus took a polite sip of his cup so it wouldn't spill... "A

battlefield promotion is not something to celebrate."
Cyrac sat back and took a deep breath. He pushed his own wine
cup away, nodding slightly to himself, "Of course... That's true...
That's very true."
Slowly, the Centurion leaned forward, resting his elbows on the

table, his expression grave, "Young Decanus... the Fates have
conspired to place you into your position... You may not think you
deserve it. You may not even want it... but I hope you'll accept it
and perform your duties with honor and fidelity."
Justus took a deep breath through his nostrils, trying not to choke
on his emotions. Many had died. An unacceptable amount of
Rhodoks had died. The Centurion captured his feelings on the
matter, perfectly.
"I will, Centurion... I swear it," Justus gulped and tried to calm his
breathing.
"Decanus Justus," Optio Sixtus nodded, a half-smile of approval

on his face. "You were summoned to give your account on the
sun's events."
"Yes, Optio," Justus nodded. He began to tell his superiors what

he knew...
Chapter 232 Honor Over Gold
" Yes, that about sums everything that Ferrutius reported."

Centurion Cyrac mused...
Sixtus nodded, "But you have managed to do so with far more

clarity and less embellishment. Well done, young Decanus."
There was... one thing that Decanus Justus had hidden from the
Centurion and Optio...
Decanus Zehr could... speak to the kobolds. The fact... bothered

him. He had never heard of anyone being able to speak to
beasts... maybe a druid of Alizeau... maybe of the Beast
Kingdoms to the west... but not in Tyrion, for sure.
But such words hinted at treason-- and there was no way that
Zehr was a traitor, not with everything he'd done.
No... Justus would take the secret to his grave.
Optio Sixtus sighed, "I shall take the blame for our failure to
accurately judge the kobold threat."
"Nonsense, Sixtus." Cyrac growled, waving his hand, "The scouts

told us there were a few stray dogs in the woods-- not gods-
damned hundreds of them, and armed with spears and
crossbows, and Flame-scarred burning shite-pots."
Justus nodded, "With respect, Centurion, Optio, is there anything

else? I'd really like to return to the infirmary. My... close friend has
had a rough sun."
He had a feeling if Rena woke up and he wasn't around, she

would cry. She had always been overly emotional... and even
though they had both grown into independent adults, she
somehow hasn't quite grown up yet.
"He can wait a short while longer-- or she, if you're referring to a

particularly outspoken archer." Sixtus waved Justus over, "Come
sit on my side and I'll instruct you how to properly maintain your
new Decanus armor. I highly doubt Caelistis showed you... or if
the blockhead even cleaned his own set."
"Ah, yes. There was one more thing," Cyrac narrowed his eyes in
thought. "What would you say to the rank of Tesserarius?"
Justus' eyes widened at the thought. The Tesserarius was only

second to the Optio. That would make him superior to even the
Decani.
Sixtus scoffed, "Keh... You're a bit new, but you have what it
takes, I'd say. There are major differences in watching over 100,
rather than 10..."
The Optio shook his head, "But as the Centurion says, I could use
the help..."
Guilt again hounded at his conscience, "I... I can't, Centurion."
The refusal spawned a harsh glare from Optio Sixtus, but Justus
couldn't relent, "The honors of the sun belong to Decanus Zehr...
He was the one that led the escape. And then Decanus
Constantina led her scouts, and-and Decanus Ferrutius--"
"Yes, yes, Decanus Justus." Cyrac nodded, "You've made your

point several times during your account. But in this case, it's not a
reward for your achievements."
"Centurion?" Justus' mouth hung open, trying to understand.
"From what I'm told-- and from what I've seen, you handled
yourself very well. You command a battlefield presence better
suited for a young officer and you're not bad with a shield and
sword. You care for your peers, and that's something that won't
change with a different rank or title."
Justus was left speechless, "But-- but I..."
"You're a born leader, Hero of Leopardon," Sixtus turned up his

nose. "In the dire straits of the Rhodok adventuring company,
we're giving you a chance to act like one."
The sound of a few soldiers quickly approaching the tent with

muddy footsteps interrupted Justus' train of thought.
"Primus Pilus, we've found a suspicious intruder," A voice called

from outside.
"Of course you would reject it, with your humbleness. But I will ask
again after our mission is completed, young Decanus." Cyrac
turned to the entrance of the tent, "Come in-- and brush off your
damned sandals."
The sound of furious brushing came from outside before two

Munifex entered the tent out from the rain. They escorted a third...
Decanus Zehr, his green-hair and armor filthy, caked in mud and
traces of kobold blood. His golden eyes seemed to glow, reflecting
the tent's dim oil lamp.
The Centurion glared at the two flanking soldiers, "And why is the
prisoner not bound, you empty-headed mushrooms?"
The Munifices shared a tacit grimace. One answered, "He... he

came willingly, Primus Pilus."
"A coward who'd run and hid in the forest until the fighting's
stopped?" Cyran grimaced, "Twenty lashes. Now get out of my
sight."
"The usual punishment is twenty strikes with a cudgel." Optio

Sixtus crossed his arms, "Consider yourself lucky, Decanus."
"Wait, wait! Hold on, Centurion!!" Justus interrupted, "On my

honor, that's Decanus Zehr! He led away the kobolds! He was the
one who led us out in the first place!!"
Zehr narrowed his eyes, "Don't be so quick to put your honor on
the line, young Decanus."
Sixtus looked over, "I agree. Honor to a Tyrion has more worth
than gold, Decanus Justus."
Cyrac was visibly stunned. He took a second look at the green-

haired youth... "You look like a Flame-scarred mess, Zehr."
"With respect, Pilus Prior." Zehr raised an eyebrow, "It's not my

blood."
Optio Sixtus broke out in unabated laughter, "Haha! Not my

blood!! True, true... Perhaps we can go without the lashing,
Centurion? This one seems to have seen his share of beatings."
"Right, right," Cyrac shrugged. "Forgive me, Zehr."
"A misunderstanding, Pilus Prior. I shall take no offense," Zehr

lightly inclined his head.
Justus frowned. As young as Decanus Zehr looked... with the way

he acted, it always felt that he was decades older than he was.
Cyrac sighed, "As a token of my apology, I'm placing you in

charge of one of the tent groups in the First Cohort."
"I must respectfully decline," Zehr bowed his head again.
Justus twisted his face, absolutely baffled by what he'd just heard.
"Wh-what? Why?!" He blurted out.
Sixtus frowned at him. Justus covered his mouth-- he had spoken

out of line. The last time he did that, Caelistis made certain he
never forgot the consequences.
"Yes, why not...?" Cyrac was equally confused, a deep line set
between his brows.
"I am merely a Bronze-Rank, Centurion." Zehr gestured at Justus,

"The honors belong to Decanus Justus. I only request permission
to return to my tent group."
"...I might have believed you." Cyrac narrowed his eyes, "--if the
fiery-haired young Decanus in our presence had already
volunteered your name as the one who deserved the honors,
first."
He pointed, "You, Zehr. I'm rewarding you with the rank of

Duplicarius. That way, you can keep wearing the armor. It's not
like we have enough Decani that could use it..."
The Centurion waved his hand in annoyance, "Return with

Decanus Justus and serve as his advisor. Shape him into
something you can be proud of."
Zehr snapped to attention, "Understood, Pilus Prior."
"Now all of you, get out. Get some rest and stop bothering me with
stupid shite."
""Yes, Primus Pilus!!"" Everyone in the tent replied.
"Not you, Optio." Cyrac grumbled, "Stay here, you thief."
"Very well." Sixtus chuckled, "Decanus Justus, we'll continue our

conversation in the morning."
"Yes, Optio," Justus nodded as he quickly excused himself to

follow the others out into the rain.
...
Emerging from the tent and stepping through mud and ran out of
earshot, Justus could barely contain his excitement.
"H-how did you make it out, Decanus Zehr?" He asked, "Have you
been running this whole time? How many did you kill? Did you find
anyone e--"
Zehr raised his hand to object, "I apologize for interrupting, but I
have a task of import. Get the others. Ah, and get Ferrutius and
Constantina, too."
Justus' heart fell deep into the pit of his stomach and the hair on
the back of his neck rose, "Is... is there trouble?"
Chapter 233 Peculiarities
yrac watched the red-headed Decanus Justus rush out of the

C
tent.
The boy's excitement reminded the Centurion of... a child, eager

to play with his elder brother who'd returned from the war.
Hm. But such aphorisms were useless for the current generation.
It had been two decades since the wars ended, after all.
The cheeky green-haired boy didn't look the part of the "elder."
Cyrac would have guessed... 16? 17? Younger than Justus, at
least. The whelpling wasn't even old enough to drink-- bless his
heart.
Cyrac tried to recall what age that was, exactly... It was something
he, himself, had never cared for.
When he'd heard Zehr speak, he immediately understood that he

couldn't judge the boy by his looks.
Cold. Calm. Not speaking out of line-- yet able to tactfully express
his opinion.
His demeanor screamed 'military veteran.'
...That, or 'spy.'
And the Flamescarred whoreson didn't as much as flinch when he

was threatened with twenty hard, bloodletting lashes with a thrice-
damned rope.
No... there was something off about that young man. He was
leaning towards spy...
But then he remembered... in the standing army, the cold, dead
eyes of his veteran peers wouldn't have flinched either. Maybe
they'd moan and complain, but they'd submit to military law. That's
what they were trained to do.
Cyrac drained the rest of his wine up in frustration. He was a

leader of men, not a police investigator.
He looked over to his Optio, Sixtus. That man had good senses.
And he had good genes, with how well he aged. Sixtus was only
ten years younger than Cyrac was... and didn't have a single grey
hair!
Cyrac, on the other hand... he aged like milk.
The Optio sat up, pausing from his random and redundant gear
maintenance check, "You're gnashing your teeth, Centurion.
What's on your mind?"
"I was just pissed off that your hair's still as brown as the shite of
my horse," Cyrac growled.
"If you'd like my secret..." Sixtus rubbed his chin, trying to look
sagacious, "I recommend a balanced diet, at least six hours of
rest each sun, and--"
"Exercise regularly and drink plenty of--" Cyrac scowled, "Shut the
hells up, you patronizing thief."
The Optio chuckled politely, "If you're worried about your

appearances, then I shall remind you to take advantage of being a
'wise, old veteran.'"
Cyrac rolled his eyes. As soon as his hair started to grey, his
military subordinates stopped questioning him. Most people
wrongly associate age with wisdom-- something that tends to be
true, but isn't always.
Most old vets in the military rose in rank, not because of

achievements, tactical prowess, or an unyielding loyalty to their
country... but because they were useless donkeys that couldn't
gain respect by talking to people like human beings.
"Old men are all full of shite," Cyrac grimaced. "Myself, included."
"But still, the younger generation listens to the older..." Sixtus

smirked, "Myself, included."
Cyrac groaned, standing up out of his seat. He rolled his

shoulders and stretched his arms, "Sometimes, I wish I took up
farming or a trade, after the wars..."
"And why didn't you?" Sixtus smirked.
The aging Centurion shook his head, "All I know how to do is be a

part of a shield wall and yell at fish all day... Without the Rhodoks,
I'd probably be on the streets, begging for scraps of bread."
"Nonsense, Centurion." Sixtus reassured him. He emptied the last

of the rationed wine into his own cup, "You can always sell your
flesh, in order to survive."
The thought was absurd. Cyrac narrowed his eyes, "I highly doubt
women with coin would be willing to purchase my services."
"With respect, Centurion, you're limiting yourself to 50% of the

population," The Optio chided jokingly
Optio Sixtus. Cold. Logical. And somehow, the milk-weaned prick

still manages to be clever.
He was fiercely loyal. He was the fiercest enemy of any exercise

he deemed wasteful. And as such, he fiercely defended his
opinions, supporting them with both verbal wit and martial
competence.
Sixtus was a perfect Optio. He'd make a better replacement

Centurion when Cyrac finally retired.
The old Centurion always dreamed of owning a small plot of land.

Either he'd live the rest of his days in an old shack or his Rhodoks
would bury him beneath it.
Either way, he was certain he'd have no complaints.
"Sixtus," Cyrac addressed his Optio. The young professional had

removed his armor and was scrubbing the dirt out of its sculpted
muscles. "Tell me what you think of the youth with green hair."
"The Duplicarius? Zehr, I believe his name was. He's a damn

good scout and he keeps to himself." Sixtus twirled the brush in
his hand, turning and offering a smile, "And when he does speak,
he does so with respect, confidence, and honesty. He's a perfect
soldier-- I'd hire a whole century of him."
Cyrac tapped his finger on the table. He wished he could place his
finger on what bothered him about the youth, "You don't find him...
strange?"
"Everyone is strange," Sixtus shrugged, returning to his brushing,

"Is there something especially strange about the Duplicarius?"
"It's the way he acted, I think... He's rejected the honors offered--
and from what Decanus Justus has said, it's probably mostly his
doing that over half the Second Cohort survived..."
Cyrac scratched his beard in thought, "He knows rank, too. He

called me Pilus Prior and Centurion..."
"--Which is the way you prefer it."
Cyrac rolled his eyes, "Right."
Sixtus propped up his armor, nodding at his work, before

searching through his sack for a rag and some polish, "As far as
skill is concerned, he's likely an old veteran. As for rejecting the
honors, there must be a reason for trying to keep his head down...
Perhaps he's wanted for murder? Or desertion?"
"Hah. Perhaps..." Cyrac mulled over the thought, "But the youth is
no coward-- not by Justus' account. And there was him not
flinching when I ordered him lashed."
"Right..." The Optio responded, still focused more on his work
than the conversation. "Maybe he's innocent from whatever he's
running from. It wouldn't be the first time a political play saw an
Immunes discharged from the military."
Sixtus polished his armor to a professional sheen, glowing in the

lamplight, "Hm. There was one thing I found odd... The young
Duplicarius had rather... unique eyes."
Cyrac frowned, "Elf blood or something-- shite, that's probably

why he looks so young. We're not like the Tyrion military, proper.
Out here in the field, we don't give a snake's arse about how he
looks or who his mummy and daddy are-- just whether or not he
can complete a mission"
"Cyrac, please." Sixtus narrowed his eyes, "I am of the same

mind. I merely mention it as a theory to explain the Duplicarius'
apprehension. We both know that our nation's sentiments tend to
be... unkind towards those with outsider blood."
The old Centurion nodded, "Right..."
"Allow me to ask a question of you, old friend."
Sixtus tilted his head down and raised an eyebrow, "Do *you* trust
him, Centurion Cyrac?"
Cyrac scoffed, "Seven hells, I trust that one more than all the
Decani of the Second Cohort combined."
The old Centurion felt his forehead creasing as he pursed his lips.
How quickly his own answer allayed his fears.
Sixtus held his abdomen as he guffawed unapologetically.
It was ridiculous. Even Cyrac had to laugh at his own folly.
The peculiarities of the young Duplicarius didn't matter. The

Rhodoks were all in this shite situation together.
...
Tycondrius had told Justus there was trouble he needed
assistance with.
The young Decanus responded with a look of shock, followed

shortly by sheer terror.
Tycon narrowed his eyes. He feared the young man was going to
relieve his bowels on the spot.
"What? No. I killed two deer on the way here and I need help
carrying it back."
He was in a hurry. The meat was strung up on a tree outside of

the village walls, ripe for a hungry wolf or stray Iredar to chance
upon.
Justus' doe eyes grew wide as eggs, "You did what? H-how did
you carry them this far?"
Tycon felt his lips twitch, as he stopped and stared, ""I... dragged
them. I pray you're aware that it is easier to drag heavy items than
it is to carry them."
Admittedly, that was a good question. Tycon's Iron-Rank physique

allowed him to carry his prizes back with ease.
Tycon was hiding his rank, something he doubted that Justus had
gleaned. The young Decanus was somewhat of an idiot.
Justus laughed in embarrassment, "Oh, right, haha... Yeah, that

makes sense."
One of the Munifices offered an apologetic smile, "H-heyyyy...

Uhhhh... Duplicarius? Maybe the two of us can help out and...
maybe join you for a meal?"
"What?" Tycon squeezed his eyes into thin slits, "No. You
bastards nearly got me lashed. Sod off."
Chapter 234 Unwelcome
Interrogation
he Rhodok adventuring company had been reduced from nearly

T
200 men and women to barely a little over half. Though there
were far less than 80 Munifices, there were more than enough
Immunes to fill in the gaps.
Every Immunes was also a spearman, after all.
With the assistance of Decanus Constantina and her scouts,

Tycondrius oversaw the cleaning and gutting of two deer in less
than a bell. The roasted meat was enough to feed three tent
groups well, with enough left over to smoke to last a few days... or
feed the entire cohort.
Even though they were cooking downwind, three tent groups

quickly swelled in size to over ten-- including the Pilus Prior and
Optio,
It seemed that Ferrutius couldn't keep his mouth shut.
...It wasn't often that Tycon regretted not inflicting enough violence
on someone.
During the meal, the red-headed Decanus regaled the archer

Rena with the tale of how Tycon was nearly condemned to a
lashing.
Justus was somewhat of an idiot, after all.
Tycon was worried the young woman would march off to Cyrac in
order to submit a formal complaint. Instead, she tried to spit on the
food portions given to the Munifices responsible.
Tycon stopped her. Hygiene was very important to him, as a cook.
Professionals have standards.
The two Munifices were overtly thankful, apologizing profusely for

their earlier transgressions.
...It's not like Tycon could have refused them with the entire cohort
praising him as Saint Zehr, Hero of the Rhodoks, slayer of dogs,
bringer of deer meat.
Tycon lamented that he was a tremendous failure at keeping a low

profile.
His reasons for bringing back the deer were entirely selfish. He
was tired of cheap battlefield rations and small game animals.
Worried for his short temper, he sought to satisfy his base urges to
alleviate his mood. He just wanted to gorge himself as a proper
carnivore.
Failing that, he was worried he'd do something rash... like beat an

orange-bearded Decanus named Ferrutius to death for not
keeping his gods-damned mouth shut.
Or he might have been tempted to ravage the young archer,

Rena... Though that would have been terribly unprofessional.
...Hm. On second thought, both options were unprofessional.
Maybe he'd consider scrounging up two silver pieces to purchase

Modestus' services.
...Probably not, though. Three coin and some copper bits could
buy him a loaf of bread.
Nine of ten of Tycon's tent group had survived. The Rhodoks said
it was a blessing by the 'Eternal Flame' that they were so lucky.
Tycon was not a religious person. However, with the loss of only
one fool Decanus, he accepted that luck was involved.
There were a few injuries, notably Rena and Gianna. The Gold-
Rank healer Fortuna saw to their convalescence.
Justus seemed to have recovered mentally.
Tycon was proud. The young Decanus was growing more reliable.
...
Following the meal, Shield Maiden Gianna invited Tycon out to

explore the walled village of Montegarico.
He could find no reasonable excuse to deny her. Whatever

peculiarities she had figured of him or would inquire-- he doubted
it would change his plans to see the Rhodok's mission through.
Perhaps she was going to challenge him to a grappling match?

Why she would seek to make it a private ordeal was beyond his
understanding.
The cool, nighttime air was a refreshing change of pace from the
overbearing sun beating through the canopy of trees. The Shield
Maiden walked with her full armor, her shield strapped to her
back-- a wise decision, considering they were still near hostile
territory.
She did eschew her helmet, unbinding her blonde hair and
allowing it to spill down her shoulders.
As he walked alongside Gianna, Tycon noticed that both Rena

and Justus skulked behind. It had seemed that Justus was not
only somewhat of an idiot, he was also useless at sneaking about.
Their invasion of privacy didn't concern him. Rather, he felt secure

in the additional combat power, in the case of an attack or an
otherwise troublesome incident.
Gianna softly smiled, her hair seeming to glow in the moon and
starlight, "So, Duplicarius... congratulations on your promotion,"
"Thank you," He responded.
It was a nice smile. The woman was of marriageable age, had an

above-average bust-size, and gave off a gentle, motherly aura.
She was a perfect human woman-- probably.
Tycon was admittedly not a good judge of human female
attractiveness. He judged her using information he had surmised
from the conversations of his peers. Large breasts, symmetrical
features, wide birthing hips, and... the shapeliness of a woman's
buttocks?
That seemed to be the male perspective of a woman's top 4 most

desirable features.
Honestly, he didn't know why intelligence, loyalty, or demeanor

weren't on that list.
The woman hadn't offered anything to the conversation past the

initial congratulations.
...He figured he should probably say something.
Should he compliment her symmetrical features? ...No, she had a

tiny mole on her lips, but pointing out unique physical traits tended
to be frowned upon according to human culture. One could
compliment a human female's unique eyes and be thanked, but
compliment her powerful jaw and be offended.
He considered complimenting the woman's sizable bust... No. Hm.

He needed a compliment that was guaranteed to be socially safe.
"It pleases me that you are alive," Tycon forced his lips to curl up,
trying his best to convey his sincerity.
Gianna raised a hand to her lips, laughing politely and with

obvious reservation, "I'm assuming that was your best try at a
compliment."
Tycon averted his gaze. The woman had seen through him
completely. That wasn't good.
"I love the way you speak, Zehr... But I noticed something."
Tycon turned back, an eyebrow raised.
...Gianna continued to look on quietly.

He supposed he needed to respond, in order for the conversation
to continue.
"Yes?"
Hm. Was that too short of a response? Stars and stones! This was
more difficult than murdering dogs in the woods! He wanted to say
more, but the only thing he could think of was the useless lumps
of fat on the woman's chest.
Thankfully, she responded.
"You always call Justus 'young,' like you're several years older
than he is..."
Tycon averted his gaze again. He felt beads of sweat beginning to

form on his forehead.
Shite.
He forgot that, to human perception, he looked about as young as

Justus did. Dealing with his peers in Sol Invictus, this had never
been an issue.
Tycon was a Maedar, claiming the physique and abilities of the

Medusa bloodline, an adult of which was over 100 years of age.
He needed to dodge the question, in order to avoid unwelcome
suspicion. Outsider blood was not looked upon kindly in the Holy
Country-- with the exception of the angelic-blooded Daeva.
It was definitely too late to compliment Gianna's breasts.
Tycon coughed into a closed fist, "Well, yes. I am older than I

look."
Gianna tilted her head to the side, allowing her hair to sway. Her
long, full-bodied hair was well-cared for, again advertising the fact
that she was in good health and was able to give birth to strong
young with an increased chance of survival.
"How old... are you, Duplicarius Zehr?" She asked.

Tycon pursed his lips, "Older... than you."
"Well, that's good." Gianna grinned playfully, "I like older men."
Chapter 235 Scoring Criteria
(Part One)
Tycondrius narrowed his eyes.
Yes, it made logical sense to be attracted to older men.
An older male should theoretically be more established, with the

social and financial clout to be able to provide for a family.
He also recalled reading somewhere that young females also

matured faster psychologically, and thus were easier to connect
emotionally to older males rather than younger.
Very well. Tycon nodded, content in his masterful understanding.
Gianna approached closer. He was tempted to take a step

backward, to keep at a comfortable combat distance...
He could not. He refused to show weakness to his peers.

However, he doubted that Gianna was going to attack him. She
seemed like the type to challenge him openly.
...But why was she still looking at him, then?
"That's uh... that's good?" He offered.
Gianna fidgeted nervously, wringing her hands, "I... I like you,

Zehr."
A sudden help erupted from a nearby bush. With that surprise and
Tycon's inward panicking, he turned and smashed his face
painfully against a soft-bark tree.
He immediately checked his nostrils for blood. Light injury--
suboptimal, but it bought him time to respond. This... this was not
the type of challenge he was expecting.
No. He was not at all romantically interested in this woman.
Ah. Aughhhhh. Empty night! How did he... how was he supposed
to--
Gianna's face had turned to concern, "Oh, by the Flame, are you
okay, dear?"
AH! AUGHHHH! No! Zehr-- no, Tycon couldn't...
Tycon again turned away to hide his agitation, "I uh... I can't
accept your feelings, Gianna."
He couldn't form any lasting attachments to the Rhodoks-- not

with his long-term mission in mind. Tycondrius was merely utilizing
them to take part in their Gold-Rank quest. Afterward, he'd be off
to a different part of the Holy Kingdom... and it's not like he could
have asked her or anyone else to defect to his own adventuring
guild, Sol Invictus.
...Even if the trio did seem to have a high opinion of it.
The Shield Maiden's soft, ringing laughter managed to confound

Tycon's rationale. He thought he was quite direct... did he need to
change his verbiage?
"Six points, Duplicarius," She chuckled.
Tycon turned back with a frown, "Six points? Really... explain your
scoring criteria."
He didn't know what the points were for, but six seemed like an
unfairly low rating.
"Above average for being a gentleman," Gianna chided, "Minus a

few points for being clumsy."
She tapped aside her lips, one of the Shield Maiden's
idiosyncrasies, "Plus a few points because I got to see a new side
of you-- and it was quite cute."
Tycon narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips to the side, "That
sounds like I deserve more than six."
"That's what you get, though." Gianna smiled but said nothing
more. Her expression was somewhere between amusement and
unbelieving scrutiny.
"I'm... not interested in a relationship right now," Tycon insisted.
"Three points, not good enough."
Irritation burgeoned in Tycon's heart.
Gianna continued to smile, but her eyes closed to thin slits, "Are
you gay?"
"No?" Tycon furrowed his eyebrows. Did that mean what he

thought it meant? He... he didn't think he was? And if he was, was
there something wrong with that? But that was beside the point...
He decided to mention one of his previous relationships, hoping to

avoid the unfair interrogation, "I uh... there's someone else that I...
like?"
No! Seven heavens and eleven hells! He should have delivered

that line with full confidence! It was perfect!
He couldn't help his hesitation, though...
There was a particular woman he was thinking of, a certain

princess belonging to the Kingdom of Alizeau. They shared many
common similarities and conversed comfortably. He even had
intimate relations with her-- though the exchange was mutually
beneficial.
The princess was able to absorb his mana to refine and use in her
sorcerous cultivation. His Iron-Rank mana was further tempered
by his naturally arcane bloodline. In exchange, Tycon enjoyed
several hours of carnal pleasure. He had lost the most precious
member of Sol Invictus, at the time, and nothing short of that
would have cured his mood.
But did he desire her romantically? Tycon wasn't certain. He had

many goals he needed to achieve before he could settle down
and consider raising brood.
Gianna was stifling a laugh, covering her hand with her dainty
female hand, "It's okay. I didn't expect you to accept..."
This woman...
As the frustration welled in him, Tycon considered striking his face

against the tree again. If this was part of her expectations, why
was she oppressing him in this way?
He was placing all of his effort and care into being socially polite.
He did not want to change the status quo of their tent group's
dynamics.
"Oh. I see," Tycon replied coolly.
Yes. Confident, just like that. Tycon inwardly congratulated himself

for achieving basic human conversation.
Gianna tilted her head inquisitively, "What's she like? The other
girl?"
Ah, hm. Tycon pondered the thought... "She's gentle... a bit shy at
times, but willful. She seems like she's lost, but she knows what
she wants... and she'd do anything to achieve her goals."
Tycon smiled as the answers began to flow more easily, "She

dresses in fineries, but she comes off as being impolite-- almost
even uneducated, especially for one of her status."
He found himself smiling... and it wasn't forced, "She is... an

honest girl. I find that to be an admirable quality."
"Ooooh. She sounds like a princess," Gianna mused. "That

definitely sounds like the type of girl you'd like."
Tycon nodded in agreement, "She is, indeed, a princess."
That was an odd coincidence. Was the Shield Maiden familiar with
Princess Aurala?
"Is she prettier than me?" Gianna asked.
Oh! That was an easy question, as well. First off, beauty was
subjective and in an ever-changing state. A woman could have a
beautiful smile, yet have an ugly temper. And second, there was
only one 'correct' answer.
"No, of course not," Tycon smirked.
Next question! He was beginning to grow fond of the

interrogation... as long as the questions remained easy to answer.
"Well, that's good." Gianna giggled, "I'm pretty proud of my boobs,

you know."
Seven hells. He should have complimented her breasts, after all.
...
⟬ A few moments earlier. ⟭
"By. The. Flame. So Zehr's an older guy. I. Love. Older guys,"

Rena's breathing had turned erratic like she was a perverted old
geezer.
Justus stared at Rena's back, noting that even in the moonlight,

her ears were bright red, "Can we... y'know... stop hiding in the
bushes and... talk to them?"
"No, we can't do that!" Rena scowled, "My Gianna has to get her
heart broken in private! It's the least I can do for my bestie!!"
Justus frowned. He thought he was her best friend, "You're awfully

confident. Especially with that flat chest of yours."
Rena hooked the back of Justus' neck with her arms.

Justus froze. The embrace was awkward. Was she jealous? He
couldn't remember the last time Rena had hugged him... maybe
when they were kids?
"Rena Special Attack: Knee Strike of Forgiveness," She

whispered.
What?
Rena's knee smashed Justus' crotch with the force and fury of a
thousand kobold hammers, striking as one.
Justus cried. He laid on the dirt, tears streaming down his face.
He couldn't move his body. He couldn't even scream. His entire
existence was pain and suffering.
"I forgive you, Justus. Now keep quiet or I'll forgive you again."
Chapter 236 Scoring Criteria
(Part Two)
ecanus Justus, Hero of Leopardon, was lying on his side. The

D
cold, hard night-time dirt was a stark contrast to his tears, burning
hotly from his eyes.
He shut his eyes hard, trying to force them to stop.
He didn't want to cry anymore.
Rena clicked her tongue, wagging her finger.
"Anyroad, just lie there quietly, and I'll explain to you why it's
impossible for the great and wonderful Rena to be jealous of my
Gianna."
The archer sat down on Justus' side.
Justus didn't care. He clutched at his groin with both hands,

praying for the pain to end.
Then he'd kill her.
...Or maybe he'd punch her.
...No. Nevermind. Justus decided he wouldn't mention Rena's

masculine chest while he was in ball-busting range of the ruthless
woman, ever again.
"First off..." Rena listed, "You and my Gianna are a perfect

couple."
That made Justus feel a little better-- but not really.

"Second off, Zehr doesn't like Gianna like that."
That didn't make Justus feel better at all. Gianna was the most
beautiful woman he'd ever seen-- while Rena was just... 'meh.' He
honestly couldn't imagine Zehr rejecting Gia's feelings if she did,
in fact, approach him intending to confess. It was one of his
greatest worries.
"And third--" Rena continued. "Zehr is already my husband."
"S-since when were you... wed?" Justus managed to groan.
"Future husband! Whatever." Rena hmphed, "I already called it.

You were there."
The pain began to fade, though Justus still felt a deep discomfort,
deep below his gut.
Shoving his childhood friend off of him, he clumsily crawled over

to peek aside their hiding-bush, "Wh-... egh... what are they
talking about now?"
And why was Zehr's nose bleeding?
Rena shook Justus, "By the Flame, by the Flaaaaaame, Zehr's

talking about me! H-he called me a princess!!"
Justus' brain rattled around in his skull from Rena's violent

shaking, "Okay, okay. Stop. Please stop-- I really don't think I
deserve any of this."
"Ohhhhh, I'm so happy I could kiss you-- but I won't. I'll never
cheat on my husband, as long as I live!" Rena squealed.
"Rena!" Zehr's voice, calling out crisply in the night air made the
archer abruptly halt her movements. She looked as stupid as she
sounded.
"Busted," Justus smirked. "It's because you were being too loud,
you pumpkin."
"Decanus Juuuustus~♥"
Gianna's cutely upraised voice froze the blood in Justus' veins.
Goosebumps prickled the skin on his arms. Sweat began to pour
down his brow... He should have never agreed to skulk about with
Rena, spying on Gianna and Zehr.
Rena skipped out from their hiding spot, happily, dragging Justus
along the dirt by one of his arms. Where she hid her strength in
that tiny frame, Justus had no idea.
"I knew they'd be together. Aren't they the cutest couple?" Gianna
beamed.
Justus got to his feet, "H-hey... Wh-what were you guys talking
about?"
"Oh, you know~" Gianna tapped her chin, "Just the state of affairs
of our Rhodok guild."
Justus noticed that Zehr had opened his mouth to speak, but held
his words as Gia explained. Weird.
Neither of them seemed particularly happy or depressed... Justus

wondered if he'd thought wrongly and Gianna didn't confess to
Zehr? ...Or maybe the Duplicarius... rejected her?
Justus rubbed the back of his head, "Uh... I can explain why
*we're* here?"
Like an affection cat, Rena leapt at Zehr, embracing him tightly,

"Zehhhhr, I LOVE yooou!!"
The Duplicarius stood still, holding his palms outward as Rena

hugged him. His golden eyes were opened wide in confusion. He
looked to Justus, tacitly pleading for help with his expression.
Justus keenly remembered the pain in his groin and averted his
gaze.
'I'm sorry, Duplicarius Zehr.' He apologized in his heart, 'I can't

help you this time, brother.'
Zehr awkwardly patted Rena's back, "Y... yes. I... appreciate
your... affection? I quite pride myself on my cooking ability."
Justus pursed his lips. It seemed there had been a

misunderstanding. But did the lovestruck blockhead notice that?
Rena released her embrace, but took hold of Zehr's arm,

snuggling against it, "I mean-- I mean... I'm so glad you're safe!"
Rena had admitted as much several times, during their evening

meal. Justus was getting tired of hearing it. The entire cohort was
probably tired of hearing it.
"Um... Yes. I am also glad I am safe," Zehr scratched his cheek.

He didn't shake Rena off of his arm, though.
Justus placed his hand on Zehr's shoulder, "Guard what is

important to you, Brother-Zehr. You'll thank me later."
"I'll... thank you now, if that's appropriate." Zehr's eyes were mired
in uncertainty, "It's... good advice, if somewhat foreboding."
Zehr gently pat Rena's arm, signaling for her to release him, "I'd
like the three of you to come with me. There's a place I'd like to
investigate-- and perhaps we may find some enemies worthy of
the Hero of Leopardon."
Justus grinned. Zehr had returned to being the cool and calm
Decanus that he knew, "Of course. My sword is yours to
command, Zehr."
...
Rena had taken her handkerchief to clean the blood from

Duplicarius Zehr's nostrils, "Ohhh, I'm wearing new earrings!
They're pearl-- reeeeal pearl. They cost a fortune!"
"Um, yes. They look... uh... cute?" Zehr responded.
Justus sighed. Rena had gotten into one of her babbling fits-- this
time, showing off her fineries to someone who clearly didn't care.
He, himself, was rather distracted. He felt awkward, walking next
to Gia.
Dozens of questions flitted through his rattled brain. He did catch

the tail end of their conversation... and Zehr was talking about the
person he liked. What started that? How did Gianna feel about
Zehr? ...How did she feel about him?
He cursed himself inwardly. He hadn't told Gianna about his own

feelings... Was it too late? At first, he was just a fish. Then, he
earned a promotion to Decanus-- and maybe he'd become a
Tesserarius soon. That kind of salary would definitely be enough
to afford a wedding... maybe support a family, if Gianna wanted to
retire.
He felt his cheeks warming at the thought. A family with Gianna...

their kids would be beautiful if they took after her more than him.
Children of a Shield Maiden and a Holy Swordsman would
definitely grow up to be strong, too.
"What are you thinking about, Decanus Justus?" She asked.
Justus nearly leapt out of his armor, seeing Gianna's face so

close.
"I-I ah... what? Hey. Hi. Gia? What's up?" He stammered.
"Five points," Gianna winked.
"Um. What?"
"No, nevermind." She sighed and looked away.
Justus felt the temperature rise in his cheeks again at the

seemingly mundane action. Everything the Shield Maiden did,
captured his heart.
He needed to get her attention... With his heart beating louder

than a war drum, he took hold of her hand, "Tell me... Gia."
The Shield Maiden turned back with a look of pleasant surprise.

She hesitated... "To be honest, Justus... I'm a little envious of
Rena."
Gia chuckled to herself. She looked and sounded like she'd just
lost something important to her, "I've been thinking like that often."
Justus took a deep breath and gathered his courage. He

squeezed her tiny hand and met her gaze, "You have nothing to
be envious about. You're the strongest, bravest, and most
beautiful woman I've ever met."
Shield Maiden Gianna's eyes widened, but finally, her sad look
was replaced again by her radiant smile. Averting her gaze
downward, the woman twirled a strand of her blonde hair in her
fingers, "Ten points, Decanus."
Chapter 237 Greatest
Achievement
J ustus grinned. Was that a good thing? It sounded like a good

thing, "What do the numbers mean, Gia?"
Gianna placed her hand over her mouth, lightly giggling. Justus
figured that was her answer.
Though he was still curious, he was happy to be able to restore

her spirits.
With that done, he brought his attention back to his trusted ally,
"Duplicarius Zehr, what did you want to investigate, exactly?"
Zehr's left arm was preoccupied by Holy Bolter Rena's grip. The
Duplicarius pointed with his right at a building in the distance.
The old stone guard tower looked like it was ravaged by fire years
or decades ago. There was evidence of blackened soot in parts
that hadn't been washed or eroded away by rain. While its stone
architecture proved sturdy, it didn't look welcoming, at all--
especially in the dark of the moonlit night.
"I had entered the village earlier through a wall broken by siege
weaponry," Zehr explained. "I wanted to see if there were any
spoils of war to be had. It seems the residents aren't around to
contest our claims."
"The wars..." Gianna pursed her lips.
Everyone turned towards her.
"Go ahead, Gia," Justus prompted.

She nodded and continued, "Over two decades ago, when the
Realm Wars were at the peaks of their hostilities, the northern
edges of Ezyria were plagued by Nemayan raids."
Justus grimaced at the thought. No other nation in the Realm was

viewed with more suspicion and hostility than Nemaya.
Gianna shrugged, "My father fought to defend towns like

Montegarico-- he... he still had nightmares, up until the sun he
passed away."
"Hm, the Sleeping Country, you say?" Zehr mused.
Rena placed her cheek against Zehr's bicep, "Um... C-can we go

back now?"
Zehr raised his eyebrow, "Did you see them, too?"
Rena nodded, pouting.
"Mhm, I think we should go back." Gianna agreed, "I wouldn't want

to disturb 'them.'"
Justus furrowed his brows. He knew that both Rena's and Zehr's
vision was excellent, but Gianna's? It was nighttime! Humans
aren't supposed to see in the dark! "Wh-what did you see, Gia?"
"Oh, I didn't see anything. I just wanted to sound cool, too,"

Gianna admitted.
"The restless dead inhabit the tower," Zehr shook his head. "It's
not worth the trouble. Let us return."
Zehr and the two girls started back. Justus continued to stare at
the ruined structure.
He felt someone shove his butt and he stumbled forward a step.

He turned back to see Rena with her sandaled foot outstretched.
"Hey, Mister Decanus. You coming?" She asked.

"I... I want to fight them," Justus pursed his lips to the side, "I think
I learned a new skill today."
Zehr raised an eyebrow and placed his hand on his chin, "A skill?
That's quite impressive for your age."
"I'm almost 18!" Justus yelped.
Oh. That sounded way more pathetic than he had intended.
Gianna stifled another laugh, though the look of amusement

turned Justus' ears scalding hot.
"I meant no offense." Zehr laughed politely, "Very well. With the 4
of us, the danger is minimal."
The Shield Maiden nodded, "I could use some after-dinner

exercise. Don't wanna get fat."
"You're perfect the way you are, Gia," Justus offered a genuine
smile.
"Well, I'm not fat right now," She lightly punched Justus' arm.
Justus rubbed his arm and averted his gaze. He hadn't gotten that
reaction before... and somehow it felt they'd become closer.
"H-hold on~!" Rena interrupted, "M-my crossbow broke and I

didn't get a new one yet!! I only have like... three bolts-- can I run
back? I'll be quick."
Justus scrunched up his face in worry. What was that little thief
planning to do? Steal from one of Constantina's scouts?
Zehr managed to escape from Rena's grasp while she was

distracted, "That won't be necessary."
"Because you'll protect me, Zehr?" She grabbed hold of Zehr's

arm again, holding on tightly.
Zehr shot Justus a small grimace. Still, Justus didn't move to help
him.
The Duplicarius turned back to Rena, trying (and failing) to keep
emotionless, "Rena... your class is..."
"Holy Bolter!"
Zehr's mouth twitched from the girl's overly gleeful response, "R-
right. The Holy Bolter is a branch of the Divine Enchantress
class."
"Oooh, Enchantress. I looove that," Gianna beamed.
"But... I can only enchant crossbow bolts?" A cute, thin line

appeared between Rena's eyebrows and she crossed her arms.
She seemed to be thinking terribly hard on the concept.
Zehr slipped his hand down, reaching for Rena's waist.
"N-n-n-no, what are you doing? Not here! We're in public!" The
archer protested, "--Unless you're into that? By the Flame, are you
into that?"
...Or so Justus thought she protested.
A confused Zehr held up one of her crossbow bolts. He had taken

it from her belt.
"Can you enchant one of your bolts with your eyes closed?" Zehr
inquired.
"O-oh. Hah. Yeah. I can do that," Rena blushed furiously, closing

her eyes.
She pointed out a finger, placing it lightly against the bolt Zehr
held.
He held onto her wrist, "Concentrate. You are enchanting the

surface area of the bolt with your prayers to the divine, yes?"
Rena nodded her head, "Mhm. The Eternal Flame guides my

bolts... It's my faith-- it's my will to protect my friends that gives me
the strength to fight."
Justus felt a warmth in his heart. He had nearly forgotten Rena's
personality. As much as she loved to beat him, she hated fighting.
He thought back to the tears she cried after she killed a kobold out
of desperation.
Everything that Rena had done was out of her desire to protect...
him.
She had made friends along the way, yes but... Justus was the
only reason that she would join-- had joined the Rhodok
adventuring company.
He began to feel a bit guilty because of it. He really wasn't

thankful enough for her and her unselfishness-- her unselfishness
on anything that didn't concern Duplicarius Zehr, anyroad.
Justus hadn't noticed when Zehr had done it, but the green-haired
Duplicarius had managed to silently unsheathe his Decanus
sword with his opposite hand and hold it in place of Rena's bolt.
"Oh wowwww..." Giana admired Rena's work, "Enchaaaantment."
Zehr spoke softly, a hint of smugness in his voice, "Take a look,

Divine Enchantress Rena."
The Holy Bolter opened her eyes... to see that a portion of Zehr's
blade glowed with a silver flame.
"Wh-what? I can... Did I do that?" Rena blinked her eyes, staring

at the blade closely.
Zehr smirked and raised an eyebrow, "That's a rather silly

question, considering the circumstances, don't you think?"
Rena tilted her head, her lips pursed in disappointment, "B-but it's
so small? How can I make it bigger?"
Gianna abruptly snorted, turning away in embarrassment.
Justus grimaced, his heart beating rapidly.
He had to say something to that. He had to risk it.

...Even if risking it meant that his life would be forfeit.
But it was worth it. It might just be... the greatest achievement he's
had in his life.
No... Living like a coward was not a life worth living at all.
Decanus Justus, Hero of Leopardon, was no coward.
"Rena...." He flashed a radiant and trustworthy smile, "--maybe if

you actually had tits, this wouldn't be a problem."
Chapter 238 Proper Opponent
uplicarius Zehr picked up a weighty rock, tossing it up and down

D
in his hands.
In a smooth and practiced motion, quite different from his pilum

throwing, Zehr stepped out and flung it, utilizing a near-full rotation
of his body.
It looked so natural... so casual. But the speed of the thrown rock

was as if it was shot from a sling. Decanus Justus tried his best to
memorize the movements.
"Th-they're moving," Rena warned, her voice cracking with worry.

"B-be careful, Zehr... And Justus. You, be especially careful!"
Justus felt his eyebrow twitch in annoyance, "I'm always careful."
"I think Miss Rena means: Don't underestimate your opponents,"

Gia offered with a reassuring smile.
"Right. Makes sense," Justus nodded.
They spilled out of the darkness of the tower.
A trio of charred black skeletons lumbered forward, dragging their

limbs over stone and dirt as if they still remembered their injuries.
The metal pieces of their armor were cracked, broken, and
covered in rust. The leather underneath were discolored by age,
tattered and torn.
Two of them carried weapons-- ruined curved swords, one broken

in half, and the other as rusted as the armor they wore.
"Hm..." Zehr pondered, "Gianna, I'd like you to engage with the
two swordsmen. Allow Justus the third."
Justus frowned, "Zehr, I was hoping to fight properly."
"I know," Zehr shrugged. He tossed his own sword, spinning up

into the air... and it stuck, blade down into the dirt in front of the
unarmed skeleton.
Green flames lit in the ebony skeleton's eyes as it drew the

Decanus sword out of the dirt. It flourished the blade, feeling its
weight in its hands, and nodded to itself.
"Wh-what's going on? Why... what?" Rena began to panic, "I

thought skeletons were mindless?!"
Zehr chuckled derisively, "It depends on the ritual that instilled

undeath into them. These are Nemayan undead. They retain their
military training, fighting similar to as they did in life. They never
break formation, they always obey orders, and they are incapable
of fear."
"Flame, take me..." Justus cursed. His stomach roiled in protest

as it threatened to eject its contents.
Why did he think this was going to be easy? As long as he'd

known Zehr-- nothing that had to do with the green-haired
Duplicarius was easy.
"Justus, Gianna..." Zehr pointed forward, "Engage."
...
As soon as Justus charged forward, Tycondrius dashed to the left

side. Gianna dashed to the right, keeping her shield towards the
enemy.
It was a simple exercise, but required a bit of finagling to work

properly. He watched as Justus blocked the skeleton's first attack-
-
Hah.
The Decanus sword with Rena's holy enchantment struck Justus'

shield, bursting in silvery light. The boy staggered back,
unbalanced.
The skeleton would have a similar strength to what they had in

life-- powered by whatever dark energies kept it moving. The
young fool had likely grown used to the weak strikes of the
kobolds.
Tycon looked across the way. He and Gianna had formed a

triangle around the three skeletons.
The blonde woman charged in with her shield-- without her hair
tied or a helmet, her hair streamed behind her like a goddess of
war. She collided with the two other skeletons in a crash of steel.
They struck the ground-- one landing hard, the other rolling
acrobatically, back to the standing.
Tycon grabbed onto that skeleton's sword-wrist, pulled downward,

and kicked at its ankle. It dropped to the dirt, like the other. He
pried the sword out of its cold, bony fingers, kicked it in the skull,
and walked off.
Gianna had re-engaged with her opponent. Tycon figured he'd

disarm that one, too, to ensure the Shield Maiden's safety, then
retreat to watch Justus fight...
...
Justus blocked another sword strike, hiding behind his shield. The
blows were heavy, his opponent was stronger than anyone he'd
ever dueled before.
It was embarrassing.
He clenched his teeth and stabbed out. TING! The skeleton struck
his sword, forcing Justus to swing his arm back, opening his
guard. What the--? He had nearly lost his grip. He raised his
shield up, directing it to block another two sword slashes.
He peeked over his shield, observing the enemy.
It attacked... Again and again...

The enemy's attacks fell upon his shield in a rhythm. It went on,
never slowing.
Argh... Flame... take... this bastard. It was a skeleton soldier. It

knew no fear. It knew no *fatigue* either. Flame take me...
Justus' own arm would grow tired from the rattling attacks-- he
couldn't just watch and wait... And he couldn't just block and rely
on the Munifex to his left or right, like in a real battle.
But he had the timing down... If he could just...
Justus saw the shield spark from a diagonal slash towards his left.
The enemy was open! He dropped his left shoulder and began to
swing his sword--
To see the Decanus blade swipe inches away from his eyes. The
skeleton had turned its body, spinning its blade and utilizing the
rotation to slice opposite from its earlier slash.
What... what technique was that? That wasn't even a skill?! They
didn't teach anything like that in Tyrion military doctrine?!
Justus leapt back, cold chills shocking his spine. He had nearly
taken an injury that would have ended his adventuring career.
"The Nemayan soldiers use blades 6 inches to a foot longer than

Tyrion swords," Zehr's voice warned.
Eh? Justus glanced back. He didn't notice when the Duplicarius

arrived. How much of his embarrassing fight had he seen?
"It appears your opponent hasn't gotten used to his weapon yet,"
Zehr rolled his eyes.
Justus observed his opponent... The skeleton's green-flame eyes

were staring emotionlessly at the short blade in its hands.
He gulped. Thinking back, he should have noticed that the blade's

initial strike was light... It was a trick... a set-up for the second,
killing attack.
"Tss..." Zehr scoffed, "You've done well during the sun, young
Decanus. But right now, you seem intent on *wasting* my time."
Justus grit his teeth in frustration.
He was a Holy Swordsman, a class belonging to myths and

legends! Every Holy Swordsman before him was a hero known for
crusading against evil. Undead... demons... wicked villains
throughout the ages would fall against their enchanted evil-slaying
swords.
Justus lunged forward, a swirl of golden mana coating his sword,

"⌈Blessed Blade!!⌋"
With this blade, he would show Zehr his determination. It had to

work! It just had to!
Chapter 239 Lessons
Tycondrius sighed.
He expected... more of the Bronze-Rank Holy Swordsman.
Decanus Justus had leapt forward like a crazed fool-- probably an

unfortunate result of Tycon's earlier annoyed remark. He even
used mana in his attack, though poorly channeled. It reminded
him of a stage illusionist, utilizing Unranked magic to entertain
children.
And then the fool had the gall to look surprised when the obvious
attack was deflected by his opponent's sword.
If the radiant mana didn't strike the undead's body, then it was just
a stronger-than-usual sword strike. It was still more than tolerable,
especially against the sturdy Tyrion steel blade Tycon had lent the
undead warrior.
Tycon grimaced. He was considering just taking Gianna and Rena

back and reporting that Justus fell into a pit or was eaten whole by
a mimic.
Bah. He'd probably have to lead the tent group in his stead. That
would be a hassle.
Justus finally managed to get a strike on his opponent-- a stab

without a wisp of mana powering it. It bounced off harmlessly
against the undead's shoddy, rusted armor.
Tycon was tired of looking at failure. He looked back to Holy Bolter

Rena....where he found pitiful pleading eyes of sincere worry.
He took a deep breath and sighed again. He had conveniently

forgotten that the trio were all friends.
Looking over to Shield Maiden Gianna, he called out, "Gianna,
defeat one."
...He was attempting to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
"I hear you, Duplicarius!" She replied. She brandished her sword,
glowing silver from Rena's enchantment.
Tycon was confident that she would have no issues with her
opponents. She was an excellent combatant and had an
advantageous weapon.
Rena was able to change her thinking from 'I can only enchant
bolts' to 'a bolt is one of many weapons I can enchant.' The mana
usage was slightly less efficient, but he had judged from her
expenditure prior to the Iredar attack, that she had an abnormally
large reserve of mana.
Holy Bolter Rena, Shield Maiden Gianna, and Holy Swordsman

Justus... the trio all had excellent classes.
"Decanus Justus," Tycon grimaced. "I advise you to use your skills
in combination with your attacks. It's a waste of mana to use them
so haphazardly."
"Y-yes, Duplicarius!" Justus groaned.
The boy was cowering behind his shield, blocking the endless
onslaught of the Nemayan soldier's attacks.
Peeking over his shield, he tried to direct his sword against the
next big strike-- an obvious feint.
Oh, he was going to die. That's too bad. Sorry, Rena.
The skeleton side-stepped and slashed at Justus' neck. However,

Justus displayed his exceptional reflexes, shrugging up his right
shoulder. The sword smashed against his shoulder guard, leaving
a dent.
That would leave a bruise.

Tycon rolled his eyes again and looked around him. He found a
branch. That would do. He picked it up and snapped bits of it off,
leaving him with a sturdy stick about the size of a long dagger.
"Step back, Justus."
"But Decanus, I--"
Tycon glared.
"I mean-- Dupli-- I mean... Yes, sir!" Justus leapt backward,

creating some distance for Tycon to intervene.
Holding his stick in a threatening manner, Tycon approached the

skeleton soldier. It turned the green embers of its gaze towards its
new opponent, then quickly lunged towards him with a stab. Tycon
deflected it, smacking his improvised weapon against its
blackened skull.
"If the opponent does not make mistakes, force them to," Tycon
smashed the heel of his sandaled foot against the skeleton's
chest, cracking its dark-bone sternum and pushing it back.
The Nemayan soldier regained its stance and flourished its sword,
swinging it to its left and right.
"If you're being pressured, create space. Kicks and shoves are
superior to retreating."
Tycon pursed his lips, analyzing his opponent. Approaching more

carefully, the skeleton slashed at him again-- a telegraphed swing
from the side.
Tycon blocked the skeleton's attack by striking the skeleton's

wrist. With a backstroke, he slammed the stick against the
opposite side of the skeleton's skull, "Anticipate attacks by
analyzing the enemy's body for movement."
The skeleton stumbled back, holding its head. It slowly raised its
black skull, the stark green flames in its eye sockets burning
furiously.
Oh, that's amusing. Was the undead creature emulating emotion?
It lunged forward, feinting high, before swinging low towards

Tycon's midsection.
"In a one-on-one combat..." Tycon side-stepped to the skeleton's

left, dodging the swing entirely. He hooked his arm around the
skeleton's neck and powered a knee into its unarmored thigh,
shattering the bones and dropping the skeleton to the dirt, "--
utilize circular direction to gain an advantage. And remember that
your entire body is a weapon."
He looked back to Justus. The boy's mouth was gaping open, his
pupils dilated in disbelief.
Tycon threw his stick at Justus' face out of annoyance.
"BUOHH!!" The stick smacked the gawping imbecile's forehead.

The boy rubbed his nose, tears forming at the corner of his eyes.
Tycon looked at his hand. He was fairly certain he had thrown the
stick neither hard nor quickly. He narrowed his eyes. Why had the
boy's keen reflexes abruptly disappeared?
He lifted his leg and crushed the skeleton's brittle skull under his
heel before picking up the sword he'd lent it.
He turned his still-narrowed eyes back to Justus, "Did you learn

anything?"
"I... I think so," Justus frowned.
Tycon continued to stare, displeased.
Justus raised his voice-- and involuntarily also raised his pitch, "I
uh... I did, sir!"
Tycon was hoping for an apology for wasting his time, but he
supposed that was fine, too.
"Come with me. I'll provide one more demonstration."

"Yes, Duplicarius!"
...
Shield Maiden Gianna thrust her sword into her opponent

skeleton's fiery eye socket. The silvery glow from Rena's
enchantment grew brighter, shattering the undead's skull in a
burst of light.
She flourished her blade, flinging the bits of black bone dust off of
it. Examining the blade again, she noticed it had lost its mana
enchantment.
That was probably why Holy Bolters only enchanted their

crossbow bolts. It didn't seem efficient to utilize their mana that
only worked for one or two strikes.
"Well done, Miss Gianna," Zehr approached, with a defeated-

looking Justus sticking close behind.
"Aww... what happened?" Gianna pursed her lips.
"Justus has learned not to underestimate the Nemayan fighting

style," Zehr explained.
Still cognizant of the one remaining skeleton, Gianna slammed

her shield forward, stunning it. She then hopped forward, swinging
her shield with the momentum, knocking it onto its back.
Zehr smirked, "--which is something you seem to be having no

issues with."
Chapter 240 Legionbreaker
hield Maiden Gianna thought Justus was extra-cute with his

S
pitiful expression. She wanted to unstrap her shield and give him
a big hug... though that would honestly be to fix her own spirits,
rather than to make him feel better.
She glanced back to Zehr. Admittedly, she was still a little

disappointed that he had rejected her... but it wasn't out of her
expectations. They hadn't known each other for very long, after
all. In fact, she probably would have been even more disappointed
had he accepted her confession.
"Allow me to take over, if you would, Miss Gianna," Zehr smiled

radiantly.
Gianna felt her heart beat just a tiny bit faster... Cute...
Remembering that Zehr thought well of princesses, she took a

step back and gave a polite curtsy, "Most gracious of you, my
lord."
Zehr nodded in thanks, "It will be my pleasure, young lady."
It was just on a whim that she told Zehr her feelings, that's all. She
might have been a little jealous of Rena's forwardness, but she
really did like the cool, calm, and collected Duplicarius.
Gianna turned to the young Decanus and tried to reassure him,

"Ohhhh Justus! Don't be sad. You learned something from Zehr,
didn't you?"
"Y-yeah. I did," Justus looked up, smiling weakly.
She had seen a little of Zehr taking over the fight-- lamenting that
she couldn't watch it in its entirety.
Gianna liked the way he moved. She liked it a lot.
But even if Zehr decided to remain distant, at least she still had
Justus. He was the sweetest boy she'd ever met.
...
Tycondrius lifted his sword in front of his face, focusing his mana.
"I'm only going to do this once, Justus." He warned, "Pay

attention."
One of the greatest benefits of Tycon's System was the repository

of information he had access to, notably on class skills. They
varied from those belonging to his own class of Warlord to Rogue
movement techniques, Fighter execution skills, and even a few
Martialist forms.
He could replicate any of the Bronze-Rank skills, to different

effects.
Most of the skills from his own class, (minus one particular ⌈Iron
Dragon Rend⌋), he had developed to a High Completion Rating. A
good number of physical techniques like ⌈Shadowfang Strike⌋
were at a Middle Rating.
Because of his bloodline, he could even utilize arcane skills... at a

Low Rating. It was better than no rating, at all. However, the mana
expenditure for a Low Rating skill was so high and its effect was
so mediocre, that such usage would largely be a waste of effort.
The Holy Swordsman class was reasonably a branch of the Divine

Champion or Crusader classes, similar to how Rena's Holy Bolter
class was related to Divine Enchanter. With that in mind, he
recalled an offensive technique he did have at Middle Completion.
Still, it was a Divine skill, not a Martial one, and the mana
expenditure would tax his energies uncomfortably.
Channeling mana into his Tyrion sword, it began to glow a stark,

concentrated white, cutting clear through the darkness.
Justus' awed voice whispered hoarsely, "Z-zehr... you have a holy
sword skill too?"
"That's a very stupid question, young man" Tycon rolled his eyes,
"I am obviously channeling radiant energy through my sword. So,
yes. It is a holy skill. With a sword. That makes it a holy sword
skill."
"But... but how?"
Steadily, Zehr retracted his mana back. He had to do so gently--

an abrupt halt of the flow could damage either himself or the
weapon.
The skeleton had gotten to its feet, so Zehr kicked it in the chest,
sending it tumbling back. He noticed that Gianna was about to
shove it back, had he not done so first. She was quite reliable.
He turned back to Justus, "What do you mean 'how'? Does it

*matter*? Do you think you're the only person capable of
channeling radiant energy? Obviously, Rena can do it too. So can
Gianna. Why does it matter, how? Shut. Up."
Ugh. Tycon felt a hint of disgust at himself from having to rebuke

the young man. He had lost his calm in front of Rena and Gianna.
He took a deep breath to return to his stone-faced expression.
Justus lowered his head, pulling his arms in, appearing smaller. If
he had a tail like an Iredar, he'd have tucked it between his legs.
...Tycon wondered if he was being too harsh?
He shut his eyes and nodded solemnly, "Now is the time for
learning, young Decanus. Save your questions for afterward.
Now... would you still like this demonstration?"
Justus rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment, "Y-yes...

I'm sorry, but... please show me, Duplicarius Zehr."
"Good," Tycon turned back to the skeleton-- again approaching,

but with more wariness than before. "I don't know how many times
I can use this skill."
At Moderate Completion and with the particular level of the skill,

Tycon was certain he could cast it at least three times before
suffering effects of mana fatigue. He implied its limited number of
usages so the fool boy would pay attention.
He returned his sword to the front of his face and channeled the
same white glow through it.
Lunging forward, Tycon dipped his head low, dodging a skeletal

claw, "⌈Legionbreaker.⌋" He pierced his radiant blade entirely
through the skeleton's armored chest.
⟬ ⌈Legionbreaker⌋ Weapon ability: A sharpened point of radiant

mana gathers at the tip of the weapon, for use in penetrating
heavy armor. ⟭
It was a skill developed by a Champion-- a class that utilized both

physical strength and divine favor. Tycon made a mental note to
raise its Completion Rating to High-- it was an effective trump
card.
White light spilled from the undead creature's mouth as the

skeleton dissipated into black bone powder. Tattered and rusted
parts of armor collapsed into a heap, off of Tycon's sword.
He blew a puff of air onto his blade, cleaning it of the bone dust,
"Now, do you have any questions, Justus?"
Justus frowned deeply, looking lost, "Didn't you say you were a
Bronze-Rank Warrior?"
Tycon shrugged, "I'm very talented for a Bronze-Rank Warrior."
Hm. He had given himself away, displaying skills clearly not of the
Warrior class... If an intelligent onlooker assumed Tycon was a
Warrior... being able to utilize a cross-class skill marked him as at
least Iron-Rank.
Thankfully, he had judged Justus as an idiot in everything that
wasn't combat. And even then, he was somewhat lacking in
certain combat areas.
Chapter 241 Symbol Of Pride
ycondrius leisurely glanced back to the Holy Bolter and Shield

T
Maiden to gauge their responses. Gianna was politely covering
her mouth, giggling. At what, Tycon had no idea. Rena was--
Rena-was-adjacent-to-him, staring up with starry eyes. Tycon had

nearly leapt backward in surprise, but he managed to control
himself.
That would have been embarrassing.
She hadn't seemed to notice his distress, though. Tycon supposed

that was fine.
The poor fool, Justus, was still staring in disbelief at what

remained of the last Nemayan skeleton soldier.
"That's enough excitement for one evening," Tycon pat the young
Decanus on his metal shoulder guard.
Justus winced. Yes, the shoulder underneath was definitely

bruised. Tycon hadn't patted the boy's injury on purpose, but he
did not plan on apologizing for it.
He turned to the girls, catching their attention, "Let us return and

get some rest."
Gianna nodded excitedly, "Mhm. Sounds good, Bronze-Rank

Warrior Zehr."
Tycon smiled. That was good. It appeared he was doing an

excellent job pretending to be a Bronze-Rank Warrior.
Rena was staring at Tycon's arm again. Odd.

Tycon offered her his elbow, which she embraced lovingly,
nuzzling her cheek into his bicep.
She was fooled, as well. Most excellent.
Tycon began walking back towards the camp, flanked by two

(probably) attractive women. The sounds of a still-confused
Decanus Justus' steps trudged along behind them.
...
The wagon creaked softly as it continued down the rocky trail.

Modestus was driving the horses along... and interestingly
enough, had been doing a remarkably better job than Decanus
Caelistis had done, before him.
It had been two suns since the kobold skirmishes, and Justus'
muscles ached worse than they'd felt in years. His legs felt like
jelly. He wanted to scream in frustration and stab a knife into his
calves. Maybe whatever weird muscle-juice was inside that made
him sore would drain along with his blood.
Instead, he crossed his arms, furrowing his brows. He tried to

channel his inner Zehr.
The previous night, his bedroll was atop a rock. In the morning, he
was nearly late to the officer's meeting.
Since then, he'd been brushing and polishing his Decanus armor.
Optio Sixtus had been very particular that he paid attention to
detail. He was tired of it!
And he was hungry!
Rena looked down the sights of her new crossbow into the
surrounding trees, not paying Justus any attention.
She yawned and placed her weapon down, "What's got your
panties in a bunch, Mister Decanus?"
"The morning meeting... took two entire bells," Justus groaned.

"Mhm~♥" Gianna happily chimed in, "Miss Rena and I wanted to
wait for you, but we were told the officers would be awhile."
"By the Flaaaame~ The morning breakfast was *amaaaazing.*"

Rena deepened her voice to emphasize her love for Zehr's
cooking.
Justus' annoyance boiled in his abdomen. He had literally carried

Rena for over a mile, a few suns prior, and this was how she
repaid him?
"You guys didn't even save me anything. I thought you were my

friends!!" He complained.
"Nuh-uh! You're our boss, now!" Rena grinned. She cleared her
voice and sat up rigidly with mock self-importance, "An officer
does not eat with his crew! He's far too important for that!"
She was quoting one of Decanus Caelistis' aphorisms-- one of his

stupider ones, and there were many. Justus had inquired about it
with the other Decani. There was no such rule. Cael didn't eat with
the tent group because he didn't have any friends.
And apparently, neither did he.
Justus looked over to Duplicarius Zehr. He sat next to Rena,

crossing his muscled arms and scanning the distant forests--
reticent, as usual. Justus had returned to him the modified
Decanus helm with the visor, while he had a new one issued to
him with a heroic red crest.
Sensing his gaze, the silent warrior turned to him, "Two portions of
venison sausages, eggs, and fried root vegetables were reserved
for you."
"Two portions...?" Justus narrowed his eyes. He already knew

who to blame, even without Gia and half of the tent group not-so-
subtly turning to Rena.
The archer girl was twiddling her thumbs and whistling innocently.
Feeling everyone's eyes on her-- and especially Justus' very,
angry stare, she shot back a sleazy grin, "Whaaat? You have to
eat food when it's hot! It's *wayyyy* better that way."
Justus groaned, slumping back in his seat until his metal helmet
tapped against the wood of the wagon rails, "Zehr, really? Could
you please tell this girl she was wrong?"
The visored Duplicarius pursed his lips, "Her assessment of hot

food is correct."
"That's not what I meant!"
"...Oh." What was revealed of Zehr's face conveyed no change in

expression, "Rena, that was wrong."
"Okayyyy. I'm sorry, Justuuuusss. Love yooou!" Rena nuzzled her

cheek into Zehr's shoulder.
Justus got the feeling that Rena wasn't feeling sorry, at all... He
also got the feeling that Zehr had no idea what he was having her
apologize for. He had assumed that he'd be easier to talk after
getting to know him better but... it seemed he was naturally not
very... talkative.
He looked to Gianna who was watching Zehr and Rena with a

tender look.
She winked at Justus and looked to Zehr, "Weren't you invited to

the meeting, Duplicarius?"
"I was." Zehr responded, "I didn't go."
Justus again took the scrub brush to his armor, "Ugh. Was this
why you didn't want to be a Decanus, Zehr?"
"Indeed."
Justus exhaled deeply, channeling his frustrations into cleaning,

"At the time, I had no idea why you so vehemently refused the
title. Now, I'm the one who feels like a fool."
The entire tent group of ten chuckled at his remarks. The tent
groups had been rearranged by the cohort, most groups now
comprised of two or three groups' members. Justus' tent group
was the only one that kept their original nine-- only losing
Decanus Caelistis.
Their "new" tenth was another veteran Immunes, an engineer who

was well-familiar with Modestus and a few of the others. Everyone
held a deep respect and camaraderie for each other as survivors.
It was altogether a pleasant group of individuals.
Justus' arm ached too-- but it felt like it was from the scrubbing,
not from battle...
"This feels like a stupid waste of energy," He grumbled.
"Your armor's appearance is excellent," Zehr commented. "That is

a symbol of your pride as a Decanus."
Justus wasn't sure how to respond. It sounded like he was trying

to be reassuring but... Zehr had joined the company with a
terrible-looking set of armor. Maybe because Zehr didn't care
about something like pride? Was this some sort of lesson?
Gianna nodded, "It looks very handsome, Decanus."
The Shield Maiden's praise raised Justus' spirits. Just looking into
her blue eyes gave him the strength to carry onward.
"Uh huh," Rena nodded. "You actually look respectable, at first

glance."
Justus knew better than to take Rena's comments seriously.

Chapter 242 Slayer Of Legend
he clopping of another couple of horses drew closer. A mounted

T
Eques was leading another horse towards their wagon.
"Good morning, Decanus," The Eques saluted. "Or should I say

Hero of Leopardon?"
Justus recognized him as one of Decanus Constantina's scouts.

He returned the salute, "Decanus is fine, thanks. Is there an
issue?"
"No, sir. We're a bit short on Equites right now. Decanus

Constantina was hoping Duplicarius Zehr could join the rotation."
Justus turned back to his tent group. Zehr was already standing,
readjusting the straps on his gear.
Justus nodded, "Go ahead, Duplicarius."
"Of course, Decanus," Zehr tapped a fist on Justus' armored

chest.
The man stepped onto a wagon railing and in a peculiarly graceful

jump, landed gently on the horse's saddle. Zehr leaned forward,
whispered something into the horse's ear, and rubbed the side of
its neck.
Justus narrowed his eyes. He knew that Zehr could talk to the
kobolds-- could he talk to horses too?
Justus shook his head, "I think... I'll never be as good as that guy."
"Nope!" Rena agreed.
Gianna frowned, "Miss Rena, be polite. Aren't you two friends?"

Rena's face reddened and she turned away, "I mean... yeah! But...
Zehr is just too amazing!"
Gianna averted her gaze. Yeah. Justus figured Gia couldn't argue
with her assessment, either.
Modestus, the immortal wagon-driver, turned at the waist to face

the tent group.
"The Duplicarius has been around for a while, young Decanus.

Experience comes with age, after all," He chuckled.
"I think you're doing great, Justus." Gia placed a reassuring hand
on Justus' arm. He felt her care and the radiance of her smile
warm his entire body.
"You've protected me, after all~" She beamed.
One of the other veterans spoke up, "Decanus, word through the
camp is you used a skill the other sun."
The tent group murmured in agreement.
Justus quietly unsheathed his sword, holding it upright and staring

at the cool, oiled metal.
"Have you been practicing?" Gianna tilted her head.
"Yeah, I have been," He nodded.
Justus closed his eyes. Mana swirled from within, swirling and
flourishing. It fed on his faith, on his courage, and at the same
time, fueled them. Slowly, he ran two fingers up the flat of his
sword, "⌈Legionbreaker.⌋"
The feeling he had was hard to explain. It felt like... even if he had
no hands, he'd know where his sword was, wherever it went.
The tent group had grown quiet, ooh-ing and aah-ing at Justus'
soft execution of his skill.
He opened his eyes... only to be disappointed.

His blade's point had been sheathed with a brilliant piercing gold...
and it dissipated. He had successfully cast ⌈Legionbreaker.⌋ He
knew from the way it looked and from the sharpness he felt in the
skill's formation that it would pierce through thick metal armor.
But it wasn't quite the same.
When Zehr used the skill, the light his sword had was brilliant and
white. Clearly, the powers he drew from were... nothing short of
divine. And while Justus' bright gold was still impressive to
everyone else... he had seen a higher level. He wanted that... at
least a little of it.
He groaned in frustration, rubbing his red hair. He slipped the

sword back into its sheath, "It's not enough."
"What are you mad about? It looked fine!" Rena complained.
"It's very impressive to learn a skill so quickly, Decanus," Gia

added. "It looks like you've practiced it to a Middle Completion
Rating? Or close to it."
Justus took another deep sigh. A general feeling of discomfort

pooled in his gut. He knew his complaints were ridiculous.
He decided to change the subject, "Why do you think the skill is

called ⌈Legionbreaker⌋?"
Gianna tapped the beauty mark on her lips, one of the loveliest
quirks she had that Justus admired the most, "Well, I have an idea
on that. At first, it might seem the skill was developed to use
against Tyrion legions."
Justus frowned. That wasn't what he wanted to hear. Why would

Zehr have such a treasonous skill?
Rena pursed her lips like she'd bit into a lemon, "That makes no
sense, though. The skill channels radiant mana. And that's
something, you know... the Tyrion military is known for."
Gia nodded, "Right. So what I'm thinking is... the skill might have
been made to combat the legions of the seven hells. I've read
stories that they have black-armored, rank-and-file devil soldiers,
in a perverse mockery of our own military."
Rena bounced in her seat in excitement, "Ohhhhhh, I love it.

Maybe Zehr's a demonslayer!!"
Gia laughed politely, "Um... a devil-slayer. I think they're different,

but it's not something that the general population is allowed to
study."
Realization rocked Justus' entire body. His heart began to pump

faster and he felt sweat begin to form on his forehead.
That was it. He'd figured it out.
That was the reason Zehr was so secretive. That's why he could
talk to the kobolds. That's why all of his abilities were high, even
though he was only a Bronze-Ranker like himself.
His class must have been Hero... or a branch of it.
It was the rarest and most powerful series of classes throughout

the realm.
He must have been on some super-secret mission... maybe for

the Archbishop? Whatever it was, Justus was both glad he had
never doubted him and that Zehr had joined them.
Modestus interrupted the silence by groaning and standing up in

the driver's seat, "I can't wait to be off this wagon and finally reach
this Flame-scarred quest. The old wagon was better! My arse has
been rubbed RAW!!"
Various members of the tent group muttered their agreements,

some lightheartedly mocking Modestus' weakness. A few
members, including Rena and Gianna, giggled at Modestus'
verbiage.
Justus pieced the puzzle in his mind together. Zehr's presence
probably had to do something with the quest the Rhodok
adventuring company had accepted.
While it was good that Zehr was around... it was also a sign of
trouble.
...Maybe the quest was more troublesome than anyone had

thought.
"Seven hells, Brother-Immortal!" The engineer exclaimed.
He was on the team that worked tirelessly at repairing the wagons

recovered after the kobold attack, "I've done the best I can with
the tools and time they gave me."
Modestus laughed, "Well, you did terribly. Why aren't our wheels
made of gold? Where is the barrel of wine I *specifically*
requested?"
The members of the tent group burst into laughter. Even Justus
spared a chuckle.
After the laughter calmed, a scout muttered, "At least we're

moving faster since we're down to a single cohort."
The wagon grew uneasily quiet. The scout frowned and turned
away, likely regretting that he'd soured the mood.
Modestus sighed, "Aye... at least when everything's gone to shite-

- it can only get better from there, eh?"
Low mutters of approval followed Modestus' words, as well as

loose strings of curses and prayers.
"Yep..." The old Immortal nodded slowly, "Almost done..."
"The quest, Brother-Immortal..." Justus asked.
Modestus shrugged, "Some lizard in the mountains. Nothing to

worry about, young Decanus."
Justus hadn't worried about it, either, until his recent realizations.
If Gianna's guesses were true... a Hero like Zehr fighting against
the fantastical devil legions of hell... then the lizard they were
hunting...
Could it be a dragon?
Chapter 243 Children’s Tales
ena stood up suddenly, clumsily stumbling to the side. The

R
wagon rocked uncomfortably, as its inhabitants grabbed onto the
railings to steady themselves.
Justus narrowed his eyes to look up at the agitated girl. Had she
understood it too? That Zehr was more than he let on?
"Justus, wait... Hold on... Do you think we could be...?" Rena's

anxious voice was rapidly climbing to a higher and higher pitch, "I
mean we-- the Rhodok adventuring company, are we..."
Suddenly, she dropped her voice low, "Are we hunting a--"
"I'm gonna stop you right there, Miss Leopardon," Modestus

raised his voice.
"--Oh. Sorry..." Rena pursed her lips and sat down obediently.
It seemed that 'Brother-Immortal' had a higher place in Rena's

heart than her Decanus.
"That's bad luck to talk about, Little Miss... real bad luck,"
Modestus muttered. "There's a big lizard in the mountains...
maybe an overgrown snake or a crawling lizard with legs--
whatever monster it is, it's a mundane one."
"If it's grown as large as the rumors say, it may have been alive for
a century or two." Gianna nodded sagely, mulling the thought
over, "While uncommon, it's not unheard of."
It was nice that Gianna always had something intelligent to say.

From what Justus understood, she was the daughter of a Tyrion
military officer-turned-merchant. She had a bit of higher education
and didn't show it off often. She couldn't, anyroad, not amongst
the unlearned folk that were her peers.
...including himself, of course.
"Right. Whatever's in the hills, it's not gonna breathe fire or

whatever," Another of the veterans agreed with Modestus.
The engineer nodded, "Won't have wings-- and even if it did, it

wouldn't be able to fly. That's not how physics work."
Rena leaned over to Justus, whispering properly, "Wouldn't it be

cool, though?"
"No, that-- is dumb." He emphasized each word, to make a point,

"You-- are also dumb."
The crossbow girl puffed up her cheeks in disagreement, but

Justus was too preoccupied with his thoughts to care.
It was a horrifying thought.
According to the legends... dragons were massive creatures that

could fight entire armies, flying overhead and breathing flames or
bolts of lightning or noxious clouds of gas. Their armor was harder
than steel plates, and even if a spear or arrow were to get past
that, there was still a thick layer of flesh to cut through before
causing any substantial harm.
Worse still, they were intelligent, conniving creatures. While some

tales told of goodly dragons that aided heroes on their quests,
many more cast them as villains. Dragons were enigmatic
creatures of supreme power and could only be challenged by a
team of Gold-Rankers... and led by one stronger... An
Adamantine-Rank.
That's what the stories taught him... If dragons did exist, it was in
legends... stories of a bygone age.
...Just like the Hero class.

He shot an uneasy smile at Gianna. A few suns prior, Ferrutius
had called her the Shield Hero.
A new thought formed in his overworked brain... Maybe Hero

wasn't a class, at all... Maybe it was a title.
Gianna returned his smile, her blue eyes thinning to gentle

upturned lines. It calmed him greatly... and he fell in love all over
again.
She was certainly strong enough, wonderful enough to rate such a

title.
Gia took Rena's hand in hers, "Miss Rena, don't worry. There's
nothing to fear from something that doesn't exist."
Rena puffed up her cheeks, "I know... but... but they did exist, at
one point, right?"
They did... in children's tales... Just like faeries and gorgons and
chimerae.
Gianna beamed, placing her palms on Rena's cheeks and

smooshing them, "They did, indeed."
Many of the veterans averted their gaze. Even the engineer and
veteran who were naysaying dragons earlier understood the mood
and kept quiet.
No one would refute the Shield Maiden-- the invincible shield that
could save them from certain death in battle. And especially not
when she was just being polite to Rena.
Even Caelistis never got on Gianna's bad side, and he was the
biggest blockhead that Justus had ever known.
"According to legends," Gia began. "--the various territories of

Tyrion are named after ancient dragons."
The few veterans having side conversations stopped to listen.

Gia's angelic voice and a lighthearted conversation about
children's stories had an alluring air to them.
"The Kasydon territory is named after the mysterious dragon
known as Kas. He was all-knowing and never doubting, and
because of it, he was ever-loyal to the Old Empire.
"Nerine to the east was named for Neerin Neelia, the wisest of
dragons. The ancients claimed that she guided the maths and
sciences, propelling our Empire to the forefront of modern
technologies of the time."
The way Gia spoke to Rena as if telling a bedtime story to her

daughter-- not that it was far off, with Rena's personality.
She gauged everyone's interest and continued, addressing the

entire wagon, "Even our capital city, Rixus, is named after Rixen,
the most powerful of dragons. His flames were so hot, it could
melt rock. Some mountains still bear those scars."
"Ooh, oooh. What is Ezyria named after?" Rena giddily hopped in

her seat.
...She really was like a child.
Justus wondered if his and Gia's daughter would have the same
excitement... the same look of fascination in her eyes.
Gianna rubbed the top of Rena's hand, exposing her true class as
Adamantine-Rank Mom, "Ezra was the dragon of the forge-- her
scales were a cold, hard metal, and she gifted them to the men
and women of the Empire to make unbreakable weapons that
thrummed with the power of draconic mana."
Rena tilted her head up, staring up at the sky, deep in thought.
Justus had heard of the stories but never in the detail that Gianna
had explained. The various veterans, too, nodded in wonder.
It was interesting, and... no one had anything better to do than

listen.
...Gia could sing, too. That was an even rarer gift than her telling
old stories.
Modestus turned about, stretching, "Ah, look at you lot. Is that
what we do, now? Listen starry-eyed to old wives' tales?"
He spoke with mirth in his voice, trying to lighten the mood.
Gia tilted her head, "Are you saying you'd dismiss the words of
your wife, Munifex Modestus?"
"I uh..." Modestus ducked his head low, refocusing his attention on
the horses, "Ah, sorry. I have to pay attention to the uh... driving."
The wagon erupted in snickering and laughter.
Gianna laughed politely, "You have a healthy fear of women,

Brother-Immortal. That's probably why you're still happily married."
The wagon shook with another round of laughter-- at Modestus'

expense. The old, red-faced man chuckled along in agreement.
Marriage, huh? Justus looked at the side of Gianna's face as she

stifled her laughter with her dainty hand.
He wanted to be married... perhaps on a sun much like the current

one.
Chapter 244 Saving Zehr
Justus was in deep thought...
Somehow his brain wouldn't let go of the thought of marriage. He

had someone he liked. She was sitting next to him.
"In other news..." Gia tilted her head. "I heard that the Eastern
States have recreated replica weapons of ancient Tyrion steel.
They call it Arcanite and the make looks remarkably similar and
they say it holds a mana-charge remarkably well-- though it's not
like they're going to take our ancient weapons out of museums to
test the theories."
The blonde woman looked back to Justus.
Oh. Was he staring again? Uh...
She winked.
AH!
What was she saying? Everything she'd said, Justus had forgotten
completely.
"Look alive, Justus League." Thankfully, Modestus saved Justus

from more awkwardness, "It looks like the Deca-- err, the
Duplicarius is heading back."
Another veteran groaned, "Maybe he's gotten another Flame-

scarred promotion, so we all can be more confused at what to call
him."
"I think we'll be fine," The scout on the opposite side of Rena
nudged her with his elbow. "--as long as we don't mistake him for
a girl."
Rena pursed her lips, "My husband can be a girl if he wants to be!
There's nothing wrong with that!"
Her outburst was met with polite stares, all around.
Justus was sure there were one or two things wrong with her
statement-- but its message was... sound? No... it was better not
to address it.
Zehr's horse galloped by and quick-turned, adjacent to the wagon.
Gianna whistles, "Ohhh... wow. That maneuver was actually quite

difficult. It looks like the Duplicarius is either a noble or used to
work on a farm."
Justus' eyes widened in surprise, "How do you figure that, Gia?"
The corner of her luscious lips curled up, "Not everyone has
access to a horse, silly Decanus, especially in Tyrion. Have you
forgotten?"
He had.
"Nobility's more likely," One of the veterans offered. "He talks

funny-- how I expect a noble to sound."
"Mhm." "Yeah, he does." --the crowd murmured agreement.
Justus stood up and offered a hand to Zehr, "Welcome back,

Duplicarius."
Zehr stood up on the horse, grasped Justus' wrist, and stepped

onto the wagon, "My thanks, Decanus."
Strangely, Zehr turned back to the horse, "You have performed

your duties well, Heracles. Go with honor."
The horse-- apparently named Heracles, neighed in... a salute? It

sped off, galloping back towards the front of the caravan.
...The tent group-- especially the engineer, stared in even more

wonder than at Gia's stories.
It only occurred to Justus then, that there was no accompanying
Eques to guide Zehr's horse back.
...He wanted very much to ask if that was okay, just letting
Heracles go like that.
"Is everything alright, Duplicarius?" Gianna asked.
The visored Zehr took a seat, "It is not. You can tell?"
She tilted her head, "No. You generally hide your emotions well,
so I figured it faster to ask."
Zehr shook his head and shrugged, "I gave the Primus Pilus a
suggestion. It was rejected outright."
...Gianna was the smartest woman Justus had ever met.

However, everyone in the tent group sat up anxiously and grew
silent, after hearing what Zehr had said.
"Wh-what's going on?" The engineer asked.
"The Duplicarius knew about the kobold attack before it

happened," One of the veterans explained. "And of course, it's the
mushroom brains of our leadership that decided to ignore him."
"Yeah, if Zehr thinks something's wrong, by the Flame, we're

gonna listen," The scout added.
"I see..." The engineer nodded gravely, "We have to do

something, then."
Modestus turned around, keeping his voice low, "How about we

break one of the wagon wheels? We'll have our wagon trail at the
back of the caravan?"
A few voices of assent encouraged the plan.
The engineer looked unhappy about it, "Can we... pretend to have
a malfunction, instead?"
Zehr pursed his lips.

Rena looked to him with worry in her face, "Are we gonna be
okay, Zehr?"
"Yes, of course. Why wouldn't we be?" He responded.
"Is it because you're going to protect me?" Rena squealed.
"Is it because you have faith in our skill and camaraderie?" Justus
asked.
"Is it because you're planning to pull a few crazy stunts like you
did the other sun?" Gianna questioned thoughtfully.
Zehr tilted up his visor, revealing narrowed eyes and a thin crease
between his eyebrows, "I feel like there may have been a
misunderstanding..."
Gianna sighed, trying her best to smile-- though Justus noticed

her eye was twitching, "Duplicarius... what did you tell the Primus
Pilus?"
Zehr returned her look with a serious gaze, "I suggested that his
horse, Bucephalus, would enjoy more fruit in his diet."
Eight out of ten members of the tent group tried to throw Zehr out
of the wagon.
It took Justus at least twenty minutes of arguing to get them to

calm down. It was the first time he actually missed Caelistis for his
ability to demand obedience.
...
A few hours later, the Rhodok adventuring company had reached

the mountain. The slightly reduced First Cohort-- with many new
transferred groups, including Justus' own, would be trekking
through the forest and rocky lands. The Second Cohort-- made up
of a few tent groups of mostly Immunes, would care for the injured
and watch over the remaining wagons and horses at the
mountain's base.
As they marched on foot, a few Equites came by to pass word,
their horses in a trot. The scout group was 30 minutes to a full bell
ahead, so communication was paramount. Justus' tent group
could see the group ahead of them talking amongst themselves,
checking their weapons and gear in anxiety. It was obvious that
the word the Equites were bringing was more precarious than
usual.
Justus watched a clearly-struggling Decanus Ferrutius approach,

circling the tent group on a familiar horse before coming close. He
wrapped his forearm around the reins, pulling hard-- causing the
horse to rear up and whinny in distress.
"Whoa there! Come on, girl! Seven hells, work with me!!" Ferrutius
scolded Heracles.
"Your equine companion does not like you pulling on *his* bit so
hard, Decanus Ferrutius," Zehr warned.
The orange-bearded Decanus scowled, "Oh, it's you. Do you have

any other suggestions, Duplicarius?"
Zehr shook his head, "Heracles is a stallion-- a *male* horse. And

he prefers the company of women."
Gianna took the hint, and with a reassuring hand on Heracles'

neck and her gently whispering, she managed to calm him down--
the horse, of course.
Justus nodded, "Decanus Ferrutius, what's the word?"
Ferrutius shook his head and spat, "It's bad up ahead, Justus. The
Centurion's looking for archers, as well as any volunteer Bronze-
Ranks and higher."
Chapter 245 Requested By
Name
ycondrius placed his hand on his chin, tapping his cheek with his
T
finger.
"Decanus Ferrutius, I have some questions."
"Eh?" Ferrutius raised an eyebrow, "Come on, Zehr. Don't waste

my time. There's a monster out there, killing off what's left of us."
Tycon ignored him, "Tell me of your... 'monster.'"
Justus nodded, "If you would, Decanus Ferrutius. It's important."
The wild-bearded Decanus groaned and rolled his eyes, "It's a

Flame-scarred cat with wings. It's fast. It swoops down and shite...
uh... like a hawk-- except it's a few hundred librae of muscles,
claws, and tail-spikes."
"You mean like... a lion?" Justus asked.
Tycon grimaced, "Tail-spikes, you say..."
He didn't like the sound of that. It sounded like something he was

familiar with... a type of Chimera. Chimerae were strange beasts,
cursed by magic, comprised of parts of other creatures. Ram
horns, fire-breathing lizard maws, and venomous, scorpion-like
tails were common...
With leonine features, wings, and tail spikes, Ferutius' monster

was likely a Manticore, a Gold-Rank creature. It wasn't particularly
strong, but the ability to fly, though not particularly acrobatic, could
be used to devastating effect on the swaths of Unranked and
Bronze-Rank Rhodoks. That, and adult Manticore could launch
their tail spikes with fair accuracy, easily able to pierce the
leathers the archers wore.
It did have its weaknesses... but none seemed particularly

relevant.
Tycon turned to face the young female, Holy Bolter Rena. Small.
Weak. Chimera also tended to be intelligent. She'd be targeted
near immediately when it sensed her weakness... or the fact that
her glowing silver bolts posed a threat.
"Rena, don't go."
She was readjusting the shoulder strap on her crossbow and

fiddling with her quiver pouch. Suddenly, she halted her actions,
staring blankly, "Wait, wh-what?"
"I said: Don't go."
Tycon hated repeating himself. However, he wished to make his

point clear.
He could explain the minutiae, tell her about the Gold-Rank

creature... remind her that she was weak and that the forward
group would ultimately survive, even without their help.
...but it was irrelevant. The only important concept he wished to

convey was that he, personally, did not want her to leave. He had
grown fond of the honest girl... not romantically, but her presence
was comforting.
He had a scout once, in guild Sol Invictus. Kimura Tamaki died

miserably, in a land far away from his home. They couldn't even
recover his body. While Rena wasn't a part of Sol Invictus... still,
he preferred her alive, rather than not.
"Zehr, what in the seven hells do you think you're doing?"

Ferrutius scowled, "The old man of the Rhodoks, the Centurion
his'self wants *all* the archers."
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "You can have Placidus."

The scout gulped, "I'm... I'm injured, Duplicarius."
Atop his mount, Ferrutius tilted back his head, biting his bottom
lip, "F*ck you, Zehr."
Tycon sighed. He snorted in a very particular manner, "(Put him in

the dirt, Brother-Heracles.)"
Heracles, the mighty war-bred stallion, reared up on its hind legs,

whinnying, "(GET THE F*CK OFF ME, YOU FLAME-TAKEN
SHITE!!!)"
"Oh! What the--" Ferrutius was thrown off, his back crashing
against the hard dirt, "AWWWGHHH!! Really?! Gods damn,
REALLY???! Flame take you, you STUPID HORSE!!"
"Language," Tycon frowned... "I owe you a small basket of hard-

fruits, Heracles."
Heracles' heavy hooves, each the size of a human's head, began

to stomp down violently, trying to crush Ferrutius' face into a paste
of meat and broken bone, "(NAH, YOU GOOD!! I'M DOIN' THIS
FOR FREE!!!)"
Tycon widened his lips into a displeased grimace. He hoped

Ferrutius would survive this-- not that he would be blamed (or take
credit) for the Decanus' death. As much of a prick Ferrutius was,
every skilled Rhodok could still be attributed to the mission's
overall success.
...And though Heracles was gleefully trying to extinguish Ferrutius'

life, Tycon planned to collect a basket of fruits for the war-horse by
sun's end. Favors must be repaid.
Ferrutius had managed to right himself, pointing his sword at

Heracles' snout, "Don't TEST me, horse."
Heracles stood defiantly, his massive frame towering over the

human Decanus, "(I've already TESTED you, and the results say
YOU'S A B*TCH!!)"
The war-horse suddenly jerked forward, a feint. Fooled by it,
Ferrutius retreated, yelling and slashing his sword in a desperate
defense.
"(F*ckin' try me,") The war-horse snorted. "(I'll f*ckin' EAT you.)"
"That's quite enough, Heracles, Hero of Ezyria," Gianna gently

chided. "Any more and one of you is going to get hurt."
"--and it's going to be Ferrutius," Decanus Justus added.
Heracles whinnied arrogantly and turned away, "(You lucky, b*tch.

You LUCKY I'm a ladies' horse-- an' that the pretty lady asked all
NICE.)"
Gianna pat the Heracles' nape, "That's a proper gentle-horse,

Heracles... and you're quite a handsome creature, too."
"(Awww, yeahhhhh. I like what you be doin' with those hands, girl!
How 'bout you an' me go back to mah stables after all this quest
shite?)"
The Shield Maiden smiled.
...Tycon was fairly certain she didn't understand what Heracles

was saying... nor did he wish to elucidate her.
"(B*tch, you fiiiine,)" Heracles nuzzled his head against Gianna's.
Tycon held out his hand, outstretched to Rena, "Stay with me."
The archer girl stared at it, beside herself.
Was she drooling? Ugh. He wanted to tell her to have some self-
respect, but in this case, her lust could only help convince her.
"Hey! Hey, Zehr. What the hells are you doin'?" Ferrutius growled,
"Holy Bolter Rena has been requested by name."
"She's not coming with you," Tycon lowered his opposite hand,
placing it on his sword.
"Duplicarius, calm down. You're getting worked up," Justus
frowned.
Tycon took a deep breath... Indeed, he was. He had no right to

stop Rena... She was a Rhodok, after all.
"Decanus Ferrutius." Justus called out, "Who... who requested

Rena?"
The orange-haired Decanus rolled his entire head to show his

annoyance. The seriousness of the act was severely diminished,
as he was keeping his eyes and sword pointed at Heracles,
"Scoutmaster Constantina. She's in charge of all the archers in
the cohort, now."
Tycon felt Rena take his outstretched hand into both of hers... but
she folded his palm closed.
The young woman looked up with eyes sparkling in the sun.
"Thank you, Zehr," She said. "I know you're just worried... but
Decanus Constantina needs me. As much as I like you, my duty
to the company is going to come first."
Tycon felt his heart ache. He clenched his teeth as his fist
trembled lightly in her small hands.
Duty always came first. It was a trait he admired in the various

guilds and militaries he had come across. That honor and the
glory of upholding it, even at the worst of times, was something
that he sought to instill into the members of his own guild, guild
Sol Invictus.
He took his hand back and took his other hand off of his sword,
closing his eyes in displeasure.
Rena wasn't a child. She was capable of her own thoughts and
had the free will to choose her actions.
He had to trust her.

Chapter 246 Heroine Of
Leopardon
ecanus Justus grimaced. Sixtus' words from a few suns prior

D
echoed in his head. Clouds formed in his mind under their
shadow, just as passing clouds overhead turned the journey
dismal and sunless.
'You're a born leader, Hero of Leopardon... In the dire straits of the

Rhodok adventuring company, we're giving you a chance to act
like one.'
This was Rena's chance.
She was the hero of her own story... and moving to Constantina's
aid would ensure her rise in rank in the Rhodok company.
The Witch of Leopardon needed but to be unleashed upon her

enemies.
He steeled his courage and spoke in the proudest voice he could,

"Go where your heart tells you to go, Rena."
Ferrutius snapped, "Oh, COME ON, Justus, you can't be--"
Justus waved his hand to halt Ferrutius' words.
"Go or don't go. I will take the blame if you want to stay here," He
smiled.
Rena nodded, "Th... thank you, Justus."
"Now THAT is a Decanus worth following," the old man,

Modestus, laughed.
...
Rena's heart thrummed with pride at Uncle-Immortal's belly-

shaking laughter.
It was a routine call... to support Constantina with her crossbow...

Still, the way Duplicarius Zehr was acting, made her a little
anxious.
"Yeah, save our scouts, Rena!" "It might be dangerous." "Yeah, be

careful, girl." --The tent group was enthusiastic in their support.
"Stick to cover. Remember your training," The injured scout

offered.
Rena nodded, smiling to Justus.
There he was, her super-handsome friend. He was such a

dummy, but he was always honest, innocent, pure. She always
treated him like the crybaby he used to be, growing up.
...But somewhere along the way, he grew up. She didn't realize
when it was, exactly. She knew it for sure with his declaration, just
now. Maybe he had grown up a little when he took that helmet
from Zehr. Maybe he grew up way before her, when he set off
from their hometown of Leopardon to join an adventuring
company.
She bowed lightly, "Thank you, everyone."
"Hahaha! Just be careful, little one!" Modestus assured her, "Run

and hide, if you need to."
"I will, Uncle-Immortal!"
The old man chuckled, scratching his beard.
She turned to Zehr... The most handsomest man in the entire

company... and the man who was desperately trying to convince
her to stay, out of... worry? Jealousy?
The thought of it was making Rena's heart gush with love and
affection. Even now, Zehr was half-turned away. His strong jaw
looked both majestic and forlorn, as he gazed at the cloudy
horizon.
Rena knew she was being a bit selfish with Zehr. She unfairly
forced her feelings onto him...
She couldn't help herself. She loved him so much, and she... just
wanted to drop everything and be with him.
But that's not how the world works. There were things more
important than crushing on the manly hunk of manliness that was
Duplicarius Zehr.
There was honor. There was pride. There was doing everything
she could to help. She joined the Rhodoks to keep Justus out of
trouble-- and sometimes, it felt like he took care of her more than
the other way around.
Someone needed her help. She was asked for by name by

Scoutmaster Constantina.
She wouldn't betray that trust.
Rena thought to herself... that she could be a little selfish. Zehr

promised he'd protect her, after all. That meant he liked her, at
least a little bit.
She took his hand in hers. It was still a little shaky. Her heart was
racing crazily as her hastily made plan was coming to fruition.
As he turned to face her, she found her chance.
She lifted herself up on the tips of her toes and placed her lips
against Zehr's.
Soft. Every bit as magical as she'd hoped. Her heart was

pounding so hard. it hurt-- but it was a lovely feeling. She loved
the way being with Zehr made her feel.
...She swore she could hear bells ringing-- but that was definitely
just in her head.
Zehr opened his eyes in disbelief, "Rena... you..."
"I'm going, Zehr. Thank you for worrying about me."
The green-haired man gulped audibly. "I don't want you to go," He
whispered.
Rena's heart somehow beat even faster-- a hundred-thousand

miles per second, "Hey... can we... can we go steady, after? I
mean... like... as lovers?"
"Tss," Zehr scoffed and turned away again. "Come back alive and
we shall discuss it."
Rena jumped up, embracing Zehr's neck. She planted a dozen

kisses on his confused face.
Jumping off of him, she yelled, "It's a DEALLL!!!" And she pumped
her fist down in victory, "You all heard it! I called him! He's
MIIIINE!!"
She would survive, no matter what! With all the energy and good
luck she just stole from Zehr, Rena felt invincible.
Ehehehe!
She dashed off to the side, adjacent to Heracles. She was pretty
light, so she wasn't worried about startling him too badly-- she
climbed onto a stirrup, then mounted the saddle.
"Heracles! Zero to hero!!!" Rena yelled, pointing towards the front

of the caravan.
The horse bucked up, neighing, more than willing to be her

companion in crime. And so, Heracles galloped forward, as fast as
the wind.
...
Justus watched Ferrutius run as fast as he could for several steps.
It was useless, of course, and he quickly slowed.
Heracles and Rena were just too fast.
"Ohhh, FLAME. TAKE. THE BOTH OF YOU!!!!" The Decanus

yelled, falling to his knees. He drove his pilum angrily into the dirt.
It shattered. The rocky terrain, even after the sporadic rains, was
still too hard to pierce.
"What the HELLLS??!?!!?" He screamed, the sound echoing off of

the hills.
Duplicarius Zehr turned to Justus, "With Rena's recent actions,

should I be less worried or... more?"
Justus shrugged in response, "She... she'll be fine."
Rena would be fine.
She was an idiot.
Idiots didn't die.
"She seems to have a lot of respect for Decanus Constantina,"

Zehr mused.
Gianna walked up, "She does... Constantina grew up in a time

where females in the military weren't really respected. It was only
recently that it was opened up to both genders."
Justus smiled inwardly. To be honest with himself, he was afraid

that Rena had only joined the Rhodoks and stuck with it, because
of him. The girl needed to stand up for herself-- to fight for what
she believed in.
She couldn't follow him forever.
Zehr began to walk away... towards where Rena and her horse
galloped off to.
"Wh-where are you going? Duplicarius?" Justus raised his voice.
Inwardly, Justus cursed himself for blurting out such a useless

question.
Of course, he already knew where Zehr was going.

Chapter 247 Crucifixion
ycondrius began to walk quickly. Reasonably, the archers would

T
regroup and discuss tactics before engaging, but he didn't dare
waste time.
Behind him, he heard the sound of Decanus armor rubbing

against the leathers underneath. Its wearer was increasing his
pace to catch up with him.
Tycon glanced over. Justus had eschewed his rank-and-file tower

shield for his lighter, faster circle shield.
It was smart. The two of them weren't going to be utilizing shield

wall tactics. Besides that, maneuverability was more important.
The Rhodok-issued shield was not something that could take a
direct strike from a Gold-Rank beast.
"They're taking volunteers." Tycon didn't turn to face the young

Decanus, "I'm going after Rena."
"I know, and I'm coming with you. Don't try to stop me, Zehr."
Tycon scrunched up his face and raised an eyebrow, "Why the

hells would I try to stop you?"
Justus grimaced, "I mean uh... I dunno, I figured you'd say

something like it's too dangerous or... you wanna keep me out of
danger? You know what-- nevermind."
The sound of another set of rough, ungraceful armor clambered

after the pair.
Again, without turning, Tycon grumbled, "Go back. You're too

slow, you'd only be a hindrance."
"Sod off, Zehr. I have to *walk* back because I don't have my
Flame-taken horse," An insulted Ferrutius replied.
Tycon had forgotten that it could have been Ferrutius. He had

assumed it was Gianna.
...Oh, well. He wasn't going to apologize. He did not like the

orange-bearded ruffian.
The entire prospect of wanting to run off to keep their archer alive
brought a nigh limitless amount of frustration to Tycon. He wanted
to take relax after the Iredar attack, but the fates seemed to enjoy
conspiring against him.
With the pace, he figured he'd be able to at least advise the

archers. The Gold-Rank beast would be simple enough to take
down if surrounded and roped down, utilizing natural cover to
guard against its ranged attacks, and keeping their distance.
Many lives would be lost... but the Rhodoks still had plenty to
spare.
...
Decanus Constantina absentmindedly ran her finger along the

traces of her scar.
She used to hate it.
It never fully healed. It always remained a bit tender. It stung

sometimes when touched by sweat or tears. Sometimes, it itched
terribly, and if she scratched at it, it would bleed. She used to
wake up at night with a pained, bleeding face and terrify the hells
out of her tent group.
She never thought she was particularly attractive. The scar

basically guaranteed that she would struggle to find a husband
after she left the military. The other female Munifices whispered
behind her back how they felt sorry for her...
Their gossip was ridiculous. She didn't need a man in order to be
successful in life.
A mercenary gave it to her during a border skirmish near the end

of her career in the Tyrion military. She drove her sword into his
guts... through his crotch. She spat on his corpse afterward for
good measure. Thinking back, that might have intimidated her
Centurion at the time. She was processed out after her contract
was completed, without being offered reenlistment.
It took more than a few years for her to accept it as part of herself.
She liked her scar-- it was useful. It kept people from approaching
her... and just as she came to terms with her face, she also found
that she... just didn't like people. She functioned perfectly fine
alone. She loved solitude... and whenever she felt lonely, she
relied on one, maybe two peers that she trusted.
She became a Decanus in the Rhodoks... and she gained the

ability to dote on those in her tent group she tolerated and
ignoring or dismissing those she didn't.
The Flame-scarred creature took out her entire tent group of

scouts beside herself and the Ranger, Hestia.
She refused to wipe the blood and viscera from her face and
armor. She was incensed.
In the creature's cruelty, it tore her archers apart, a maw of sword-

like teeth biting off portions of their limbs as they screamed in
agony.
Piece by f*cking piece. Flame take it and all its kin, it laughed as
she ran away. The Flamescarred creature LAUGHED.
"Flame take that girl, Rena! I'll have that bitch crucified if she's not
here in five minutes," She grumbled.
"Scoutmaster Constantina..." Optio Sixtus crossed his arms,

"Crucifixion is reserved for severe infractions of military code, like
r*pe, treason, desertion, and war-related crimes... not for a
Munifex being late."
Hestia came to her aid, scowling at the Optio, "Sister-Constantina

was being *melodramatic* you ignorant male."
"I was just being informational," Sixtus nodded lightly. "I enjoy
crucifying people. It was my job as a Centurion, when I was still
in."
"You should try it, sometime, Decanus," He poked Constantina in

the side, with his elbow.
"Eeeep!!" Constantina let out an involuntary feminine shriek.
She was ticklish. Her mood swung from furious to embarrassed to

murderous.
She turned to glare at the smirking Optio, "My entire tent group
was killed and eaten in front of me, you public heap of shite."
"Whoa, hold on there, Constantina," The old Centurion, Cyrac

approached on his war-horse, Bucephalus. "And you too, Optio.
Stand down."
Still glowering, Constantina and Sixtus saluted the Centurion after

he dismounted.
"Have some respect, Sixtus," The old man frowned. "The

Decanus is distraught. It isn't easy to lose people."
"We've lost an entire cohort." Sixtus shrugged as if it wasn't his

problem, "We'll get more. Lives are the currency of Tyrion, which
we pay to defeat our enemies, after all."
The old military aphorism did nothing to calm Constantina. In fact,

it only pissed her off more. Constantina smoothly drew her razor-
sharp dagger, knowing her actions would get her crucified.
She took some solace knowing that Sixtus wouldn't be crucifying

her. He'd be confined to a bed after she shoved her long dagger
up through his testicles.
"Sister, wait," Hestia placed her hand on Constantina's arm and
pointed in the distance. "It's Heracles."
Constantina looked towards the sound of heavy galloping to see

the war-horse quickly approaching. The lithe form of Holy Bolter
Rena sat upon his saddle.
She narrowed her eyes. It was a feat for the girl to get that unruly
horse to heed her commands. The horse was known for biting and
throwing off any rider beside the Eques who had cared for him.
...That Eques wasn't around anymore. She was killed by having

her insides feasted upon as Constantina watched.
"It appears that Decanus Ferrutius understood the priority of his

given mission, giving Rena the horse," Centurion Cyrac nodded
hopefully.
"Improbable," Sixtus shook his head. "More likely that Ferrutius

was thrown off."
"That pig..," Hestia groaned.
"Worthless trash," Constantina muttered. "Rena, dismount! We're

moving in to attack. Now."
Chapter 248 Team Zehr
unifex Rena dismounted Heracles and looked at the surrounding

M
archers. She didn't recognize any of them, besides Hestia.
"Um... Decanus Constantina?"
"Walk and talk, Munifex." Constantina, the scarred, certified

badass, turned to her subordinates, "We move!!"
"YES, DECANUS!!" --The archers screamed as one.
"--Y-yes, Decanus!!" Rena was a bit late-- eh... Everyone glared at

her.
'Come on, guys!' She thought, 'It's my first sun in the archer
group! Go easy on me...'
She waved goodbye to Heracles and hurried her pace to catch up

to them, "Decanus um... with all due respect, is this... everyone?"
They had twelve archers-- the Centurion and the Optio were
coming too, as well as Fortuna, and a tent group of Decani and
Munifces from the First Cohort, proper... But they should have had
at least thirty archers left?
Constantina's archer groups introduced themselves to her, the

previous evening. Word had passed quickly that she was going to
be taken under the Scoutmaster's wing. It was an honor only
given to the Iron-Rank Ranger, Hestia, before her. They had even
heard that Constantina had a positive opinion of her, so they
wanted to see how weird she was.
"Little Sister," Hestia walked beside Rena. "They were all eaten by
the monster."
"Ahaha..." Rena laughed awkwardly as she jogged along. "No,
really. Are they up ahead? You see, I have this inside joke with
Septimus, and I told him next time I see him, I'd--"
"Munifex Rena," Decanus Constantina raised her voice to

interrupt her.
Oh... Oops. Dumb Rena. Stupid, stupid Rena. She was babbling
again. She told herself she wouldn't babble in front of Decanus
Constantina. She really respected her.
She came the whole way explaining to Heracles how she felt
about Decanus Constantina and reminding herself to keep her big
mouth shut.
At least Optio Sixtus was jogging beside her, opposite Sister-

Hestia. He was handsome. And older. Though to be honest, Rena
hadn't decided she thought older guys were hot until recently. He
still had nothing on Deca-carius Zehr, though!
Rena decided she would forever be Team Zehr.
The Optio smiled at her. But it WASN'T SEXY ENOUGH TO

DISSUADE HER!!!
"Over half of the archers were killed." Sixtus explained, "The

creature was quite thorough-- finishing off those it injured."
Rena's mouth widened into a grimace as she ran.
Her and her big mouth...
She suddenly felt like a big hole was deep inside her stomach.
She really, really needed to poop.
Seven hecks, she wanted to run away and go back to her tent
group.
Ahhhh! She should have taken Zehr's hand! Maybe they would
have made out in the wagon while they waited!!
Stupid blockhead Rena! Why u do dis?!? Renaaaa! I hate
yoooooouu!!
"It's not your fault, Munifex," Centurion Cyrac reassured her, in his
calm old (gross) super-old man voice. "Focus on the task at
hand."
Rena narrowed her eyes. By the Flame, the Centurion was old.
She didn't like guys *that* old. She would have preferred if Sixtus
said that, instead.
"I... I have a boyfrie--"
Constantina cut her off, "The monster has retreated into a nearby
cave. The Iron-Rankers are going to engage it inside. Should it fly
out, which is likely, we're going to place 13 well-aimed silver bolts
into its Flame-scarred face."
"Will your mana hold out, Holy Bolter Rena?" The unnecessarily
hot Optio asked.
"Yes, Optio!!" Rena replied.
If it was only a single sun prior, Rena might not have been so
confident enchanting so many bolts at a time. The other evening,
Zehr showed her that it was wayyyyyy easier to enchant a bolt
than it was a sword.
The experience changed her way of thinking... and it became a lot

easier and less mana-intensive for her to enchant her ammunition.
She wanted to do this not just for herself and for Decanus
Constantina. She wanted to do this for Zehr, too! She had to get
rank and recognition to catch up-- Zehr was a Duplicarius and all.
Rena believed in equal partnership and both spouses working

hard!
Oh, but what if she got pregnant? Ehhhh, then she wouldn't be
able to work for a little bit.
Awww! A baby boy would be soooo cute. A mini-Zehr!! And he'd
be a super-handsome baby, too. Oh, oh!! Gianna seemed like the
motherly type. She'd definitely help care for him.
Rena figured she'd submit a request to become an Immunes. She

figured she'd make a pretty good marksmanship coach like
Hestia-- ooh, or she could be a quartermaster. That way, she
could travel with Gianna, Zehr, and Justus!
All of them, together! Go, Team Zehr!! Woo!
OW!!!
Rena rubbed her forehead. Oh no! It was going to bruise!!
Decanus Constantina had flicked her, hard, with her finger.
"Focus, Munifex. We've arrived," She scowled.
...
Tycondrius strode up to a familiar-looking horse. There was no

leadership or any of Scoutmaster Constantina's scouts or Equites
standing about. Heracles looked more trustworthy than any of the
surrounding Munifces.
"Heracles, report."
"(Oh, the Duplicarius. What up? Ey. Yo girl already went ahead.
There's a cave or some monster lair or whatever further down the
trail.)"
Tycon scanned the distance ahead. There was no cave in

immediate sight. Perhaps they still had time.
"(Look, man, I tried to tell her to wait, but that ho, Constantina--
that b*tch be trippin o'er sum'tin,)" Heracles offered his
consolation.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Your information is invaluable. Thank

you, noble Heracles."
"(No problem, man. Go get her. She a good ho! --but I ain't tryin' to
get at that, see? That Gianna though? Mm-mm! Yehhhh, boy. She
is one FINE piece of a--.)"
"Right, please excuse us," Tycon interrupted. "I'm in a hurry. You

understand."
Heracles neighed in embarrassment, "(Oh, mah bad! Yeah, man,

you go do your thing. Save the girl. Get that good-good. I'mma
chill right 'ere.)"
Decanus Justus had taken off his helmet and was scratching his
red head of hair, "Duplicarius... can you... really talk to horses?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Young man, is that really important

right now?"
Justus looked away, "No... I mean, uh... What did he say?"
"The archers have gone ahead. We need to catch up quickly."

Tycon turned to one of the gawking Decani-- a relatively smart-
looking one, "You there, I need two spools of rope. Be quick about
it."
Chapter 249 Broken Faith
ecanus Constantina leapt sideways through a pair of

D
stalagmites, splashing onto a puddle of stagnant water, and rolling
on the uneven cave terrain. Getting back to her feet, she sprinted
towards the light, as fast as she could.
Her scouts were waiting-- no... The archers were waiting. The only
ones left amongst them belonging to her were Hestia and Rena.
The remaining archers were second-string knuckleheads, the lot

of them... but Constantina could at least rely on Hestia's rapid-
firing arrows and Rena's saint-like aim.
Seven hells... She cursed underneath her breath. Nothing in the

cave happened as she'd hoped.
She, herself, volunteered to be the lead scout. Sixtus denied her.

Still, she insisted. She accompanied the Shields as their rear
guard.
Proserpina was chosen, instead-- one of the injured archers, a

weapons-master who used to be part of her tent groups.
As skilled as she was, the Flame-scarred creature found her

before she found it.
The monster was impossibly quiet... hidden in the darkness. It

stood taller than a man, yet was motionless and invisible amongst
the cave's large natural rock formations.
It ambushed her lead scout, dropping from the ceiling like a

Flame-taken bat.
Another of her family was taken away from her... just like before.
The creature's heavy leonine claws held Proserpina's chest
steady. Its maned head bit down on the whole of her torso. She
heard it again, a sound that would haunt her nightmares forever.
She could swear it was laughing-- chortling as it chewed
Proserpina's flesh and bone with an open maw.
Even though the creature's jaws could certainly bite through her
spine... it didn't. Instead, it... it pulled. The meat that used to be
Proserpina tore, her skin and flesh cut into gruesome ribbons. Its
laughing voice was high-pitched... mocking... blood and entrails
spilling messily down onto the fur of its paws and chest.
Proserpina was killed. Constantina blamed herself.
The girl died screaming, horrified... as her body was slowly ripped
apart.
Constantina knew it was her fault... It was always her fault.
The Shield-bearing Decani and Munifices were amongst the best

the Rhodoks had to offer... the best that were still alive. Bronze
and Iron-Ranks, they were led by Iron-Rank Sixtus and Cyrac.
They could even risk an offense in relative safety, due to the
presence of the Gold-Rank Healer, Fortuna.
Amongst them, they claimed literal heroes of Tyrion-- peerless

melee combatants, proven in the Realm Wars and the skirmishes
and mercenary disputes that followed.
Optio Sixtus had the Champion class, wielding a radiant blade

against his enemies. He was their core, protecting the Rhodoks
with a reinforced shield, impossibly heavy armor, and unrelenting
faith.
She respected the Optio's rank and begrudgingly acceded that he

was the Rhodoks' strongest and most invincible combatant.
Centurion Cyrac was a Fighter, wielding sword and spear with

deadly, unerring accuracy and precision. He always moved to
support his Rhodoks with a well-placed strike. Decades of martial
combat only seemed to temper his abilities.
Constantina had never gotten along well with leadership, but
Cyrac always remained professional with her. She respected that.
The two together crafted and refined foolproof plans for the
Rhodoks... always with a keen sense of strategy, battle tactics,
and troop positioning... Never before had they erred... not until...
the Rhodoks accepted this mission.
Decanus Constantina finally reached the cave entrance, blinded

by the sudden light. She took a short moment to catch her breath.
The archers had all taken cover around a comfortably large ledge
against the mountainside. The area was wide enough that she
could disperse them so only two at a time would be vulnerable to
the creature's attacks. If they were targeted... only the Flame
could help them, then.
They were ready, their bows nocked, their crossbows loaded.

Each bolt and arrow gleamed a dim silver glow, obvious to her
keen eyes, even in the sunlight.
When the creature emerged from its lair, it would be met with all of
Constantina's fury: a vengeful hailstorm of enchanted bolts and
arrows. She was wagering all of her mana, all of her archers... all
of her hopes, on that initial strike.
She rushed to cover, vaulting over a fallen boulder and ducking

down behind its protective cover.
It was the furthest ambush point from the cave and provided a
clear line of fire that wouldn't risk injuring the approaching Shields.
Munifices Hestia and Rena placed themselves there, her two best
scouts. With Proserpina gone, they were her last two remaining
family members.
Hestia was the best archer she had-- claiming the powerful
Ranger class. It was no miracle that she had survived the kobold
onslaught. Though she was separated from her tent group, she
relied on her survivalist skills, her melee prowess at wielding two
short swords, and her keen judgment to survive. She brought
back more than a few dog ears pinned to her belt.
"Are you well, Sister?" She asked.
"I'm fine," Constantina lied. "Stay on guard."
Munifex Rena looked to her with starry eyes, full of worry,

"Decanus..."
The poor girl was a fish less than a week prior. Combat made
them grow quickly.
It was something Constantina knew well.
"Shut your Flame-scarred mouth, Munifex-- I don't want to hear it,"

Constantina growled, keeping her voice low.
Conceal the pain. Men and women die. As much as her heart
ached, she would not show her weakness in front of her last two
younger sisters.
Rena was the most promising Munifex Constantina had met in her
entire career. The girl had good eyes and an archer's instincts.
When she was ordered, she'd fire first, asking questions
afterward-- good questions with the intellect usually reserved for a
Decanus or Officer.
She was also young, unafraid, and full of hope... all things that
Constantina considered detrimental to her growth as a female in a
military profession.
Constantina would train her. She would instill in her fear and a
sense of caution. She would teach her to doubt.
And once the Holy Bolter was guarded, no situation-- no enemy

would make her cry.
Constantina would selfishly take that burden from her and more. It
was by her orders that her archers shot and killed their enemies. It
was by her decisions that young men and women were sent to
their deaths-- dying without complete corpses.
When the creature was finally killed and her family avenged, she
could finally mourn the dead. She could finally apologize for all of
her faults.
When the nightmares would come, she would beg Proserpina for
forgiveness.
"Did Pina die a quick death?" Hestia asked.
"She died honorably," Constantina lied again.
"Are... are we going to be okay?" The young Rena asked

hopefully.
Constantina grit her teeth. Her answer was silence.
"This thing... It's killed so many people." The crossbow girl

squeaked in a small voice, "M-maybe I should have brought my
boyfriend..."
Hestia grimaced. She took her right hand off of her bowstring,
rolling her shoulder and stretching her arm back, "A word of
advice, little Sister: If you have faith in someone, they'll let you
down. He is a man, after all."
The young crossbow girl's face turned a shade of crimson, "A-are

you saying... that I should date a woman?"
Constantina narrowed her eyes, "Both men and women are

capable of betraying your trust."
Hestia opened her mouth to respond-- but was interrupted by a

thunderous crack of the boulder they hid behind. Dust kicked up in
the surroundings.
Not good... With that, the archers were blind.
The Munifices under her command began to shout...
"It's HERE!!" "I can't see SHITE!" "Hold your fire! HOLD!!!" "Where
is it?!!"
Constantina began to stand, to shout her orders... but then the
second peal of thunder split the air.
Chapter 250 Family Of Failures
ecanus Constantina blinked the dust out of her eyes. The

D
explosion had sent her tumbling painfully across the rocky terrain.
The surface of her right arm had been torn raw and hundreds of
tiny pebbles had been embedded into her skin.
There was a chain of four or five explosions... What... happened?
With one hand, she hung precariously off of the steep cliff edge.
She tossed her shortbow up and, clenching her teeth, she pulled
herself up.
The cloud of sand and dirt still hung in the air, a blinding curtain of
death. Was someone screaming? A high-pitched whine resonated
inside of her skull.
What was going on? Did the creature use a skill? Was it magic? It
was like the explosions from an alchemist's bombs-- but all of the
Rhodok Immunes with alchemy proficiency had been culled.
Constantina grabbed her bow and glanced over at the cover they
hid behind. The heavy rocks had been cracked and shattered by
an undeniable destructive force. If she and her sisters took the
blast directly...
She peered through the clearing dust... seeing Holy Bolter Rena...
She was safe... but her back was against a dying tree and her
eyes were wide in shock. Not good.
Her hearing began to return... but Constantina almost wished it

hadn't. She heard Hestia... hidden somewhere inside that cloud....
the sound of her whimpering and crying, marred by the ugly song
of the ringing in her ears.
"ARCHERRRS!!! FIRE!!!" Constantina screamed at the top of her
voice, sounding muted in her own head.
She dropped to the kneeling and began quick-firing arrows at the

dark shadow in the cloud. The archers were out of position... she
was in danger. She still gave the order to fire. Rhodok bolts and
arrows sped passed her, some mere inches away from critically
injuring her.
With a downward swoop of the massive leonine creature's wings,

the dust cloud dissipated.
It was a mountain cat with scaled wings-- but bigger than any lion
she'd ever witnessed in a Tyrion arena. One of its furred paws
was held in front of its head, over a dozen arrows pricking it like
needles. Constantina had burned through the entirety of a quiver,
and most of it was blocked.
Dozens of arrows jut out from the creature's hide along its back
and sides... But... if it was bleeding, it was barely noticeable. If it
was hurt, she couldn't tell.
The creature had pinned Hestia to the ground, placing a heavy

paw on her chest. The Ranger held both of her hands in front of
her face, sobbing. Her stomach had been lacerated open and it
was taking small, quick bites of her insides.
It shook its leonine head, much like a kobold would shake off
water, allowing its thick, furry mane to protrude the stench of blood
and rot.
"You are QUITE good at WASTING your energy," The creature

taunted. Its... voice was... like plucking discordant strings of a harp
with a rusty knife.
"Y-you can speak?" Constantina's mind raced.
The creature was intelligent. That meant... everything it had

done... it had done on purpose.
There was no instinct in the way it killed her archers... not in the
way that it slowly tore Proserpina apart. And the way it was
torturing Hestia... there was only cruelty.
In a smooth, steady motion, Constantina began reaching her hand

towards her second quiver.
"By ALL MEANS.... Go aHEaD," The creature leaned forward,

over a ton of muscle mass crushing Hestia's chest.
"K-kill me, Sister..." The dying Hestia managed to groan.
It would be the last thing she'd say. She tried to gasp for breath,
but the pressure on her ribcage and lungs prevented her from
doing so. As a futile act of resistance, Hestia struggled to push off
the creature's paw.
It was a pathetic joke... but the dying struggled against death,

even against reason.
Constantina clenched her teeth. Should she shoot a useless

arrow at the creature's face? Or should she place it through her
sister's skull and end her suffering?
"Eternal Flame, guide my spear!! ⌈Leap Attack!!⌋"
The Shields had finally emerged from the cave-- one of them
desperately charging to attack.
Constantina watched in horror as the lion's spiked-mace tail

slammed into the charging Decanus-- the spikes piercing into
Decanus' torso and entirely through his neck and head. The dead
body was raked across the ground, leaving a bloody streak in the
dirt. With lashing motion like a whip, the creature's tail flung the
lifeless body past her and down the steep drop.
Constantina made her decision.
"H-heal!! One of my archers needs healing magic!!" She yelled.

She fired a well-aimed shot at the monster. Bolts and arrows and
pila from near all directions bounced uselessly off of its sides--
only one in a score of them piercing its hide.
The creature quickly tilted its head, Constantina's arrow bouncing

off of its hard skull, and not into its soft eye like she'd hoped,
"OHHH!! You have a HEALER!!! You humans are quite prepared.
Which one is it? Which ONE??"
"Belay that order!!" Optio Sixtus' voice cut through the din of
battle. "Do NOT heal Munifex Hestia. Do NOT give away your
position."
"Constantina!" The Centurion yelled, "Magical healing won't heal

an injury of that level!!"
Decanus Constantina blinked away the tears she always tried to

hide. He was right. They were both right. The Gold-Rank Healer,
Fortuna, was capable of miracles. But as a human-engineered
miracle, it had its limits.
With Constantina's hearing returned, she noted that the yelling

positions of Sixtus and Cyrac meant they were surrounding the
creature. They would lose archer support-- but it seemed the only
thing Constantina's family was capable of was letting the Rhodoks
down.
The creature lifted its paw off of Hestia's chest and smashed it
down on her leg.
"Bah. You HUMANS and your uniforms." The creature let out a
high-pitched groan, "You all look the SAAAME!!"
"NOOOO!!!" Constantina screeched, straining her voice.
If Hestia survived, she'd never walk again.
Constantina stood, walking towards the creature, firing arrow after

arrow, aiming at its eyes-- looking for any possible weak point.
Ignoring the arrows bouncing off of its face, the creature slammed
its paw down again, crushing Hestia's hips. Finally, the Ranger
was shocked into unconsciousness.
Constantina prayed Hestia wouldn't wake up. She couldn't

imagine the pain she'd undergo if she did.
Chapter 251 What Comes Next
Decanus Constantina reached into her quiver.
Empty.
Flame take her. How could it have been empty? Had she really
gone through two quivers of 60 arrows each?
She hastily scanned the blood-soaked ground around her. There

were many arrows lying uselessly-- but she'd have to spend
precious moments searching amongst them for undamaged
arrowheads, unbent shafts, and intact feathering.... No, she
needed... That! Hestia's dropped quiver!
Sister Hestia used a shortbow, like she did. Her quiver would be
full. She found herself in the creature's grasp before she fired a
single shot.
Constantina made a mad dash towards the winged lion and her
fallen sister.
"Ihihihihi!!!" A massive cat paw crashed down-- not on Hestia, but

on the ammunition Constantina desperately sought, "Looking for
THESE??!? Aiihahahaiihiii~!!!"
Scoutmaster Constantina skidded in the dirt, barely avoiding a

swipe of the laughing creature's claws. She threw herself
backwards, rolling to her feet in an acrobatic tumble.
The arrows... She grimaced as she looked at the trampled

container. They would be bent and useless, if not broken.
Constantina drew her long, sharpened dagger. She wasn't

confident of her chances in close combat-- the creature's claws
would break her body and rend her flesh. She'd be maimed. Then
she'd be tortured.
But Flame take the beast-- she wouldn't die without struggling to
the last... just as Hestia did. At the very least, she swore to die
with her eyes open.
The creature whirled around, smashing its spiked tail into the
Shield-bearers surrounding it. One Decanus' shield was pierced
through entirely. Knocked away, the woman's back struck against
the uneven mountainside. The only movement left of her was from
the blood pooling underneath her shield.
The tail was a death sentence to any Shield-bearer that took a

direct hit, save Sixtus-- and even he angled his shield to deflect
the blows.
A CHNK of a crossbow sounded off, close to Constantina.
A glowing silvery bolt pierced the side of the creature's cheek.
The winged lion contorted its face into a disgusted frown. "Mm...
Your arrows... they BOTHER me... It makes me feel LIKE... killing
ARCHERS! HAHA!"
Why? Why would it say that? Dozens of arrows were pierced into
the creature's hide out of hundreds fired.
"Why?! Why my archers???!" Constantina shouted, "AND WHY

won't you DIE??!!"
The creature grinned, bits of Hestia's guts evident caught in its

teeth, "You must BE the leaderrrr. I'll saaave you FOr LAassst!!"
"Flame TAKE YOU ALL!!! Throw the nets!!" Sixtus screamed.
It was too late. The creature spread its wings and dashed towards
Constantina, dodging the series of thrown nets and pila. It leapt
over her and down the steep drop... Soon, its wings would catch
air. Soon, it would fly up to kill the rest of her family.
Constantina clenched her jaw. She knew what she had to do.
She dashed to Holy Bolter Rena. Her hands shook as she
fumbled to reload her crossbow, taking cover behind a dead tree.
"C-constantina! I shot it... It-- I don't know. It wasn't enough." Rena

babbled. Her head suddenly reeled back with a thought, "Let me
enchant your arrows! D-don't worry about my mana!! We have to
kill this thing!"
Scoutmaster Constantina grabbed hold of Rena's wrist and began

to drag her away, "Listen to me, Munifex. You will withdraw,
immediately."
The fool child's eyes widened, her pupils shaking. She pulled her
arm, uselessly, "B-but... No! I won't leave you, Constantina!"
Constantina stopped and slapped the girl hard across the face,
"This is no time for your stupid sentiments. I gave you a direct
order!"
Rena shut her eyes, the side of her face reddening. She
screamed, "And I'm choosing to ignore it on account of your order
being STUPID!!"
Constantina took a deep breath, her entire body trembling in

anger.
She would have done the same. Exact. Thing.
The pot of emotions in her heart had boiled over. Adrenaline

coursed through her veins, raging at the fallen. Her heart surged
with pride, irrevocably stained by guilt. The pure and innocent love
and respect of Constantina's newest, youngest sister cracked the
iron barrier guarding her feelings.
She pulled Rena into her arms, "Listen to me, girl. You're the best
archer that I've ever known. I know you've worked hard-- I know
you've struggled. I've been tracking your progress since you
began basic training, long before you became a Munifex."
"I... No-- I don't understand! Decanus, please!!" The child in her

embrace began to choke on sobs. Though she denied it, Rena's
tears proved that she understood clearly what needed to happen.
The winged beast flew up... past the two of them... high up into
the air.
"Ohhh, AAaaaaRCHeeeEEERRRS!!!" The creature sang, its voice

an ugly, varying pitch.
Death was coming for her and those under her command.
Constantina averted her gaze from the beast. She grabbed onto
Rena's shoulders and pushed her to arm's length, "You have
talent. You have perseverance. The Flame has blessed you with a
high-tier class to show for it. I know you're strong enough to get
through what's going to come next."
Tears ran freely down Rena's dusty cheeks, "Constantina, no!

What are you saying?"
...
Optio Sixtus cursed his thrice-damned inability. He wasn't strong

enough to nullify the Manticore's tail with his shield. The fact
turned the fight from a contained undertaking to a slaughter. In its
clumsy flailing, the beast injured and killed over half a dozen
Rhodoks-- but it was still too early to reveal Fortuna.
She had the Healer class, but her martial skills were only about
the level of a basically trained Munifex. If she was targeted and
killed... No, it wasn't worth the risk of saving only one or two.
The Rhodoks utilized Fortuna after battles, saving the lives of the
injured. Any in-combat healing spells were to be used with priority
on himself and Cyrac. They were the strongest Iron-Rankers and
essential battle-commanders.
In front of the forward team and the archers, Sixtus loudly ordered
Fortuna to ignore Ranger Hestia's injuries. Fortuna would be
obedient-- it was not the first time he gave such an order, and
never before was the situation so treacherous. It was more
important to win the battle than it was to save a single person...
It was a shame. Hestia was an excellent scout.
Constantina would never forgive him. Fortuna already hated him,

so there was no loss there.
The Manticore flew up high, spinning acrobatically in the air and

whipping its tail. Its tail spikes-- longer and thicker than Tyrion
swords plummeted down, embedding themselves into the rocks
near the archers hidden behind cover.
They were inaccurate. None of the archers were hit.
Sixtus quickly identified six different bone-yellow spikes dispersed

around the archer line.
Wait, no. No!
"SHIELD WALL!!!!!" He screamed. He smashed the bottom edge

of his shield down into the dirt. "Eternal Flame, ⌈Protect the
Faithful!!⌋"
The others immediately heeded his orders, interlocking their

shields, facing them towards the bone spikes.
Sixtus remembered hearing a thunderous series of explosions

before the forward group emerged from the cave. There was a
cloud of dust and the rocks near the cliff edge had been broken as
if by a huge force.
He stared at one of the spikes through a thin opening between his

shield and the Decanus to his right. His vision was colored silver
through the protective mana enchanting his and his Rhodoks' wall
of steel. Would it be enough?
Though the bone looked solid, it began to expand-- its surface

bubbling as if it were a gelatinous soup. There was an unseen
pressure inside, pushing outwards.
And when the pressure grew too great...

Chapter 252 Distance
he archers began to panic, some yelling, some cowering in

T
confusion. A few brave fools continued to fire arrows at the
skyborn creature.
That bastard, Sixtus, ordered a shield wall formation.
Decanus Constantina focused on Rena, ducking behind cover and

pushing the crossbow girl down, beside her.
Rena wiped her tears with the side of her wrist, "Wh-what's
happening?"
"After the explosion, you're going to run," Constantina explained.
"But--"
"Listen, for now, dear sister."
Rena pursed her lips, nodding, though her tears continued to fall.
Constantina continued, "I wanted so badly to train you... to hone

your skills, to teach you to ignore those who hate you. Your
archery... it's a gift... and you need to use it to save as many
people as you can..."
She closed her eyes for a moment, opening them to reveal an

expression of pure hatred and unabating fury, "--by killing every
Flame-taken bastard who threatens your friends and family."
BOMMMM!! BOM BOM BOM!! A series of explosions, ear-

piercing peals of thunder, reverberated throughout the cliffside.
The ground shook, a light rain of dirt showering the two of them.
They were unhurt-- the ringing in their ears would only be
temporary. Still, Constantina yelled over the scream of her dying
allies, "You have to RUN!! GO!!!! NOWWWW!!!"
The creature landed.
It was like a cat, making next to no noise as it hit the ground. It

was ridiculous. The creature had to have been a thousand librae
of muscle, spike, and claw.
Constantina felt the monster's breath, hot against her back. The
acrid stench of rot made her want to gag. Rena was frozen in fear,
staring up at the creature's face.
Fight. Flight. Freeze. They were the three human responses in

times of crisis.
The winged lion revealed its maw full of blood-and-gut covered

teeth, "Hello.... ARCHERS!!!"
Constantina kissed Rena's forehead, waking her from her reverie
"Go," She urged once more before turning to face the monster,
"⌈Shadowtooth Strike.⌋"
Dark clouds made of mana burst from her form, shrouding her
movement. She pushed Rena away, towards the hill they had
initially ascended. There was plenty of cover on the way. She'd be
fine.
Besides, Constantina would provide a worthy distraction. She

leapt up towards the creature's face. She let her instincts take
over... smooth, swift, and faster than her senses could fathom,
she plunged her long dagger deep into the murderous lion's eye.
It roared in pain, stumbling backward, "Yooooou BIIIIITCHH!!!

Howw DARE YOU strike ME... after.... ALL of my MERRRCY!!!"
Constantina kept her eyes on the creature. She hoped that Rena
was running-- but the only thing she could hear was the
impossibly fast pounding of her heart. The only thing she could
feel was every muscle in her body aching, screaming in pain. She
had utilized nearly all of her mana, pushing her movement
technique to its limits.
She screamed as loud as she could, "I've gone my entire life

wishing that someone saved me! The stupid, useless Munifex with
a scar who only had to rely on herself!! Be that person!! Survive
this, Munifex Rena! Stay with the Rhodoks!! LEAD MY
ARCHERS!"
The winged creature bounded forward, reaching forward with both

of its monstrous claws, ready to score Constantina's flesh and tear
out her insides.
"Save that little girl..." She whispered...
In her mind, she thought the words she could not say... 'Be her
friend. Show her that it's okay to trust... some people... Don't let
her become like me.'
A thousand librae crashed into Constantina. One of its claws

swiped down, searing heat erupting from the entirety of her left
arm. Her arm was severed at its shoulder-- how could it still hurt??
Its other paw pinned her down. Her ribs creaked... they were
breaking. Blood was pooling in her lungs as she began to choke.
The lion-beast leaned in, staring down at her with its one
functional eye, almost as big as her head.
"Remember when I said I'd KILL you lasssst???" The heat of the
creature's breath stung Constantina's eyes... "I lied."
Constantina only had a few more moments of consciousness

remaining... She reached out her right hand towards the dagger
embedded in its left eye.
...
⟬ A few minutes earlier. ⟭
Tycondrius spotted the creature, flying... At the distance, it was

barely larger than an insect.
His earlier conjecture was correct. It was indeed a Manticore.
It spun in a circle, whipping its tail swipe around. A Munifex

plummeted off the side of the cliff, falling hundreds of fulms below.
He hoped it wasn't Rena.
Justus drew in a big breath of air as he ran alongside him, "Z...

Zehr... We can sprint... We... we can make it."
"No. This is my pace, which is still faster than yours." Tycon

responded, "If we go any faster, you will be useless once we
arrive."
With his Iron-Rank physique, he had no issues jogging and

holding a full conversation. He found the situation strange. He was
one of the slowest members of Sol Invictus, but it seemed that
was a terribly unfair standard. The young Decanus was being
pushed, but the pace was still tolerable.
"Go... ahead... I'll... catch up," Justus spoke between breaths.
Tycon frowned. He didn't know the situation he'd be getting into,

but all signs thus far suggested it was a poor one. Rena may have
already been killed. No, he'd rather make a safer play and enter
combat with Justus at his side.
As good as his offensive skills were, Tycon's most powerful skills

increased the strength of his allies, not his own. If he were forced
to show the Rhodoks that he was, in fact, an Iron-Ranker, Justus
would be his instrument of war. Because of the young Decanus'
trust, only he could receive Tycon's Command skills without a
mana backlash or a reduced effect.
"Cease your complaints. Focus on running," He handed Justus

one of the bundles of rope. "Hold this. Don't release that knot."
The red-crested Decanus took hold of it, placing the heavy loop
around his shoulder. The weight was not conducive to his running,
but Tycon needed to tie a quick rope knot into the other bundle.
The young Decanus started, "What... is..."
"Focus, young man. I'll explain," Tycon interrupted. "That is a

lasso, commonly used to reign in cattle."
The terrain had changed to a bit steeper-- Tycon slowed slightly to

ensure Justus wouldn't be pushing himself too hard, "We'll tie the
end to a sturdy base. I will be throwing the opposite loop. It may
be able to limit the Manticore's movement."
Tycon grimaced.
The more time that passed, the less likely he felt that Rena would
still be breathing when they reached the battle.
He couldn't help but begin to distance his feelings from the archer
girl. Yes, she provided pleasant company. It was common in her
conversations to stoke his ego. It was nice to be reminded that he
was incredibly handsome.
The creature would fall even without their help-- the Rhodoks' core
force was strong enough to ensure it. An inefficient strategy,
however, would still result in an unnecessary amount of deaths.
To a Gold-Rank adventuring company from the Holy Country,

Munifex Rena was an acceptable sacrifice.
The concept annoyed him greatly.

Chapter 253 Illusion Of Safety
⟬ Several minutes earlier. ⟭
"Do you really have to do this, Gianna?" Modestus crossed his

arms, "And isn't it a bit late to go after them?"
"Which is why I had sent word for a horse," Shield Maiden Gianna
mounted the gorgeous, red-brown mare. Her mount's coat was
mottled with white; her legs, muzzle, tail, and mane were cutely
tipped in black.
Gianna wanted to keep her.
After her father returned from the war, he became a successful

merchant and landowner. Those suns of carefree horse-riding and
doing as she pleased were long behind her. She joined the Tyrion
military, searching for the same glories that he had. And in doing
so, she found a new family-- one she wanted to protect, dearly.
Gianna smiled to reassure her overly protective tent group. None

of them wanted her to go after Zehr and Justus. Her father never
wanted her to join the military, either.
She tilted her head, "Everything's not as it seems, Uncle-

Immortal."
The old man scratched at his greying beard, "That's what I'm
saying, Gianna! It's too dangerous. The Duplicarius will take care
of it!"
"We can't rely on Zehr for everything..." Gianna lamented.
"Pshhh," Modestus scoffed. "Sure, we can! That's how our tent

group's made it this far! We'd 'ave all been dead and dog-shite if
Caelistis hadn't had his face decorated by crossbow bolts."
The tent group mumbled in agreement, but Gianna shook her
head. She was the strongest in their tent group besides those who
had already left.
"The entire cohort owes it to Zehr for their survival," she declared.
"I... have a gut feeling that we won't complete the mission without
his help."
No one could say anything to that. It meant that even if they hadn't
said it aloud, they understood it in their hearts.
Gianna tilted her head, "Wish me luck, gentlemen."
"Bring the three of them back safely!!" "Don't you dare die,
Gianna!" "Do your best, Shield Hero!!"
Modestus grimaced and saluted, "Flame protect you, girl."
...
⟬ Current time. ⟭
Tycondrius finally approached close enough to identify the

Chimera's features. A slight part of him hoped it was actually
something else-- a weaker, more predictable creature. But alas...
⟬ Blast-Spike Manticore. Gold-Rank Magical Beast. ⟭
"What are.... those... explosions?" Justus wheezed.
He debated telling Justus in detail... but it would be mostly

useless. What would he do with the information?
The Manticore was a type of Chimera that grew bony spikes on its
tail as a defensive measure. The spikes could be released with a
flick of its tail. Worse was the fact that there were still several long,
protruding spikes remaining... no more than six.
Worse still was the fact that the specific Manticore's spikes would
explode in bursts of bone-fragments, causing catastrophic
damage to the humans. He hadn't heard of such a phenomenon,
but it's not like he could argue against what he saw nor with the
System's additional details.
"It's called a Manticore. It launches giant bone spikes. Don't get hit
by them. Also, they explode," Tycon summarized.
If Justus was caught up in the blast, he would be almost certainly

be killed. The magnitude of such an attack would severely injury
Tycon, himself, or at least incapacitate him.
Tycon grabbed onto the back of Justus' armor and guided him
towards cover. The young Decanus collapsed with his back
against the rock, struggling for air and rubbing his aching legs.
"Rest. Catch your breath. Take a minute or two," Tycon warned.
Thankfully, Justus acquiesced without arguing, grabbing his

waterskin, and attempting to drain it down his gullet.
Tycon snatched it out of his hands, "Drink slowly, fool. Small sips.
We're about to join a battle."
He returned it to the embarrassed young man, who sipped

obediently like a child. Tycon examined his surroundings... There
was a sturdy looking boulder he could tie the end of his lasso
around.
Peeking over from the rocky side of the mountainous wall, he

observed dozens of bodies... Archers, it seemed, though Tycon
did see at least one fallen shield-bearing Decanus. Centurion
Cyrac and Optio Sixtus were still alive, some 60 fulms away.
The Rhodoks's shield-bearers had surrounded the Manticore. The

beast was struggling with thrown nets, its hide ridden with arrows.
Tycon was thankful that someone had figured out to bring at least
that much.
It could have been worse, of course... but they had made it in a

reasonable time. His and Justus' presence could save a few lives.
Turning back to the Decanus, Tycon judged him momentarily
useless. The wheezing swordsman's hands were trembling too
much to work a proper knot.
Tycon began to tie his rope to the adjacent sturdy boulder, "We
will move together when you're absolutely certain you've regained
enough energy to execute your skills."
Justus nodded quickly, closing his eyes and focusing on his

breathing.
Tycon glanced out from their cover, once more... He scanned the
surroundings for a second stable point.
He noticed with interest that a sword-- no, a knife had been driven
to its hilt into the Manticore's left eye. But still, it was valiantly
fighting its useless battle against the humans.
Seven hells, the creature was stupid. Had it truly wanted to

survive, it should have fled... Tycon surmised that perhaps there
was a brood it was protecting-- some kind of logical reason it was
unable to leave so easily.
There. Tycon. spotted it. Near the front of the cave, there was a
thick, sturdy stalagmite he could tie his second lasso to.
He turned back to Justus, "60 seconds. Will you be alright to

charge in 60 seconds?"
The young Decanus nodded quickly. He was wise to save his

breath.
"Count to 60, then come out and follow. I'm going ahead."
Tycon slunk his way out from hiding, moving quickly and quietly
along the rock wall.
"ZEHHHR!!!"
It had only been moments before his stealthy movement was

spotted. Tycon's eyes widened, turning towards the voice. Holy
Bolter Rena had emerged from cover and was making a mad
dash towards him.
Unfortunately, the Manticore noticed, as well... and it was closer to

Rena than he was to her.
"RENAAAAA!!" Justus yelled.
Further increasing his troubles, Decanus Justus left his hiding

spot, running towards the girl-- he was still out of breath, waving at
her like a maniac.
"GRAAAIIIIIIIIHHHHH!!!" The Manticore in the distance

screeched. It whipped its tail towards them, launching its
remaining bone spikes. They plunged into the dirt, narrowly
missing the running archer.
She continued to run... but she wouldn't be able to get far enough.
Tycon skidded on the dirt and sprinted back towards Justus.
Reaching out his arms, he speared his shoulder into the young
man's abdomen and grabbed the back of his legs to take him
down.
A loud series of explosions shook the earth, engulfing Rena in a

cloud of dust.
Chapter 254 Divine
Enchantress
There was dust... so. much. dust.
Justus was laying on the hard ground, his entire body aching...
winded from Duplicarius Zehr's tackle. The visored Duplicarius
was... holding onto his ears? A rain of dirt covered his face and
hair.
He shook Zehr off, spitting dirt, "Rena... is she...?"
"She's dead," Zehr stood up. "The plan continues. I'm going to
rush--"
"No!!!" Justus got to his feet, shoving the Duplicarius away.
Rena can't die! That was impossible! He refused to believe it.
He ignored his aching legs, he cursed his burning lungs, and he

rushed into the dust cloud.
Aghh! Powdered sand and debris filled his vision. He choked and
sputtered from breathing it in. With tear-filled eyes, he struggled to
find a sign of Rena. Getting down on his knees to crawl, he
searched for her with his hands.
Blood. Everywhere. Wherever he placed his hands, he felt the

sensation of syrupy dirt.
He patted something. It was Rena-- it must have been.
As the dust began to clear, he embraced her fallen form, "RENA!

Rena, it's me. It's me. Everything's going to be okay."
"Fool girl. You were safe, hidden behind cover," Zehr emerged
through the dust like a demon, shrouded in the shadows.
Justus looked down at Rena's body.
Her left arm was... missing. Her blood flowed freely onto the dirt,
pumping in spurts in time with her slowing heartbeat. Justus
gripped onto the bloody remnant of her arm tightly, trying in vain to
keep Rena's life essence from spilling out between his fingers.
The right side of her face was torn, a mass of red blood and flesh
and what remained of an eye.
"J.. Justus... I can't see..." The girl whispered hoarsely.
"Shh... Don't talk. Everything's going to be alright, Rena. Please.

Just... stay with me." Justus pleaded.
The emotionless demon crossed his arms, "I apologize, Munifex

Rena. I couldn't protect you from such a distance."
Justus held the dying girl close. Tears streamed down his face
and anger welled in his heart.
He drew his sword, turning back to the Duplicarius, "Flame, TAKE

you Zehr!! Do something!!! HEAL HER!!"
"Preposterous. Healing? Me? Take a look at her injuries, young

man, and you'll see that she's not going to recover."
Flame take it all... Justus knew it in his heart that Rena was
beyond saving. But... Zehr had done so many amazing things...
He hoped... he grasped at the tiniest bit of hope that the
Duplicarius would be able to save her...
Instead, Zehr saved him... Why was he worth saving and not her?
Zehr had promised to save Rena. He promised...
"Is... is Zehr here? Did... he come to rescue me?" It was difficult

understanding her slurred speech... the right side of her face was
devastated.
Only the other half was able to smile. Her remaining eye had
rolled back... a single sparkling tear left a streak in the dust
covering her cheek.
Zehr hesitated... "Yes. You need to rest now, Rena."
"I... I can't rest," Rena admitted softly. "Not until... the creature..."
Justus placed his forehead against Rena's, "No... no more, Rena.

Please stop talking. We'll fix you up. Save your energy."
A silvery glow began to emanate from below him.
Justus looked down to see that Rena had placed her remaining
hand on his unsheathed sword... It glowed with a thick
concentration of energy.
Enchantment.
But with that level of mana usage... No... NO!
"Rena, STOP!!!" Justus begged.
She was using the last of her life force to enchant his weapon.
Zehr knelt down beside him and Rena. He reached out and closed
her eye, "Requiesce in Pacem, my young love."
With a bloody half-smile, Holy Bolter Rena fell limp in Justus'

arms.
...
Frustration filled Tycondrius' heart. Dull clouds blotted out the sun
overhead as a grim expression clouded his face.
He told her not to go.
And Justus was nigh useless in his mental state.
Though he could no longer entertain the girl's passing fancy of a

romantic relationship, he could fulfill her last wish. Her soul could
rest after the creature's defeat.
He took one last look at the pitiful Decanus and the crossbow
archer. He had become truly fond of her. Maybe in another life, it
would have been different.
Lasso in hand, he sprinted towards the battle, eschewing his

earlier stealth and cover...
"Duplicarius!!!" The Optio spotted him running and yelled to him,

"This is a Gold-Rank beast! Don't be reckless!!"
Tycon groaned inwardly. It was good advice-- he just hadn't the

patience to heed it.
Though the Manticore was surrounded, the Optio was struggling

against its free-moving tail. The largest of its bone spikes were
gone, but a direct hit would still break a Bronze-Rank's bones and
severely injure the Iron-Rank Champion. Centurion Cyrac at the
creature's front wasn't doing much better-- he couldn't land a solid
attack, risking being eviscerated by the creature's claws.
Tycon skidded to a halt-- he was close enough. He began to whip

his lasso around to build momentum, observing the Manticore's
body.
He found his chance as it tensed its muscles to strike.
Tycon tossed the rope preemptively as it lifted its left paw-- he had
it. He pulled the rope back, tightening its hold. Wrapping the
length of rope around his arm for leverage, he grabbed hold and
heaved back with his Iron-Rank physique. When the Manticore
tried to swing its claw forward, its strike was slowed and
weakened, allowing a surprised Centurion Cyrac to directly block
with his shield.
Tycon didn't have the patience to hide his strength-- nullifying a

Manticore's claw with but a rope was not something a Bronze-
Rank Warrior should be able to do. However, he doubted any of
the Rhodoks were paying him much attention to him.
The white-bearded Centurion dashed underneath the Manticore's
head. Keeping his shield up, he drove a spear into the left
underside of its chest.
The beast roared in pain, swinging its entire body around,

whipping its tail. Cyrac was knocked back. A glancing blow to
Sixtus' shield sent him flying. Tycon dropped onto his hands and
feet to dodge the swipe.
Getting to the kneeling, he put his hand on his sword,

Mana filled his body, accelerating his movement and blurring his
form.
Tycon leapt onto the creature's side, he grabbed onto its fur as a
disgusting handhold and vaulted up to mount its back. He still
carried the bundle of rope over his shoulder. He whipped the rope
around creature's head, hooking its mouth-- pulling it to prevent it
from biting into another of the Munifices.
Exhaling with his effort, Tycon thrust the sword in his hand down
into the Manticore's arrow-marked hide. He wrenched the blade
and pulled it out, a fountain of blood spouting forth.
The creature roared once more, reared up, and flapped its wings.
Tycon was thrown off, feeling the jarring sense of weightlessness
for a scant few seconds... before crashing upon the dirt. He rolled
his body sideways with the momentum, tumbling through rocks
and earning a few fragments of bone in his revealed flesh. He
reached out a palm and his heel to slap against the roll.
Glancing to the side-- he noticed he had stopped himself from

falling off the mountainside. That would have been inconvenient.
Lying on the ground, his arms and legs outstretched, Tycon stared
up at the grey, cloudy sky. The creature was trying to fly away.
There was only one rope... He wanted two. He would have

preferred four or five. But at least he caught its paw... and there
was a loop around its throat.
Chapter 255 Hero Of
Leopardon
J ustus trudged forward towards the Manticore with heavy steps,

crushed by the weight of responsibility. He held the instrument of
Rena's final will in his hand.
The filthy, arrow-ridden Manticore reared back on its hind legs,

baring its bloodstained teeth in a roar. It flapped its wings
downward, the sudden gust of air forcing the surrounding
Rhodoks back.
"OhhHHHh!!! It HURRRTS!!! IhihihiHAHA HAAAA!!!" It cackled, its

raging voice crescendoing to a raptor-high shriek, "Was that
ALLLLLL, HUUUUMANS?!??"
The monster's laughter shook the mountainside, but Justus was

undeterred. His fury would not be denied.
Justus' heart shook seeing Duplicarius Zehr in the distance. He

lied in the dirt, unmoving.
"Flame, take this monster," Justus cursed... "Flame, take this

rotten world. Flame, take... all of it."
Someone's voice was calling him. Was it Cyrac? Maybe Sixtus?

Was it trying to warn him? Was it telling him to stand down?
...to allow an actual Hero to step forward-- where he uselessly

dared to stand in their place?
He dispelled his doubts to focus his attention entirely on the

enemy.
Mana... like a torrential downpour of anger... no... a furious sun of
righteousness was circulating through his body at fantastic
speeds. He clenched his trembling fist, tightening the grip on his
sword.
The power in his body was limitless. Mana spilled out, even as he
walked, glowing bright as a raging flame beneath the cloudy,
sunless sky.
His body was going to break if he were to channel it carelessly...

but that wasn't something he gave any sort of Flame-scarred shite
about.
"OooooOOhh!!!" The Manticore landed back on its front paws,

smashing the body of another Rhodok into paste.
Decanus Constantina, Requesciat in Pacem.
"Anothhherrr ONE." The creature grinned, bits of flesh still in its

teeth. Its earlier anger forgotten, it mocked Justus, "It seems I've
made YOU annngrrRRYy, Human!!"
That the winged lion could speak the common tongue should have
surprised him. Its scratching, alternating-pitch voice should have
unnerved him. He wasn't impressed. He wasn't even curious. Its
anomalies only served as fuel for his hatred.
Nonhumans should be purged.
Justus walked forward. He placed the sword in front of his face.

He held its hilt at his chin, the flat of the blade pointed outward.
The metal swirled with a concentrated, silvery radiance-- the last

of Rena's vibrant life force.
He left the woman dead on the dirt, behind him. She said she
couldn't rest until the creature was killed. And... and she died
smiling, entrusting its fate to him and Zehr.
The Duplicarius wasn't able to protect her... and neither could he.
But he could avenge her. He would ensure that Rena would rest in
peace.
...even if it was the last thing he did.
"Ooooh... Facing me alooooOOOne?? Hur HURR hurrr!!!" The

Manticore cackled, swatting the bloody remains of Constantina
away and off the mountainside, "Who the HELLS do you THINK
YOU ARE?!??!"
Justus whipped his blade to the side, "They call me the Hero of
Leopardon!!!"
He increased his pace to a run, his eyes over his light shield.
"aHhahhHAA!!! A HERO!!! But can you FLYYYY!??!!" The

creature flapped its mighty wings, leaping skyward.
The slackened rope around it quickly began to grow taut. Zehr

wanted two ropes... but only managed to tie one to its paw.
...but the rope was also looped around its neck. When it reached
the rope's length, the creature suddenly jerked in the air,
"HRRRKKK!!!"
The massive boulder it was attached to was shifted several feet

from its position, but with the beast's momentum halted, it
plummeted to the ground, crashing clumsily onto its back.
"Rhodoks, throw the NETS!!!" Optio Sixtus bellowed. "Protect the

Decanus!!"
More weighted nets were thrown-- far too few... but they bought
him a single moment. A single strike was all he needed.
Justus took a deep breath-- nearly close enough to strike... He

exhaled as a blinding swirl of golden mana enveloped his body.
"I never deserved the title of hero...." He spoke the words in his
heart, "A hero protects-- I couldn't even save the one person I
wanted to..."
The mana flowing outward projected his voice, shaking the ground
with each sprinting step.
"But without a shield... I still have THIS SWORD!!" He declared.
"JUSTUUUS!!!" A voice interrupted him... Gianna's.
She rushed ahead of him at breakneck speed, utilizing her mana

not to protect herself... but to accelerate her movement forward.
Entrapped in the nets, struggling and flailing its wings and claws,
the Manticore lashed out with its life-ending tail, "DIIIIIEEEE!!!!"
Gia skidded to a halt. Spinning her back heel in the dirt, she
rotated, directing her reinforced shield to the right, towards the
attack.
Adrenaline coursed through Justus' body. The mana filling

empowering him increased his perceptions beyond the limits of
human ken, sensing everything faster than he could act.
Justus heard Gianna's every word... "I will be your shield, ever
stalwart."
He watched helplessly as the Manticore's tail cut through the air

and collided with the armored Shield Maiden.
Gia's shield dented impossibly inward, ignoring the fact that a

human arm was bracing behind it. The force lifted her off her feet,
and she flew upwards and away. Justus didn't even have time to
blink. The loud sound of a metal heap crashing into rock
reverberated across the mountainside. .
A renewed sense of guilt plagued Justus. Gianna was badly hurt--

he prayed she wasn't dead. His heart wouldn't be able to take it.
She sacrificed herself to provide him the opportunity. If she hadn't,

he would have been killed instantly.
He grabbed hold of one of the spiked protrusions on the

Manticore's tail with his shield arm. As the creature retracted it, he
allowed the momentum to propel him forward, into the air and
towards the Manticore's head.
He no longer wanted to be a hero. His heart yearned only for

revenge.
Chapter 256 Avenger Of
Leopardon
"I judge thee guilty of crimes against humankind."
Decanus Justus, Avenger of Leopardon, soared through the air

towards the Gold-Rank Manticore.
"Beg your god for mercy, for I shall grant you none."
The purest white glow he'd ever seen... even more concentrated
than Zehr's ⌈Legionbreaker⌋, sheathed both his blade arm and the
sword itself.
That was what it was supposed to feel like... the feeling of raw
power, condensed into lethal killing intent. It was filled with pain...
it was filled with hatred. It was his will to avenge... and it was his
desperate prayer to protect those who remained. All this, and was
kissed by a mana that wasn't his own... a foreign divinity that he
felt intimately...
How could he explain it?
Ah... He knew.
"I am the will of the Eternal Flame," Justus declared.
From his sword, a beam of golden light shot up towards the sky,
parting the dull grey clouds. His blade... literally pierced through
the heavens. And his blade... would send the monster to the
Seven Hells in pieces.
"Receive thy ⌈Final Judgment.⌋"

He reared his sword over his left shoulder, then sliced through the
Manticore's neck with the golden beam of light. The crescent of
golden mana went on, scarring the rocky cliffside in front of him
with a laceration five men wide and one man deep.
The Manticore halted its screaming, its head completely severed

from his body.
Justus crashed into the dirt, tumbling and smashing into the
brush.
His mana depleted, his body hungered for more-- he curled up,
his muscles spasming in pain. His body craved more mana... but
though it once ran like water, his mana circulation had become as
labored as thick mud. Pain and exhaustion threatened to halt his
consciousness.
With a trembling hand, he lifted his sword up. He did it. They did it.
...The silvery glow on his blade had begun to fade... the blade
cracking, bits of it turning to mana-dust and dissipating.
"No..." Justus pleaded, "Stay with me... Don't go... Rena..."
But the blade didn't listen. It shattered, not like exploding steel, but
like thin, broken crystal. All that remained were wisps of mana that
gently kissed his cheeks-- and those left him too, taken by the
winds.
Justus placed his hands onto his face and he cried himself to
unconsciousness.
...
"Fortuna, see to the survivors," Optio Sixtus grimaced. He slung

his shield onto his back, rubbing his aching arm. He expected to
feel pain from some of the bones being fractured, but it seemed
the Flame favored him at least that much.
The Rhodoks had lost several Bronze and Iron-Rank shield-

bearers. And the archers... he would consider it lucky had they
two or three left.
"And see to the corpses," He added.
"You mean the bodies," Fortuna glared.
Sixtus grit his teeth in annoyance, "Yes, yes. The bodies."
Cyrac stepped between them, "Now is not the time for bickering,
Optio, Lady Fortuna..."
The old Centurion took off his helmet and placed it against his
chest, "Fortuna, please... Every moment counts."
The Gold-Rank Healer's angry gaze softened, "Yes, Centurion. I'm

sorry, Optio."
Sixtus suffered one of the Centurion's glares. It was a tacit sign

that meant he was supposed to be polite, regardless of what was
logically correct, "You are right, Fortuna. I apologize."
"You there, give me your hatchet."
Sixtus heard a dissident, yet familiar voice from behind him. He

turned to see a young man wearing the modified Decanus helm.
The visor covered the upper part of his face, keeping his eyes
hidden. Duplicarius Zehr snatched a utility hatchet from a
Munifex's hands.
"And you, Decanus." Zehr pointed at another, "I saved you from
being bitten in half."
"You did, Duplicarius. And for that, I am eternally--"
Zehr cut him off and pointed at one of the corpses, "That is
Munifex Rena. Allow no one near her or I will tear you in half,
myself. I will be gathering wood for her pyre."
Sixtus approached warily, "Duplicarius, what is the meaning of

this?"
The shorter Duplicarius looked him up and down, "Optio, with
respect, I will prepare Munifex Rena's funeral rites, myself."
"That won't be necessary, Duplicarius. We will be preparing a

mass--"
"Optio Sixtus," Zehr lifted his visor, revealing sharp, golden eyes.
"I shall do this on my own, with no additional trouble to the
Rhodoks. The only exception is a single Decanus guarding the
body. Afterward, I will subject myself to any punishment, as you
see fit."
The way Zehr spoke in absolutes was a bit forceful, but his words
were concise and still showed deference to his rank as Optio.
Sixtus decided to take no offense.
Centurion Cyrac approached from the side, "As far as punishment

goes, you and Decanus Justus will be joining the forward team,
Zehr."
The Duplicarius flipped his visor back down, "I hear and obey.
Excuse me, gentlemen."
Without suffering small talk, Zehr immediately turned on his heel

to walk away.
Still, Sixtus was disappointed. People were a resource... they

were numbers. He knew their names, knew their strengths and
weaknesses but did not mourn their loss. He had originally
thought Zehr was much like him, a kindred spirit, also jaded by the
horrors of war.
But Zehr mourned. It was a sorry weakness-- and a human one.
"Hold, Duplicarius," Sixtus called out. "Who was... Munifex Rena

to you?"
The Duplicarius stopped, half turning back to project his voice,

"She was my lover."
...
Tycondrius went about chopping wood with great efficiency. With
no one around to observe him, he cleaved the wood from dead
trees using his Iron-Rank physique. In an uncomfortable
coincidence, the one who had taught him best how to chop wood
was Sol Invictus' deceased scout, a young human boy named
Kimura Tamaki. And using those skills, he was planning on
sending off a different scout.
When Tycon had transmigrated, he had no recollection of friends,

family, or loved ones. He had to re-establish those connections,
as essentially a new, different person. But one of the things he did
know... in disturbing detail, was how to build a damned good
funeral pyre.
Chapter 257 Proposal
ycondrius knew the ancient traditions of the Old Tyrion Empire.

T
One of Sol Invictus' members, Lulu, had informed him that most of
his knowledges were epochs and centuries old. But still, he would
act on the assumption that the Tyrion cremation process remained
unreliable.
No, he would not risk a hastily and shoddily built pyre for Munifex
Rena. He'd do it himself. A properly prepared flame had to be hot
enough to burn her remains into ash.
As luck would have it, the grey clouds overhead dared not rain. A
humid environment would be less conducive to a fire. And as an
unfortunate blessing, much of the blood had drained from out of
her severed appendages. The probability of her corpse bursting
and dousing the flames was low.
He washed and dried Rena's body. Having no scented oils to

anoint her, he elected to rub her skin with sweet-scented flower
petals. He took no pleasure in the macabre work.
It physically pained him to part with a single Tyrion silver coin--

placed underneath Rena's tongue... It was only proper. It seemed
Justus, the young Decanus, was unfamiliar with the custom.
Gianna might have known, but apparently, she had taken injury
during the Manticore fight.
For a moment, Tycon wondered if it would be different if he had

chosen to wait for her, too... He quickly discarded the thought.
Hypotheticals were useless for such a specific situation. He acted
to the best of his knowledge.
The coin was a tribute to the old gods-- or somesuch. A Reaper...

or whatever name the concept had in Tyrion culture, would take
the payment, to ensure ease of passage into the afterlife. All
cultures had something similar.
If the memory originated from the "previous" Tycon, then it

seemed that even he didn't care much for names.
The dead were dead. The living remained. Why should he care?
He did not fault the previous-him.
...He wished he knew. In the case he needed to war against the

heavens or hells, he would ask for the Tyrion Reaper by name
and demand Rena be returned to him.
...
Justus woke up in one of the medical tents. One of the Immunes

caretakers informed him that he had suffered acute mana fatigue--
a diagnosis by the Rhodok Healer, Fortuna.
He was certain he had used up all of his life force in his attack
against the Manticore.
...Just like Rena did, enchanting the sword he lost.
It was a miracle-- a blessing of the Flame that he survived. But the

fact that Rena didn't...
As blessed as he was, with all the power he had at his disposal...

he couldn't help but feel a splinter of doubt piercing his heart,
challenging his faith.
He asked the attending physician for Gianna. The Shield Maiden

was only hurt because of Justus' own weakness. He wanted to
know the extent of her injuries. He used his rank as Decanus to
demand the information from the annoyed Immunes.
He was told she was in a different tent... one reserved for those in
critical conditions. He wasn't allowed to see her, but she had
survived and was convalescing.
Justus breathed a sigh of relief. He inwardly praised the Flame,

his faith restored, at least a little.
He sought out one of the surviving archers in the medical tent. He
wanted to ask about Rena, even though it pained him to do so.
Did she do well? Did she run and cry at first opportunity? Was she
brave?
The archer told him that only the bolts she enchanted were able to
injure the Manticore. He lamented that it was not enough to save
Constantina and the others... but the ranged fire was able to slow
and fatigue the beast. Without it, far more Rhodoks from the
forward team would have been killed. The great risks taken by
himself and Duplicarius Zehr had turned the tide of battle in their
favor.
Justus was proud of her... She died with honor. And he would
continue to fight against the evils of the Realm... if only to honor
her memory.
He was released by Centurion Cyrac-- he tried to ask for a

personal favor to see Gianna, but he was denied. Fortuna was
working exhaustively to heal far too many Rhodoks. Gia's fate
rested in the hands of another-- but one well equipped to help her.
Only able to obediently follow orders, Justus returned to his tent

group...
...
Tycondrius met with Decanus Justus after he returned from the

triage area. He seemed well enough to work, so he had him
gather their remaining tent members-- not including Gianna,
anyroad.
Word had spread, even to the camp at the mountain's base. Over
twenty had come-- more than a few female Munifices too, who
wailed with ugly tears. It seemed Rena had friends throughout the
cohort.
He felt a tinge of guilt that he knew so little of her.
The impromptu collection was a modernization of old rites... a

centuries-old ritual where the gathered would say something polite
about the deceased. It was practiced when the Tyrion Empire had
dominated near all the "civilized" parts of the Realm.
They called her... the Heroine of Leopardon. Everyone remained

respectful. It was good, as Tycon did not wish to throw any more
Rhodoks off of the mountainside.
Divine Enchantress Rena's body was burnt to ash, just as the

veteran Crusaders and Paladins in Tyrion legends.
With Rena gone... none of Tycon's doubts remained. He would

complete his mission. And to do so, he would climb a mountain of
Tyrion corpses, regardless of how high it would be.
...
After Justus saw Rena off... he returned to the infirmary tents,

hoping to see Gianna alive and fully healed.
With a crescent moon high, the Munifices on evening watch

escorted him to the Shield Maiden's tent.
"Come in, please..." Gia's familiar voice called. It was hoarse...

parched by weakness.
Entering, Justus fought back tears. Lying on a bed underneath

thick blankets was a frail woman with a sickly pallor. He never
thought the strong, vibrant, always-smiling Gianna could look so
broken.
He knelt by the side of her raised cot, "Gia... I... I'm so glad you're
alive. But... maybe you should rest."
"N-no... I wanted to see you too, Justus," She said shyly. "Be a
gentleman and help me up."
Justus would do anything for her... He helped support her,

embracing her soft, armorless back and taking in the sweet scent
of her hair.
"I heard what happened to Rena... I was... Ergh... Ow..." Gia

winced.
Even though she was in physical pain, in her infinite kindness, she
placed her sword hand on Justus' arm to reassure him.
"I'm sorry," She whispered. "I was moments too late..."
Justus' words were caught in his throat. When her blanket slipped
off of her upper body, he saw an earth-plaster cast had been
wrapped around her shield arm. She had taken a career-ending
injury... and she still cared more about him than herself.
"Your... arm," Justus grimaced, baring his teeth and raising his
cheeks up against his tearful eyes.
Gianna smiled with a hint of regret... "I promised to be your shield,

Decanus."
Justus took her soft, supple hand in his, "Gia... Marry me."
The Shield Maiden's eyes widened, her pupils dilated, "I'm sorry?"
Chapter 258 Breathtaking
J ustus took in a short breath, his lungs refusing to fill on account

of his pounding heart, "I asked you to marry me, Gia. I plan to stay
with the Rhodoks but... you can-- you can serve as an Immunes
or something, a weapons trainer or a quartermaster."
His hands were trembling, his palms covered in sweat. He was

beginning to lose feeling in them, too, from how fast his heartbeat
was going.
"Centurion Cyrac offered me a promotion to Tesserarius... I'm

going to accept the offer. It pays well-- I can support you. Y-you
don't even have to work, not if you don't want to."
Gianna averted her gaze, her cheeks flush, "You know Justus...
My class may be Shield Maiden, but I'm not so pure... I'm... not
really sure if--"
"I don't care, Gia. I love you," Justus declared. "Everything's going
to be okay. I'll take care of you. Please... just let me."
He kissed her small hand, wet from small droplets of his tears, "I
don't want to lose your smile. It's... it's the only thing keeping me
together."
Justus closed his eyes, trying not to bawl his eyes out. So many
different emotions whirled through his mind... Regret, loss,
anxious anticipation for what the future held...
"You mustn't cry, dear Decanus..." Gianna cooed. Taking Justus'

hand in hers, she softly kissed his fingers. "No one should see my
husband cry-- none but me. Your pain... it will also be mine to
bear."
Justus sniffed. He looked up to the love of his life... at her eyes,
bright blue even in the lamplight... at her perfect, comforting
smile... and his breath was taken away, once more...
The woman tilted her head, closing her eyes, curved upward. Gia
was a gentle goddess, healer of his heartache.
Ah!! He was staring again.
"Gia... you mean?"
"I accept your offer," She said simply... but those few short words
made him so happy...
"I... but I..." Justus' mind, his entire thought process shattered. He
didn't think this situation would play out as it did. He had been
toying with the idea in his mind... but it was just that, an
unattainable fantasy.
Opening her eyes, Gia raised her eyebrows.
"Oh, were you not serious, Decanus Justus? You really shouldn't
play with a woman's heart like that," She laughed politely to
herself, but her eyes stayed serious.
Justus wiped his tears with his wrist, gripping Gianna's hand
tightly, "I'm serious about you, Gia. Please marry me."
Her smile still hid something... a hesitation... She lightly ran her
fingers across Justus' palm, "We... can start slow, if you'd like. It
might turn out that you don't really like me all that much."
Justus shook his head rapidly, "No, I've thought this through, Gia.
Really, I have. I've liked you since we've met-- your demeanor,
your temper, your virtues and your vices, all of it. I want to spend
the rest of my life with you--"
"No..." He hardened his gaze, "--whatever challenges lie beyond, I

want you at my side."
Gianna gasped in surprise, holding her hand in front of her chest,

her eyes sparkling, reflecting the dim lantern flame. Her voice
quavered as she spoke, "My... my heart won't stop racing. I
knew... I knew you liked me but... I had no idea... You really..."
"It's true," Justus' lips trembled as he spoke. "All of it. Please,

Gia... Accept my feelings."
He bowed his head to show his sincerity... and to hide his heated
cheeks and swollen eyes.
"I've already accepted, dear husband." Gia sighed as she stroked

his hair, "But I think instead of becoming an Immunes, I'll remain
as your shield. I'll need some time to heal my broken arm,
though."
Wait, what?
Justus shot his head back up, revealing his ugly face full of tears,
"Gia? You're-- you're going to be okay?"
"Well, yes. Fortuna's healing magic is quite effective..." Gianna

pursed her lips, "Decanus... was all that only because you thought
I--"
Holy Swordsman Justus embraced the love of his life, "I'm... I'm
so glad... I'm so..."
He thought he looked pathetic. The tears... they wouldn't stop. But

he didn't care... She said yes.
"Ow... ow... Justus, please..." Gianna's pained voice made him

leap back in sudden worry.
"By the Flame, I'm so sorry, Gia-- Are you okay? Oh-- ahhh!! I'm
so dumb!!" Justus wanted to smash his face against the dirt to beg
for forgiveness.
Gia smiled, a trace of pain still evident in her expression, "No, it's
okay. I... I do like being held by you... But I'd prefer you be
gentle...
"Justus..." She whispered, "I want you to be sweet to me... like I

know you are."
Her words made his heart thump painfully hard in his chest. He
placed his tearful face on Gianna's lap, "I'm... just so glad... You're
going to be okay..."
She continued to stroke his hair... calmly... lovingly, "Dear

husband..."
He lifted his head up, emotions spilling from his heart. He didn't
know what to think... This entire quest had been a series of
unfortunate losses... but something unexpectedly good came from
it, "Y-yes... w-wife?"
Placing her finger beneath his chin, she lifted his gaze up to meet
hers, "Will you lie with me, tonight?"
Justus' heart soared to atop the highest mountains... yet sank to

the lowest hells. Those words... he had never thought-- not in a
million years, that he would hear them. But... he couldn't. It was
too soon.
With Gia's condition... he was afraid he'd hurt her... And besides
that, guilt still plagued his heart from Rena's death.
"Mm... maybe that was unfair of me to ask right now," Gia added,
taking the silence as his answer.
"No, I want to... Gianna, you're... the most beautiful woman I've
ever laid eyes on..."
Gia leaned forward to kiss his forehead, "But?"
"But... just... your condition," Justus curled up his lips. He didn't

know how to decline her without hurting her feelings.
Her kiss filled his entire body with warmth.
"And it's Rena," She offered.
Justus nodded, gulping, and holding back another wave of tears.
"Then I shall ask tomorrow... and perhaps the day after that," Gia
smirked. "Until you are cured of your heartache-- and still after
that... until you get tired of this old crone."
Justus felt his eyes well up again, and he buried his face in
Gianna's soft lap, "Thank you, Gia... I'm sorry, and thank you..."
"Dear husband... I'm sorry, too... I should have never ignored your
feelings for as long as I have."
Chapter 259 Aftermath
It had been a sun and a half since Rena's death. Tycondrius
figured the break would take two-- one for the Rhodok healer to
expend her mana and another for follow-up healing. Reasonably,
they would set out by the morning of the third sun. The healer's
mana would have regenerated in full, ready again to support her
allies.
Then, the Rhodoks would break their bodies against their next
enemy. Repeating the procedure, the healer would repair the
bones of those that still lived. It was an effective strategy.
However, he preferred his Sol Invictus' methods. His own guild

utilized only a few strong adventurers, instead of a mass of bodies
thrown haphazardly at a mission objective.
It was far less... messy.
During the interim, Tycon had the displeasure of watching the

miserable young fool of a Decanus, Justus, mope around.
Munifex Rena's death hadn't been the young man's fault-- it made
no logical sense for him to attribute such a thing to himself. The
girl had chosen the worst possible time to run out of cover. She
even yelled out, marking her position. Worst of all, their particular
enemy seemed to prioritize inflicting pain and grief more than it
wanted to survive.
There was no brood in the cave, no reason for it to remain instead

of fleeing. Tycon snuck out after-hours with Modestus to check.
He surmised that it was merely the Manticore's nature to be cruel.
That was why it was killed. Pathetic.
Concerning his emotions over Rena's death, Tycon was...

annoyed. He enjoyed her company, but it wasn't like she was an
integral member of his Sol Invictus-- not like his previous scout.
Bah. The thought of it only frustrated him more. Tycon couldn't

even identify what exactly it was that made him like the girl. Was it
her instant and willing obedience to orders? Her keen eyes and
accurate shot, perhaps? Or did he, on some subconscious level,
wish to return the young woman's romantic feelings?
It was a useless question, but the waiting allowed him time to

contemplate.
Rena was dead, her body turned to ash.
Gianna was injured-- and even with magical healing, it would take
several days or weeks for her arm and whatever else had broken,
to recover. She, along with others too injured to continue, were
sent back down the mountain to the remnants of the Second
Cohort to convalesce.
Justus... that peculiar, emotional, numbskull, was alive and

physically well. He had even managed to breakthrough mid-battle.
« System, display the information on Justus. »
⟬ System response: Justus, Iron-Rank Holy Avenger. ⟭
It made sense that the young Decanus broke through to Iron-

Rank, despite his age. He was at the peak of the Bronze-Rank,
developing faster than both Holy Bolter Rena and Shield Maiden
Gianna... However... the class-change to Avenger gave him
pause.
His memories marked the Avenger as one of the most useless

classes in the Realm. As an Iron-Rank, his abilities and physique
were all boosted, yes... but the Avenger class was specialized at...
avenging.
They were a valuable and rare class, yes. The Church of the
Eternal Flame would welcome him with open arms. Wielding
greatswords of xenophobic hate and oppression, the Avengers
were bounty hunters of the Church. Their job was to eliminate
traitors, political dissenters, and anything their human masters
deemed as "sinners."
But in a mercenary company? The class had a skill called

⌈Avenger's Oath⌋... an oath not to be taken lightly. It was quite
useful, allowing him to strike unerringly with mana-powered
slashes of radiant energy.
There were two conditions for using it-- the first was against a true
villain, like the Manticore, a murderous and remorseless creature
that reveled in cruelty. The second was after one of his allies had
fallen.
Unfortunately for Justus, not every enemy was a villain. A guild

like the Rhodoks would slaughter tribes of innocent Iredar if they
were granted the mission. In such a case, Justus would be no
better than an Iron-Rank warrior.
And for the second condition... an ability that relied on an ally

being killed was beyond useless in Tycon's mind.
No... the Holy Swordsman class that the young man used to be
would have been far more versatile to develop.
The Avenger was also a mana-intensive class... and if Tycon

judged correctly, the only reason his mana had surged so greatly,
previously, was because their misguided Holy Bolter had instilled
her massive mana pool to supplant his.
Justus even wasted a majority of it, channeling it into his steps

and his voice... even going as far as shooting a beam of light into
the sky. What was he trying to do? Alert every faction in the
mountains that humans had come to invade their territory?
Rena's desperate decision to grant Justus her mana had killed her
far faster than if she hadn't. Tycon would have even considered
taking back the broken girl and hiring her as a noncombatant
assistant-- if she was any good at it, anyroad. Even with one arm
and half a face, she was probably more useful in a fight than
Sorina Capulet, his quartermaster back in the city of Nice.
But still... Rena made a conscious choice-- for that, Tycon could
not fault her.
Empty night.
He could be angry about it, though.
...
Justus was told to fetch Duplicarius Zehr for a meeting with the
Centurion and the forward group. He half-expected to have to
drag him there, knowing his friend's disdain for such events... but
he was pleasantly surprised when Zehr accompanied him without
complaint.
After the initial greetings, Zehr was first to ask a question, "Who's
in the forward team?"
Many around the table glared at him for his forwardness.
Optio Sixtus nodded, "You're looking at them, Duplicarius."
Justus looked around the table set up in the Centurion's military

tent. The forward group was made up of the traditional ten. He felt
a little embarrassed, especially at his friend's demanding nature.
He figured that only he and Zehr were the only Bronze-Rankers
amongst them.
Sixtus briefly introduced everyone around the table, allowing

Centurion Cyrac to brood at the table's head.
"So you're Duplicarius Zehr..." A woman's voice mused... It

belonged to the Rhodok adventuring company's single Gold-Rank,
the head medical Immunes of the cohort, Healer Fortuna.
"Your reputation precedes you, Sir," She offered... though her

voice was... almost mocking.
Chapter 260 Fortuna
enturion Cyrac gnashed his teeth, grimacing. They hadn't even

C
set out yet and Fortuna was picking a fight. The woman knew she
was untouchable as the Rhodok's only Gold-Rank... and she
sometimes threw her weight around when she was feeling...
moody?
Everyone's eyes were turned to Zehr. The young red-headed

Justus audibly gulped. Hah. Even the boy knew his companion
was trouble.
Cyrac anticipated a good show. A little useless anger amongst the

tent group was better than the general dull depression. With the
Manticore's decimation of their already dwindling forces, morale
was not high.
He kept quiet. Fortuna would speak her piece... If Zehr was as

tactless as Optio Sixtus... he would intervene. If not... he would
strongly consider the Duplicarius for promotion, even if he had to
stuff it down his throat for him to accept it.
The visored Duplicarius lightly bowed his head, "Gold-Rank

Healer Fortuna, thank you for your grace in healing my
companion, Shield Maiden Gianna. I am forever in your debt."
"Hmph!" The also-helmeted Fortuna turned away, crossing her

arms.
Oho... That was well-spoken. The young man countered Fortuna's

misplaced aggression with a heartfelt compliment that she would
find trouble to deny.
"I didn't do it for you, idiot," Fortuna muttered.
"Nonetheless, you have my gratitude."

Cyrac raised an eyebrow at Sixtus.
That criminal... The dark-haired mushroom-brain was polishing his

helmet. Cyrac wanted to belt his Optio in the head and demand
that he listen-- maybe he could learn something from the
Duplicarius. He inwardly cursed the fact that he had to play his
persona as the Rhodoks' wizened leader.
Sensing the two's conversation finished, Sixtus returned his gaze

to the table, "The forward group has the highest-rank leadership
among the remaining combatants, as well as a few veteran Iron-
Rankers. Besides detailing the mission proceeding tomorrow, I
would like to address any concerns you may have, as well as
gather your opinions on a few issues..."
Zehr crossed his arms, closing himself off. Cyrac chuckled

inwardly. It would not be so easy to escape Sixtus' nigh-ceaseless
questioning. The man loved meetings, gathering everyone's
thoughts and concerns so he could form a plan to the best of his
ability, to address everything.
Sixtus gestured to Zehr with an open palm, "Starting with you,

Duplicarius."
Zehr uncrossed his arms, facing the Optio, "I have two concerns,
Optio, both of them related."
The Optio nodded, "Go ahead."
"The first is... how many Rhodoks remain? Sending ten on a

mission seems a far cry from our Rhodok Company's usual
tactics."
Fortuna slammed the table, jostling Cyrac's wine cup, "And how
would you know what our Rhodok Company's tactics are??"
Fortuna's question was ridiculous. The Rhodoks used standard

Tyrion military tactics. If his and Sixtus' conjecture was correct,
Zehr was a former Tyrion Immunes, while Fortuna's first taste of
military life was with the Rhodoks. It... seemed that the girl was
trying to seek trouble with the Duplicarius... but he couldn't fathom
any rhyme or reason to it.
"Please, Fortuna. Everyone at this table is important enough to

speak," Cyrac spoke to intervene.
He had initially expected to have to ask Zehr to stand down. In a

strange twist of fate, he had to calm his Healer down, instead.
The willful girl pointed angrily at Zehr in response, "And why do

you keep that helmet on? Do you have something to hide?
Huhhh?!"
Ugh. What was the girl trying to do? She was only digging a hole
for herself to crawl into.
Zehr grimaced, "With respect, Miss Fortuna--"
"Don't call me Miss~! I'm not that old!!"
"With respect... Fortuna..." The Duplicarius paused, likely to see if

he'd be interrupted again, "--I will remove my helmet, if asked.
However, you are... also wearing a helmet."
Cyrac sighed. There it was. Only two people at the table wore
helmets. Fortuna wore a standard-issued Tyrion helmet, while
Zehr wore a helm modified to cover his eyes, allowing him to see
through a narrow slit. He looked quite menacing in the dim
candlelight, but Cyrac knew that the young man did so to hide his
unique eyes.
"Take it off, then!" Fortuna sat back in her seat, thinking she'd
won.
Zehr placed his hands on the sides of his helm, removing it in a

smooth motion. He brushed his green hair back, revealing an
unfairly handsome face, youthful features, and a haunting golden
gaze.
Fortuna... gawked, her face as red as a tomato... Cyrac thought

she looked like a farmer's daughter seeing a soldier for the first
time.
Flame take it all. Cyrac had a feeling this would happen as soon
as his Healer mentioned Zehr's helmet. That thrice-damned
Duplicarius was probably the handsomest bastard in the
company.
"Y-y-y-y-your eyes..." She stammered.
"They are gold, yes," Zehr replied. "And yours are purple."
Amusement prickled Cyrac's heart. It was rather difficult to discern

the color of Fortuna's eyes in the dim light. He would have asked
for him instead of Proserpina, had he known just how good the
Duplicarius' vision was.
"Fortuna," Sixtus gestured to the Healer. "--if you would."
"Wh-wh-wh-wh-what? Wat?" The girl stuttered and babbled. Any

train of thought she might have had, had been run completely off-
path.
Cyrac did his best to hide his amusement, smiling and adopting a
polite tone, "Fortuna, the Duplicarius has complied with your
request. Would you remove your helmet, as well?"
She obviously didn't want to, but it was perfectly fair. She did so...
but in an excruciatingly slow, obstinate manner.
Removing her helmet, Fortuna revealed dark purple hair in a

braided bun... and two elongated ears, marking her as an
Outsider with an elven bloodline.
More than a few eyes around the table grew wide-- far more
surprised at Fortuna's ears than Zehr's eyes. This was the grave
that Fortuna had dug for herself.
Cyrac wasn't sorry in the least.
Not many of the Rhodoks knew that their leadership recruited

those with Outsider-blood. It was because of that policy that they
had discovered Fortuna in the first place... an Unranked girl,
useless at combat, with an honorable dream to save lives-- to
make a difference.
"S-s-s-s-stop staring!! Idiot!!!" Fortuna growled, "You've got elf

blood too!! Don't try to deny it!!"
The golden-eyed Duplicarius smirked. He whispered something--

and Cyrac could swear it sounded like a... a pleasant song? A
magical phrase of some sort?
...And that magic turned Fortuna's face redder and hotter, her ears
lighting up like torches aflame.
Chapter 261 The Mission Will
Continue
enturion Cyrac leaned over his fist. He wondered what

C
Duplicarius Zehr had said to manage to turn Fortuna in an even
worse, blathering mess. However, it seemed a bit... beneath him,
to ask such a thing, himself.
"What did you say, Zehr?" Decanus Justus asked. "Was that...
Elven?"
The boy was quite helpful sometimes. Cyrac was glad they
promoted him.
"Hm? Indeed it was." The Duplicarius responded, slight confusion

in his tone, "I merely noted that purple eyes are auspicious in
elven culture."
Justus furrowed his brows, "Is that... a good thing?"
That was most useful, as well. Cyrac had no idea what that word
meant. Glancing around the table, it appeared that no one else
did, either.
Zehr nodded, "Indeed. Because of it, her beauty is blessed--"
"Stop! Stopstopstop stooooopppppp!!!" Fortuna held her palms

out, then clapped her hands together and bowed, "Don't continue!!
I won't question you anymore!!"
The Duplicarius squinted his eyes, lightly tilting his head, "There is
nothing I said to be ashame--"
Fortuna slammed the table again, except this time, with mana-
coursing through her fists, "I am Healer Fortuna, I can give life
aNd i CaN tAKE it AWaAAAAyyYY!!!"
The young woman bosom was heaving with angered, ragged

breaths. Her pupils were dilated and shaking.
...She wasn't... at all intimidating, though. Surely, she must have

known that?
Cyrac averted his gaze. He had only realized just then that
because he'd always posted Munifices to guard her, the not-so-
young lady was not at all versed with romantic relationships. It
seemed it had turned into... a social vulnerability.
Duplicarius Zehr didn't even seem to be trying, a look of

uncertainty clear on his face.
Cyrac entertained the thought of playing "matchmaker." The cool,

calm, collected Zehr could perhaps temper Fortuna's willfulness...
Ah, that wouldn't work. He recalled that the young Duplicarius was
mourning a certain crossbow archer in his tent group-- his former
lover, it seemed.
"I... see..." Zehr relented.
Sixtus took the lull in conversation as a signal to continue,

"Duplicarius Zehr, here are 67 remaining Rhodoks, including the
injured. The tent group size is because we expect the caverns we
will be searching are too small to effectively use Shield Wall
tactics."
Zehr nodded, "Very well."
"And your second question, Duplicarius?" The Optio smiled.
"For the second... forgive me, Optio, Centurion--" Zehr twisted his
lips to the side, meeting Cyrac's gaze.
Cyrac felt a knot form in his stomach. He already knew what the
question was, based on the phrasing, "Go ahead."
"With our numbers so reduced..." Zehr paused to gauge
everyone's reactions, including the silent and stewing Fortuna, "--
Why are we continuing the mission?"
There it was... It was the question Cyrac was certain was in

everyone's mind, yet only Zehr had the testes to ask.
"I will answer the question, Duplicarius," Cyrac sighed... "There

are two reasons...
"The first is honor... our duty to the fallen. The Rhodok

adventuring company has a reputation to uphold... and I would
have the fallen remembered for being unfortunate casualties on
an otherwise successful mission."
Zehr nodded, "Indeed. The road to success is paved by the

corpses of our soldiers."
A pang of guilt struck Cyrac deep in his chest. That was...

poetically stated.
Cyrac continued, "The second is... finances. If we cannot

complete the mission, the Rhodok adventuring company cannot
afford to pay our troops-- notably the pensions to the bereaved
families"
The young, green-haired gentleman nodded, "Then it is as I

surmised... The fate of the Rhodok guild is decided on the next
sun... Thank you, gentlemen."
...
Justus caught up with Zehr as he was leaving.
"Zehr..."
The visored warrior turned, "Yes, young Decanus?"
Thankfully, the Duplicarius had again donned his helmet. It was

still a bit difficult for Justus to look into Zehr's eyes.
Justus looked down at the rocky dirt, hesitant... "What you said
back in the command tent... are you... going to back out? We... we
could really use your help."
Zehr flipped up his visor, "Though I do understand the wisdom of

abandoning the mission, I do plan on accompanying you all."
That was a relief. Justus was fairly certain he could rely on Zehr
for that, but still... he had a feeling that something had changed
since Rena's death... He knew he, himself, would never be the
same, but... Zehr? He seemed really... hurt. And Justus really
couldn't gauge his friend's feelings without asking.
Then there was the other burning question in Justus' mind... It was
the question he truly didn't want to ask. If it had an answer... he...
wasn't certain he wanted to know.
Zehr seemed to sense his hesitation, "Speak your mind, young

Decanus. I wish to return to my tent and wrap myself up warmly."
Justus grimaced... "Tomorrow... are we..."
He gulped. Justus tried to calm his frayed nerves as Zehr waited

patiently.
Bah. He was just going to say it.
"Tomorrow, are we going to be fighting a dragon?"
Zehr narrowed his eyes.
Oh, no... was it true, after all?
The Duplicarius leaned closer with a serious expression, "Dragons

don't exist."
"Tss hahaha," He scoffed and straightened his back. Chuckling,

he gave Justus a smirk, "Don't take your young wife's stories to
heart, young Decanus. Their value is in entertainment, imparting
morals, and scaring children into behaving.
"Have no fear, the creature we seek in the cave is no dragon." He
added seriously.
Justus breathed a sigh of relief. For the briefest of moments, he

felt... indescribable danger, but that was all dispelled with Zehr's
laugh.
The Duplicarius placed his finger upon his visor, clacking it back
down into place, "Let us return, then."
"Oh," Justus rubbed the back of his head. "The Centurion had
something he wanted to talk to me about. I'll see you at our tent."
"Very well," Zehr turned on his heel and walked away.
Justus reentered the command tent, his spirits lifted.
"And what did he say?" Centurion Cyrac asked, "Will he be

accompanying us?"
Justus nodded, "Yes, Centurion. He will be."
"Oh, good... Good." The old man took a deep breath. It seemed
he was as relieved by the news as he was, "We'll be relying on
him... Both him and you, Hero of Leopardon."
Chapter 262 Hidden Motives
he following sun, Tycondrius geared for utility instead of for rank-

T
and-file combat. He wore a shortbow on his back, a quiver, and
two short Tyrion swords.
He held one of the blades out towards Fortuna.
⟬ Fortuna, Gold-Rank Half-Elf Healer. ⟭
"Eternal Flame, light our path..." She whispered, tapping the flat of
the blade with her nail, "⌈Emberglow.⌋"
Tycon examined his blade-- Fortuna's magic had imparted a

brilliant silver glow upon it. Nodding, he sheathed the weapon--
reducing the light to a dim radiance, barely better than candlelight.
With the increased vision of his bloodline, that was all he needed
to see in the dark.
"My thanks, Fortuna," Tycon nodded.
"I didn't do it for you!!" The half-elf squawked.
Tycon grimaced, looking at the sheathed, glowing sword in his

hand... Fortuna literally enchanted an object, knowing it was going
to be used by him.
Or did she mean something else? ...But what?
Tycon's mouth twitched and he shook his head, "I don't

understand. What exactly do you mean?"
"I mean-- argh!! Go! Just go!!" The girl turned him around and
shoved his back.
Confused, Tycon gave a final glance behind him.

Their paltry tent group was made up of nine humans, one of them
a half-elf. Two Bronze-Ranks, Six Iron-Ranks, and a single Gold-
Rank.
Prior to the Manticore attack, the forward group was composed of

only Iron-Rank and higher. Replacing the injured and dead, even
two Bronze-Rank Decani were volunteered for the duty... the
unlucky bastards.
The Iron-Ranks were Holy Avenger Justus, Champion Sixtus, and

Fighter Cyrac. Then, there were three Iron-Rank Warriors that
were little better than the Bronze-Rank Spear Fighter and
Legionnaire.
With their numbers and quality, it was reasonable that the

Rhodoks expected victory against their "dragon." However, Tycon
knew that most certainly, it would not be so easy.
Two tent groups of twenty waited outside the cave. Thirty-seven

rested at the base of the mountain.
Nocking an arrow into his shortbow, he journeyed forward,

inscribing the numbers into his memory.
...
Justus still felt out of place, walking alongside the Rhodok

leadership.
He was certainly the youngest person there, and being new, the
others held a keen interest in him. He answered all their
questions: Where he grew up, how he got his title, about the ⌈Final
Judgment⌋ skill he used on the Manticore.
It was fine, he supposed. It got his wandering mind away from his
mixed feelings. He still felt Rena's death weighing down his spirits.
He still felt like it was unreal, having his marriage proposal
accepted by the most beautiful woman in the world.
Duplicarius Zehr had set off, scouting ahead. Optio Sixtus kept in
the lead, his shield ready. He did not join in the idle conversation.
As talkative as he was during the meetings, he stayed relatively
quiet in a potential combat situation.
Justus thought that Sixtus and Zehr could be good friends...
Centurion Cyrac, even wearing his armor and gear, had

somewhat dropped the strict Centurion act. He joked affably with
everyone-- and it seemed to be... normal?
Though being treated as a curiosity by most-everyone was fine...

one person in the tent group did not seem to appreciate his
presence.
"You're not the first reckless Decanus I've met, Justus," Fortuna
grumbled. "Take care of yourself. As much of a baby as you are,
having to carry back a corpse is a waste of manpower."
"I understand. Thank you, Fortuna," Justus grimaced. She could

have definitely phrased that more politely, but it seemed... she
meant well?
"You will address me as Lady Fortuna! Or call me ma'am!!" She

retorted.
Justus felt his mouth twitch. That... that was completely different
from what she'd said the previous sun to Zehr, "A-alright, Ma'am."
Though most everything remained in darkness, Fortuna's

enchanted orbs of light lit their path, illuminating polite smiles from
Rhodoks who offered no verbal assistance. It seemed the half-elf
had a certain privilege in the cohort.
The forward group had discovered that the Manticore's cave had
stretched deeper into the mountains. Reasonably, the cavern
system would lead them to their bounty...
A giant lizard had been spotted by an Iron-Rank adventuring

company while they were hunting harpies or something. A
lucrative quest had been issued for the giant creature's death and
there was another company offering coin for its scales. The
company desperately needed to be successful, in order to survive
financially.
Justus very much liked having an honorable job, not living on the
streets, begging for coin. He wanted very much for the mission to
be successful.
As they moved deeper and deeper into the cool, humid caverns,
Justus found that Fortuna's treatment was not only reserved for
him. There were three Munifices and Fortuna harshly criticized
them for... walking incorrectly? And for a host of other things that
had nothing to do with the journey.
Growing agitated, he found a reassuring hand on his shoulder. It

was the old Centurion, "Don't let her get to you, young Decanus.
Fortuna's a good girl. She only acts impolitely when she's
nervous."
Justus didn't believe him for a second... not with how Fortuna
singled out Zehr the other evening.
"I heard that, you old thief!" Fortuna stomped towards Cyrac,
stepping in front of Justus to do so. "These ears aren't just for
show!!"
But... her ears were underneath her helmet? Elves were truly
mysterious creatures.
Faintly illuminated, the one-eyed Cyrac gave Justus a wink-- or

maybe he was just blinking, "Fortuna, I'm curious..."
"And who wants to sate your curiosity, you greedy old man?"
The Centurion continued, ignoring the girl's willful words, "The

young Decanus is good friends with Duplicarius Zehr."
"Don't you think I know th--" The girl suddenly halted her steps,
lost in thought.
The forward group continued walking, ignoring her.

Fortuna's quick sandaled steps hurriedly caught up, "You guys!
When someone stops, you have to wait for them!"
"Incorrect, there's nothing wrong with the group being dispersed."

Sixtus, in the lead, spoke aloud, his voice echoing back, "Though
it's still advised you remain in the middle of the formation where
it's most protected, Fortuna."
"See if I heal you, you stupid mushroom!" Fortuna hmphed.
That didn't seem fair. Justus thought it was good advice.
Concerning the reason Fortuna stopped, he was... a little curious.

He didn't care much for Fortuna after he discovered her rotten
personality, but... talking to the capricious girl would at least keep
him amused.
"Why did you stop-- err... Ma'am?"
"It's not like I was thinking about that person!!" Fortuna shouted,
her voice echoing in the cave a dozen times over.
The entire group, minus Sixtus, turned to shush her.
Justus pursed his lips. Fortuna was... very poor at hiding her
feelings.
Chapter 263 Brothers &
Sisters
he forward group had been traveling in the cave for a couple of

T
bells.
Justus wished they moved faster... The thought of it reaching

nighttime and camping in the cave unnerved him a great deal.
Puddles or other strange, slippery algae or animal droppings were

dispersed around the cavern floor, as well as the occasional
pitfall... dug by a creature nearly as large as a human. One of the
other Decani nearly fell in. After that, Optio Sixtus slowed their
marching speed immensely.
Fortuna's floating orbs and the glowing enchantment on Sixtus'

shield were barely better than torches, but Justus was thankful the
constant glow didn't create dancing shadows amongst the cave's
stalagmites like flickering flames would... though it still felt like
they were being watched by... something.
"That guy-- he's probably a total loser, anyroad." Fortuna

muttered. "He looks like a girl!"
The only sound chasing away the creatures lurking in Justus'

heart was... Fortuna's voice. Justus prodded her whenever it grew
too silent to bear, and she'd babble away like a brook. Thus far,
he'd only had to prod twice. It reminded him of a machine he saw
in capital city Rixus that dispensed holy water in exchange for a
silver coin... except the stream of whatever Fortuna was saying
lasted longer.
The idle conversations stopped as they ventured deeper into the

Manticore's lair. Maybe everyone else was as nervous as he
was... Justus hoped Duplicarius Zehr would come back soon.
There were marks of his presence in the form of chalk-mark
arrows on the floors and walls, but it felt safer when he was
around.
"Does he have any friends? I bet he doesn't. I bet he doesn't even

talk to any girls!"
Fortuna's eyes didn't match what she was saying. She didn't seem
upset-- but more... curious?
"Does he like anyone?" She asked.
Justus frowned. Zehr seemed pretty hurt by Rena's loss, even

though he didn't seem interested initially. The Duplicarius'
increased annoyance as of late was probably the only way he
knew how to express his feelings.
After all, Zehr was human, too.
Justus nodded hesitantly, "Yeah... I think he did."
"Oh? Who?" Fortuna badgered him, "I mean, not that I particularly
care-- I just wanna know. Because she's probably too good for
him! ...But who is it, though?"
A dull pain filled Justus' chest at the thought.
"I apologize for Fortuna, young Decanus," Optio Sixtus' voice

called back. "She thinks she's terribly clever."
"Shut up, crucifixion pervert," Fortuna shot back.
Justus gave a weak smile, "She... she died in the Manticore

attack."
Silence again reigned amongst the tent group. Justus regretted

spoiling the admittedly neutral mood, but he wanted to answer
Fortuna truthfully.
After journeying for several quiet minutes, Optio Sixtus spoke his
thoughts aloud, "It's a shame the Holy Bolter was killed."
Justus clenched his fists and unintentionally gnashed his teeth,
"Her name... was Rena."
He felt his mana circulating rapidly-- his heart started to pound

and sweat began to form underneath his helmet.
"Young Decanus..." Cyrac placed his hand on Justus' shoulder,

"Your aura..."
Justus realized his foolishness... He took a deep breath, trying to

slow his heart rate. He willed his mana to slow... "I'm sorry,
Centurion."
"It's fine, Young Decanus," The old, one-eyed veteran nodded

sagely, "You feel anger out of love. It's because of that love for our
brothers and sisters that we can fight so hard to protect them."
Fortuna crossed her arms, "Like you love anything, you old goat."
Cyrac chuckled, "Of course, I do. Though to me, Fortuna, you're

not so much a sister--"
"Sexist pig!" Fortuna glared.
"--you're the wonderful daughter I never had," Cyrac smiled.
"O-oh..." The Healer pouted, her anger derailed. "Wh-who asked

for a thief of a dad like you?"
"After all this--" Cyrac declared, "We'll gather for a meal. We'll
honor the fallen. We'll all mourn together."
The old Centurion clapped Justus' shoulder-- a masculine but

somehow gentle reassurance, "The youngest pours the drinks for
everyone. And I'll pour for you. How's that sound?"
"The custom goes that the oldest pours for the youngest," One of
the Decani offered.
Cyrac coughed and averted his gaze, "Aha, right."

"Yes, Centurion... I'd like that." That sounded good... Everything
being over, that is.
"I must apologize to you, young Decanus," Sixtus' unexpected

voice threw Justus off-guard.
"Sixtus, taking the initiative to apologize..." Fortuna raised an

eyebrow, "By the Flame, who is this imposter?"
"It is indeed a bit of a rare occurrence," Cyrac stroked his white

beard amusedly.
Optio Sixtus turned back to reveal a frown of disapproval,

"Decanus Justus, I meant no offense concerning Holy Bolter
Rena. I wished to express my lamentation of her passing, as she
was one of our most promising officer candidates. She was skillful
and well-liked within the cohort."
Justus nodded. He hadn't asked-- but it made a lot of sense that

Rena was so promotable... not that it meant anything now.
"She was a person too, Sixtus! Not just one of your tools!" Fortuna
scowled.
Sixtus twisted his face and came to a stop, "Fortuna... please

understand that I think the way I do because I want the Rhodoks
to succeed. The Rhodoks are experiencing great tribulations now
and it is my solemn wish to see us through."
His gaze passed over everyone in the forward group, "You are my
brothers and sisters. Though I do not often say it, I am eternally
grateful to you all for fighting by my side."
The Optio's admission stunned the whole group. Fortuna gawked

with her mouth open.
Cyrac gave a hearty laugh, "Well spoken, old friend!"
Justus nodded, his chest warmed with pride, "Yeah..."
Suddenly, Fortuna's head whipped to the side, her eyes narrowed.

Their group didn't have a second scout... and the half-elf had
better hearing than everyone else. Justus placed his hand on his
sword, "What do your elven ears hear?"
The woman glared back with a reddening face, "Something's...

chewing."
Sixtus directed his shield, enchanted with Fortuna's light, in the

direction she faced.
A visored Duplicarius sat cross-legged on a raised rock formation.

Zehr waved in acknowledgment, "It seemed you were having a
pleasant conversation. I did not wish to interrupt."
Justus breathed a sigh of relief. Fortuna mentioning chewing

made his stomach recoil. He remembered all too well, the
Manticore's work-- half-eaten bodies on the funeral pyres,
disemboweled to inflict agony and slow, painful deaths.
"Would anyone like some dried apples?" Zehr offered, "The

texture is similar to jerky."
Sixtus took a deep breath through his nostrils and nodded, "Let's
take a break-- we'll eat in two shifts."
"I'd like some," Justus walked up. "You're a really good cook,
Zehr."
"Drying fruit over a few suns is nothing special..." Zehr curled his
lips up in a polite smile, "--but thank you for the compliment,
Justus."
Justus mulled over the thought of Zehr's appearance in his mind.

He was the only one amongst their number not on edge... which
could be a testament of his demeanor, but...
"Zehr... have you... maybe..."
The Duplicarius pursed tilted his head, "Speak freely, Justus, but
do gather your thoughts. It is frustrating if you speak with them
incomplete."
"R-right," Justus smiled with chagrin. He'd just come out and say
it, "Have you been to these caves before?"
Chapter 264 Unfortunate Call
uplicarius Zehr pursed his lips, "Yes, Decanus. I have been here
D
before."
Justus felt his blood freeze. What... what could that mean?
"--I inspected the cave two suns prior. I was searching for the
Manticore's nest," Zehr continued. "I found none."
Sixtus frowned. He was staring with disgust at his rations, at

which point, Zehr offered some of his dried fruits, "My thanks,
Duplicarius. Tell me, did you go alone? That was quite reckless of
you."
"Of course not, Optio." The visored Zehr smiled. "I took one of my
Munifices, Modestus, with me."
Justus grinned. Finally, the nagging feeling in his brain that

something was wrong could be quashed by logic. Modestus was
rather grumpy, as of late-- and it seemed that the Duplicarius
dragging him off was probably the reason for it. He was a little hurt
that he wasn't invited, but thinking two suns prior... he was still in a
deep state of mourning.
"Very well," Sixtus nodded in contentment. "Tyrion military doctrine

holds lessons which I value greatly."
"Indeed. They're good lessons-- the few that I know, I keep close
to heart," Zehr agreed.
Justus furrowed his brows as he ate his rations. Those two really
seemed like they could be friends. That would be good-- Zehr
could use someone to talk to, not even about anything in
particular. Someone that he could speak with freely could distract
him from Rena's death.
It was human to mourn. If the Duplicarius were to bottle up his
emotions, it wouldn't be healthy for his psyche. Justus' own heart
still ached-- he missed Rena terribly. He couldn't imagine what it
was like in Zehr's mind.
"Give us a report--" Cyrac commanded, "Ah, no need to stand at

attention. We're on break, after all."
"Oh. My thanks, Centurion," Zehr offered the last of the dried fruit
to Cyrac. The old man accepted, almost gleefully.
...Being in a military environment was strange. Back home, he

was taught it was polite to refuse gifts at first, but no one had
declined Zehr's offer.
"Signs of enemies ahead. Thick webbing, strong enough to

entangle a Rhodok," Zehr reported.
"Giant spiders, then?" Cyrac crossed his arms.
"I would like to burn everything in this cave, thank you," Fortuna
added.
Justus frowned. The half-elf had taken most of the dried fruit. He
wanted at least one more piece...
Zehr placed his hand on his chin, "There are many spiders...
some of them the size of a kobold."
"That doesn't sound too difficult-- Bronze-Ranks at best..." Sixtus

remarked. "Unless you think there's something else, Duplicarius?"
Zehr nodded, "I do. With the number of them, all in one place...
there could be a Spider Breeder. Admittedly, I do not know much
about the habits of the particular spider species-- they could just
be pack creatures."
Pack creatures? Spider Breeders? Justus felt a chill run down his
spine. Neither of those sounded good. Glancing at the sweating
and panicking Fortuna, he was glad that he wasn't as bad off as
she was.
"Zehr, what's... a Spider Breeder? Is that a... class?"
The Duplicarius shook his head, "It's a type of creature-- a man-

sized, bipedal one."
"--with a habit of breeding spiders," Cyrac grimaced.
"Naturally," Zehr responded.
The old Centurion nodded, "Ran into a few in my younger days--

they're Iron-Rank, but the webs and their 'pets' make them not so
simple."
"Have you any plans?" Sixtus asked.
"Burn it with fire," Fortuna offered with a scowl. She was being
quite forceful of her opinion.
Sixtus frowned at the half-elf, "I would *prefer* an expert's opinion,

before we brainstorm for ideas."
"Fortuna's plan is sound," Zehr stated.
"Of course it is!" She hmphed... "Wait, is it really?"
"Following signs of bat droppings, I found numerous holes which

they fly out of, to hunt," Zehr explained. "--We'll be able to use fire.
The webs will burn quickly and the smoke will rise out of the
vents."
Cyrac sighed, "We can tear strips of our tunics to wrap our mouths
and prevent the smoke inhalation..."
Justus pursed his lips, "Centurion... Why do you sound so down?"
The old man gave a weak smile, "Thank you for worrying, young
Decanus... It's just-- replacing our tunics is another unwelcome
blow to our coffers..."
...
A few streams of light spilled through from the cracks overhead.
They had reached the webbed area, finding where the bats had
gone. They were wrapped up in the webs, unmoving.
Optio Sixtus got to work, lighting a torch with a flint and tinder. He
and a small team of Shield-bearers began to ignite the webs, each
web burning quickly in spectacular fashion.
The remaining forward team, as well as Centurion Cyrac, held

back, ready to support.
Justus found it odd seeing the shortbow in Zehr's hands. He had

seen him with sword, shield, and pilum. He was probably just as
good with that...
It was... peculiar that Zehr was pushing this particular

passageway. Usually, the Duplicarius had done his best to lead
the Rhodoks to avoid combat. As they walked, there were at least
three or four different tunnels. Did Zehr... check them all?
"Zehr, why are you so intent on going down this path?" He asked.
"Excellent question, young Decanus." The Duplicarius nodded

solemnly, "The quest of our Rhodok company has to do with a
large-scaled creature. Though the mission doesn't explicitly state
its size, it seemed prudent to choose the largest of the passages."
"But there are webs?" Justus asked.
Zehr paused, "And what of them?"
"Doesn't that mean... the passageway is unused? At least by the

scaled monster?"
Zehr chuckled to himself, "Quite the opposite, actually. Webs

mean that prey comes and goes. Anyroad, webs don't take very
long to form-- maybe a bell or so for a single spider."
"Eeee..." Fortuna shivered. "Can we talk about something else,

please? We don't have to talk about work all the time."
Zehr frowned, "Everything we are discussing is contextually
relevant to our situation."
"I don't want to hear it!!" The half-elf shouted.
Justus turned towards the sudden noise-- the skittering of

hundreds of clicking legs came at Fortuna's call.
"Rhodoks!" Sixtus called back, "To me!"
Centurion Cyrac tapped Justus' chestplate, "Shall we?"
He nodded, "Yes, Centurion!"

Chapter 265 Spider Breeders
ycondrius stepped forward to be in view of the Rhodoks

T
attacking the spiders. Dozens of spiders, each the size of a fat
raccoon nicked at their feet.
He was honestly growing tired of Justus' questions. They were

good ones, too. The reasons for bringing the Rhodoks to the
Spider Breeders was twofold. One, he wanted to observe his tent
group fight-- he wasn't able to when they fought against the
Manticore.
The other was... it was also the most straightforward path. If he

were to lead the Rhodoks through the several winding turns to
avoid them, he risked them realizing that he knew the cave's
layout intimately.
Upon entering the cave, he activated his System's automatic map

feature-- something incredibly useful for complex structures. The
map was accessible as a mental display-- even marking the
relative locations of his allies and the Spider Breeders' pets.
Centurion Cyrac cut the limbs off of one of the spiders. The aged
Fighter's attacks were quick and accurate. If he were still in his
prime, he'd be a horrifically dangerous opponent.
Tycon pulled his bowstring back and aimed, "Centurion, shot."
The Centurion leapt backward, allowing Tycon to loose his arrow.

The struck spider was pinned to the cave floor, twitching a few
more times before collapsing as if deflated.
"Good shot, Duplicarius!" Cyrac shouted as he immediately

engaged with another target.
Tycon excelled in close combat. He was nowhere near as good of
a shot as Holy Bolter Rena... but it was hard to miss considering
the short range, that he was not under duress, and he was taking
his time.
...His arrows delivered the mercy of a quick death.
While Centurion Cyrac was a skillful and very technical Fighter,

Optio Sixtus was... arrogant. He strode forward in heavy plate
armor like he was invincible. He wore metal boots like Gianna, not
the sandals traditionally worn by Tyrion soldiers, and he used
them to trample the spiders underfoot. He swung his shield to
batter away a leaping spider and pinned it against a wall with his
spear. He willfully ignored the creatures trying to swarm his back
and legs-- they were unable to bite through Tyrion steel.
Champion Sixtus was very effective at drawing the enemy's ire.

The others in the tent group supported him, protecting his back
while they were relatively safe...
Far from the streams of light spilling from the openings in the
ceiling... Two Spider Breeders lay in wait, hidden in the shadows.
Tycon saw their eyes, glinting in the darkness.
He could have said something. But no... a sense of apathy and a

deeper sense of loathing and disgust called him to inaction. These
were the people who allowed Rena to be killed.
"Eee..." Fortuna, at his side, quietly whined as she trembled.
Right... She was a half-elf, and her vision would be decent in the
conditions, though not as good as his. Though she may not have
seen the monsters in the dark, she might have seen their
movement.
He decided to take advantage of her pitiful condition... taking her

hand in his.
Her trembling stopped almost immediately, "Z-zehr... What are

you....."
She accepted it, gripping it tightly.
"Everything's going to be okay," He assured her.
It was a polite, neutral statement that meant nothing.
The half-elf nodded, her spirits renewed.
Tycon was slightly surprised that it seemed as effective as it was.
It felt like... he was somehow betraying Rena. But... with Fortuna's

main hand occupied and Tycon standing to block her vision of the
battle, it would be more difficult for her to heal her allies.
The Spider Breeders were dark, chitinous creatures standing 6

feet tall, each. By human accounts, their bodies were grotesque
and bulbous, hunched over underneath the thick, powerful
muscles in their backs and shoulders developed for climbing.
Their faces were covered in several dark eyes and spidery fangs,
and their limbs ended in large cutting scythes that were still adept
at weaving their webs. They attacked, screeching in righteous
rage, furious that their children were being put to the slaughter.
One of them shot a glob of webbing from its mouth, hurtling

across the cave. It splashed upon one of the Decani, binding her
sword arm. As she fell, one of the fat-raccoon-sized spiders bit at
her exposed legs. She let out a blood-curdling shriek. The pain
must have been excruciating.
Another Decanus wasn't so lucky. A Spider Breeder charged him,

taking him off of his feet. Its scythe-arms didn't pierce through
armor-- but its fangs found the man's throat. It bit into it, not
ripping and tearing, but injecting a lethal poison into his
bloodstream.
That one wouldn't survive... If he was healed immediately,

perhaps-- but after several moments, healing the wound would
require abilities beyond that of a Gold-Rank Healer's ken.
Fortuna released Tycon's hand, but placed her hands and face
against his back, "Wh-what's happening? I... I don't want to
watch."
"Then don't." Tycon allowed himself to smirk, an expression seen

by no one.
"Flame, TAKE YOUUUUU!!!" Decanus Justus screamed in holy

fervor.
Ah, right. Justus' class had been changed to Holy Avenger.

Seeking vengeance forever, until he died... and perhaps beyond
that. Such was the fate of his class' existence. The situation was
catered to him.
In that specific instance, Tycon was doing the young man a favor.
Justus dashed towards the Spider Breeder, smashing his shield

into the taller creature and knocking it off of its clawed feet. He
stood over it, hacking his sword down into its chest, streams of
golden mana trailing from his blade in a dazzling display that
Tycon was certain would well-entertain children.
Spiderlings burst from the egg sacs on its stomach, ichor poured
forth from its wounds, and Justus was covered in both, "DIE,
NON-HUMANNNN!!!!"
Ughhh... Hearing the young Decanus' battlecry, Tycon furrowed

his brows and grimaced.
It was... a very Tyrion sentiment that fueled his misguided zeal.

The Holy Country was one united in their hatred of Outsiders,
indoctrinating those beliefs in their laws, general education, and
even their religion. Justus had suffered enough and in a too-short
span to be asked to see reason.
The Iredar... the Manticore... and now, the Spider Breeders.
Well... the Manticore was a nuisance and it was good to have

been killed.
It was a shame, but Tycon could find no words to reassure the

young Decanus, or to dissuade him from hate. After all, that
hatred was so ingrained into Justus' psyche that he broke through
to Iron-Rank for it.
Chapter 266 Injury
ecanus Justus heaved in the air to catch his breath. The battle
D
was finally over. He was covered in Spider Breeder blood... but
was lucky enough to not get any in his eyes.
He tried to walk, but toppled over, his knee banging painfully

against the cavern floor as he caught himself with his forearms.
His leg didn't move as he willed it to. It just... hurt.
Sitting down, he looked at his leg... blood ran down the side of his
right calf...He vaguely remembered a spider gnawing on it before
one of the Munifices put a pilum through the eight-legged freak.
The wound swelled painfully, the skin around it so tight that it felt
like it was going to burst.
Oh, no... Was he going to lose it?
Justus held up his replacement Decanus sword, staring at it in

shame... It still wasn't enough. The world of mana he saw fighting
against the Manticore-- he couldn't reach it. The pathetic amount
of mana he wielded... its concentration, its purity... it was nothing
like before.
Was he really the hero that fell a Gold-Rank? He suffered an

injury fighting whatever these things were-- clearly not Gold-
Ranks, though! He was trash! He was the entire dung heap!
"Decanus Justus!!" A woman's voice shouted his name... and it

didn't sound like she was going to congratulate him...
Justus withdrew his shoulders, trying to appear as small as

possible.
"I thought I told you not to be reckless," Fortuna reprimanded. She

was being accompanied by Duplicarius Zehr who... didn't speak to
defend him.
...Maybe it was payback for that one time Justus didn't help him
dealing with Rena. As silly as that decision was, at the time... he
regretted betraying Zehr more than anything.
"I... I know," Justus sighed.
He didn't realize what was happening before his feet carried him
to battle... When he saw one of his allies ambushed by the
monsters, he... he just charged... his senses overwhelmed by a
need for vengeance.
Justus looked to the side... He had tried to save the Decanus that
was attacked.
The fallen Decanus' neck was swollen thicker than his calf and
froth bubbled from his paling lips. Spiders scurried about his
face... and when they crawled over the whites of his eyes, the
Decanus didn't move an inch. He was dead.
Fortuna shivered, "Can we move out of this passageway? The

spiders are... ick."
"I... hurt my leg, Ma'am." Justus smiled in embarrassment.
Rena hurt her leg, too... He had to carry her back. He looked to
Duplicarius Zehr... It would feel a bit demeaning, but maybe Zehr
could at least drag him out of the passageway, away from the
spider nest?
"Crawl," Zehr suggested.
Justus felt like he should have expected something like that... but
still, his feelings were a bit hurt.
The half-elf glowered over him, "Eternal Flame, ⌈Heal⌋ Decanus

Justus' wounds. This, I pray."
Fortuna's hands glowed in a silvery light, and it extended to cover

his leg. He felt the skin begin to mend and the swelling visibly
reduced in size.
Justus stood... almost as good as new. He did feel hungrier-- as if

they never took a break for lunch, but he didn't need his leg
amputated, which was a big plus.
"Fortuna... you're... you're amazing," Justus bowed his head in

awe. It had been the first time he witnessed Fortuna's abilities.
This was the same woman who healed Rena's leg after being
injured in the kobold attack... and the same one who saved
Gianna's arm.
Fortuna turned away, flustered, "I-- I didn't do it for you, idiot!"
Justus chuckled in chagrin, "Thank you, Lady Fortuna."
He didn't think she meant what she said. It seemed that more than
one of his new friends weren't so great at expressing their
feelings.
The woman looked down and to the side at the fallen Decanus, "I
just wish I could save everyone..."
Justus nodded, "Yeah... but we can't."
He looked to Zehr. The words were meant for the Duplicarius as

much as they were to stifle his own insecurities.
The man always had something wise to say. He'd surely agree--
maybe he'd offer some other profound bit of wisdom. Maybe he'd
express that if more lives were saved rather than not, it was fine--
Zehr was pretty pragmatic, after all.
Duplicarius Zehr clapped Justus' shoulder, "Protect your neck,

young Decanus."
There it was... Justus looked down at the fallen Decanus and

gulped. That was good advice.
...
After a short break, Duplicarius Zehr went forward to scout ahead.
The few that were injured were healed by Fortuna.
They couldn't bury the fallen Decanus, nor halt their progress and
carry his body out. They hoped to finish the mission soon, so they
could return to camp by nightfall.
The Rhodoks followed the chalk-scrawled arrows left by Zehr with

a bit more confidence. The cave passageway opened up, the
terrain not as uneven and with fewer rock formations, though it
was still slippery.
The size of the passageway could easily fit four or five men
across... Justus did not like that, at all. If the scaled creature they
hunted was that wide...
The Rhodoks found another of Zehr's chalk arrows on the

ground... but it failed to pry their attention away from a large cave
mural painted onto a flat wall.
"The hells is that?" One of the Munifices whistled, looking up at

the wall. The fantastic drawings stretched up past the glow of their
light-enchanted weapons and shields.
Upon the wall were various depictions of a giant snake... Men

surrounded it, but not with weapons, but wearing dark robes and
raising their hands. Familiar inscriptions were etched into the rock,
but it wasn't something Justus could read.
"Can anyone read the Old Language?" Optio Sixtus asked.
Everyone shook their heads. Justus silently wished that either Gia
was around. She could read it... Maybe Zehr, too.
"Don't bother. I recognize this Flamescarred shite," Centurion

Cyrac spat. "Snake Cult. Nothing good will come from examining
it."
"There's always something to learn, old friend." Sixtus reached up

with his spear to tap against the rock wall, "See this? This might
be what we're looking for."
Justus examined the pictures... most of them depicting a large
snake with a diamond pattern on its scales. It definitely didn't look
like a dragon. It felt more... believable.
"What's... the Snake Cult?" He asked.
"They're a group of heretics... they perform weird cultist shite like

sacrificing men and women to their dark gods," Cyrac grimaced.
"Fortuna knows more-- but she cares as much for the Snake Cult
as I do."
Justus raised an eyebrow, looking towards the half-elf, "Lady

Fortuna, could you tell me more?"
The woman frowned, "Y-yeah... My parents were killed by Snake

Cultists."
Chapter 267 Dare To Exist
he Rhodoks stood in front of a Snake Cult shrine, faded murals

T
painted on the walls. A table of rotting wood on a raised stone
dais may have once held scores of offerings... What remained
was a few decrepit ivory and stone idols, burnt out wax candles,
and cracked, empty bowls.
Justus held his breath. He had no idea that his thoughtless

question would offend Gold-Rank Healer Fortuna.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, I had no idea that--"
"No," She waved. "It happened a long time ago-- back when
Cyrac's beard was black."
Justus furrowed his eyebrows, turning back to the Centurion.
"Though the comparison was a bit demeaning, it's true." Cyrac

pursed his lips, gesturing with an open palm. "Lady Fortuna may
not look it, but she's been part of the Rhodoks for a very long
time."
Sixtus nodded, "She's probably the second oldest--"
Fortuna had unsheathed a small dagger.
"--st carving... and... painting techniques I've ever seen," Sixtus

awkwardly changed his statement. "I am talking about the cultist's
murals. They are not very good."
The Optio went from observing the murals to inspecting the

various clay bowls and snuffed-out candles, touching them with
the tip of his pilum. There was an element of caution in his
actions, not touching anything with his bare hands.
Fortuna twisted her lips, putting her weapon away, "The Snake
Cult is an ancient organization birthed when the Tyrion Empire
was young. The Church declared them eliminated some 50 years
ago, but... such a thing doesn't die so easily."
Her eyes grew glossy as she spoke, "My parents were killed in a
cultist raid, thirty years ago. They had an Iron-Rank Warlock with
them... Our village had no chance."
It was as if she was talking about a girl that wasn't herself.
Justus grimaced and nodded in understanding, "May I ask what a

Warlock is, Lady Fortuna?"
The woman sighed, "It's a heretical class that makes up the

Snake Cult elite. The Warlocks and their kin follow tenets that
propagate murder, cruelty, and oppression. And in exchange for
their evil deeds... they draw power from the void beyond, wielding
dark, eldritch, and nigh-uncontrollable energies."
Justus felt an unease deep in the pit of his stomach. The way that
sounded... was like a perversion of their own nation's heroes. The
Tyrions followed tenets, good and just, for the wellbeing of all
peoples. The most faithful, Scholars, Priests, and Champions
gained the blessing of the Eternal Flame and were able to call
forth divine, holy power against the enemies of mankind.
His own Holy Swordsman class was unique to worshippers of the

Flame... but the only difference between him and the Warlocks...
seemed to be their choice of deity.
...But why would other humans worship something they knew was
evil? There must have been something he was missing.
Justus couldn't voice any of those thoughts aloud. Even thinking

about them was... both heretical and treasonous. Every Tyrion
citizen was urged to report heretics to be arrested-- or killed on
the spot.
"Fortuna--" Optio Sixtus interrupted his thoughts, "I request your

'expert' opinion at what we should do with the Snake Cult shrine
and paraphernalia."
The Healer closed her eyes and took a deep breath, "Their very
existence is a mockery to everything we stand for."
She opened her eyes, alight with a silver mana-glow, "Purge it in

righteous fire."
...
Tycondrius skulked around in the darkness, taking several twists

and turns before arriving in a familiar area. Had he not had the
System guiding him, he wouldn't have gone out of his way, for fear
of getting lost.
The dim light from his sword enchantment illuminated an

elongated reinforced gear chest. A massive opal eye glinted in the
shadows, the size of a human head. It watched over him,
unblinking and silent.
Tycon unlatched the box, first finding his familiar halberd. He

unwrapped the oilskin covering the blade. Wonderful. It didn't rust,
even after the moons he'd been gone and in the cave's humidity.
He spoke aloud, "Eight humans in the cave. Twenty outside.

Thirty-seven at the base of the mountain."
"Whaaaat...?" A rumbling voice in the darkness spoke, slow and

unhurried. "Is... that all?"
"That's what's left." Tycon pursed his lips and shrugged,

rewrapping the halberd and placing it aside. He inspected his
hand-crossbow... it hadn't degraded either. Excellent.
He unstoppered a vial of poison, smearing it on a bolt's tip, "They

think there's a dragon in the cave."
"Thaaat's ridiculous... Dragons don't exist..." The voice in the

darkness grew agitated. "And should they dare... they'll have a
gods. damned. war. on their miserable, clawed haaaands...."
Tycon chuckled, winding the crossbow's firing mechanism and
loading the poisoned bolt, "Haha. Too true..."
...
Decanus Justus sighed. After they destroyed the Snake Cult's

profaned shrine, it felt like his fatigue began to mount. It should
have been the opposite-- they, as Tyrions, should have regained
their spirits. Instead, it felt like a chore-- like clearing cobwebs or
polishing armor.
After they moved on, they were greeted by the visored Duplicarius
Zehr. He sat on a rock in plain view, resting a glowing blade
against his shoulder.
Optio Sixtus approached him, "Brother-Zehr, give us your report."
Though Zehr had received a new honorific, there was no change

in his expression as he stood and saluted, "Optio, the room ahead
is a spacious area with many pathways."
The Optio frowned... "And you've returned because... you don't

know which to choose?"
Zehr glanced back at the passage he had emerged from, before

looking back to Sixtus, "I would prefer to stay with the group."
"Very well. Fall in line," Sixtus nodded.
As the Duplicarius sheathed his sword and rejoined their ranks,

Centurion Cyrac gave him a friendly smile, "Any sign of enemies?"
Zehr shrugged... admittedly noncommittal in his response, "If

there are, they hide in the shadows... and well."
Justus nodded to his friend in acknowledgment, who returned the

nod with the briefest of smiles.
"I-if you're going to stand next to me, no holding my hand again!!"

Fortuna yelped.
Justus furrowed his brow, "Duplicarius Zehr was holding your
hand?"
The Healer's face reddened. Now the whole tent-group knew.
Zehr took his place next to Fortuna without saying a word. The
Rhodoks continued down the passageway, led by Optio Sixtus.
That was normal of him, but still, Justus decided to do as Gianna

once did and ask preemptively, "Zehr... Is there anything wrong?"
Chapter 268 Obscuring Mist
J ustus felt the hairs of his neck stand on end. He was worried...
and for once, Zehr's presence did not lessen his anxiety.
The visored Duplicarius walked in silence, placing a hand on his

chin and another across his chest in thought, "I'm nervous, I
suppose."
A chill shot down Justus' back. The cool, calm, and unflappable
Duplicarius Zehr was nervous? The thought of it sent him on
edge. He quietly unsheathed his sword as he walked.
The other Rhodoks paid him no mind. They had been walking for
so long, this far without being challenged... but Justus trusted his
instincts.
The cave opened up into a wide area-- in proper Zehr fashion, the
Duplicarius vastly understated its size. The ceiling stretched up
hundreds of feet up, a harsh light spilling down near its center
from a pathetically small hole. It did little to illuminate the area, at
least as wide as an arena stadium, instead, the focused light
made the shadows even more pronounced.
Justus counted at least four passageways, as well as ominous

holes in the ceiling that did not lead to outside light... and
openings in the floor that seemed to lead to the depths of the
seven hells. He imagined beasts, each as large as the Manticore,
hiding within them... and he stared into the shadows, fully
expecting to see the shine of their eyes.
"Wait, hold on--" Fortuna pointed, "What's that?"
Justus and the Rhodoks looked to the light in the center of the
room.
A young teenage girl stood in the light, barefoot... wearing white
robes, almost like a Tyrion priestess. White silken hair spilled from
her head, contrasting with her dark brown skin. And she had long
elven ears that stretched outward.
A non-human. Justus felt a sudden surge of disgust and hatred...

but quickly silenced the thought with logic. It was just a young
girl...
"A dark elf..." Cyrac said in wonder, "Evil creatures from a society
ruled by tyranny and cruelty."
Fortuna frowned, "The ancient underground societies of dark

elves are a thing of the past, Cyrac. Elves are elves-- and that's
clearly a child."
Optio Sixtus handed off his pilum to a Decanus as he approached

the light with an open palm, "Young lady, don't be afraid. We're not
here to hurt you."
The dark elf raised her head... she was whispering something...
hissing, almost. She stepped back out of the light and a grey,
cloudy mist began to fill where she stood, cloaking her form in its
darkness.
Though the light from above should have suffused the clouds with
a glow-- it did not. The shadows only grew.
Sixtus unsheathed his sword, "What sort of trickery...?"
Fortuna's eyes widened suddenly, "It's a First-Circle spell! The girl

is a Witch!!"
Cyrac stepped forward, a heavy pilum in hand, "Could she be a

Snake Cultist?"
"She might just be scared!!" The Healer snapped.
Optio Sixtus turned his head, walking backward to avoid being

engulfed by the mists, "Flame take it all, woman. What do you
want me to do? Go after her?"
Justus pursed his lips. It was a confusing situation. Go after her?
They were in hostile territory. Kill her? She was just a child. That
wouldn't make anyone feel good.
The answer came from the obscuring mist.
Faster than Justus could blink, a large, reptilian head emerged,

snatching up the Decanus adjacent to Sixtus, leaving only the
Optio's pilum behind. The head disappeared back into the cloud
before the man could even scream.
...It was a snake. It was a giant, Flame-taken snake.
"Gold-Rank!!!" Sixtus yelled, "Shield wall!!!"
Zehr grabbed Fortuna's wrist, "With me, to cover."
She nodded, "Y-yeah! Protect me, Zehr."
Justus drew his sword, feeling an ache in his heart. He was

frustrated that Zehr had grown so close to Fortuna in such a short
period of time.
Still, he hoped that, for everyone's sake, he could protect the

Rhodok healer well.
"Justus, let's move!" Cyrac rushed forward.
"I'm with you, Centurion!!"
...
Tycondrius led Fortuna to behind the cover of some solid-looking

stalagmites. The quick relocation seemed to have winded the girl.
As he surmised, his endurance far outshone any of the Rhodoks...
and after the short sprint, the half-elven Healer was worse off than
after Justus' run up the hills to reach the Manticore.
"I think... I think my healing spells... can reach from here," Fortuna
wheezed between breaths.
Tycon glanced over at where Sixtus and the others were fighting.
Another Rhodok was snatched up by the creature hidden in the
magical ⌈Obscuring Mist⌋. Six humans left.
"Um... Zehr..."
He did his best not to roll his eyes at Fortuna's shy, piteous
squeak, "What is it?"
"Y-you can let go of me, now," She glanced down at her wrist, still
in Tycon's grasp. "I think it's going to bruise..."
A bruise. How amusing.
"Pay attention to the fight," Tycon ordered.
Fortuna nodded, glancing over their cover. Her eyes widened, "By
the Flame, no... The monster has an Ocular Ability."
Tycon reached down to where he hid his hand crossbow. Aiming it

quickly, he shot the poisoned bolt into the woman's neck. She
dropped to the cold, cavern floor, her metal helmet thumping
against the stone.
"Yes, he does."
He felt like he overprepared... which was fine. Tycon greedily

saved up coin in most things... but spent lavishly for quality gear
and extensive battle preparations.
The fired bolt was laced with an asphyxiation poison, the materials
of which were quite expensive. It was rare that a healer-type class
would be able to cast spells without verbal components... and it
was well known that the Rhodoks had a Gold-Rank Healer
amongst their ranks. The poison was a countermeasure
specifically made for Fortuna.
Tycon had the excellent luck of being able to catch the Healer off-
guard and away from her protective allies. Aiming for the neck
injury would have increased the poison's potency, its onset effects
being near-immediate.
But having the bolt pierce her throat entirely was as effective
without the poison. Fortuna wouldn't be casting any spells in the
interim.
A single bolt removed the only pillar of hope the forward team
had.
Tycon looked back over the cover. Another three Rhodoks lay on
the ground, with a fourth kneeling down, struggling against the
odds. It seemed the Ocular skill that Fortuna's "monster" used
was more effective than he'd thought. Perhaps the Rhodoks'
fatigue and anxiety made them more susceptible to the First-
Circle spell.
Two Iron-Rank humans remained.

Chapter 269 Unique Helmet
ycondrius took Fortuna's dagger at her waist. Flipping her body

T
over, he thrust it into her heart. He did not wish to risk her
mounting a final act of heroic resistance.
He vaulted out from cover, rushing out, drawing his swords. The
remaining Rhodoks would have no reason to doubt him. There
was blood on his hands, but none on his blades-- and no one had
the eyes to notice it in the darkness, save the dead half-elf.
The Titan Snake, Isidor, was engaged in combat with Decanus

Justus and Optio Sixtus. He was a friend-- and certainly not a
dragon.
Sasarame's ⌈Obscuring Cloud⌋ spell allowed him to strike and

quickly retreat the upper length of his large, ungainly body back
into cover. She was also a friend-- part of Sol Invictus. Her true
form was a snake and Tycon was very proud of her.
Cyrac raised an arm towards the running Tycon, his eyes wide
and frantic. The white-bearded man was kneeling down, his arms
trembling and his body sporadically spasming.
That would be from the effects of Isidor's ⌈Paralytic Gaze⌋ skill. It

was somewhat weaker than his own ocular skill, so he was
surprised that the Iron-Rank Fighter fell prey to it. Tycon surmised
that the human's advanced age may have been to blame.
Tycon skidded to a halt, kneeling down beside Cyrac, "Centurion,

I'm here. What of the others?"
"I-I can't-- move... my BODY," Cyrac clenched his teeth, growling

low. It seemed he was struggling even to talk. "The others... THey
had-- no... chANce. Para-- LYzed."
Tycon nodded in understanding, "That's a shame."
"Go back... Report... Failed," Cyrac managed.
Oh, that's right. Cyrac still thought he was a Bronze-Rank warrior.

Niiice.
"How can I prove such a thing to the Rhodoks? Make them trust
me?"
With a shaking hand, the Centurion violently tore off the buckle on
his helmet. The meaning was clear. The Primus Pilus' helmet
would suffice as proof of legitimacy. Tycon took it gently off the old
human's head, placing it behind him to avoid getting blood on it.
"Flame-taken... Snnn--NAKE..." Cyrac groaned, fury in his eyes.
Of course, he'd be angry. All he could do in his condition was

watch helplessly as his allies were killed.
"Always... hated... tHeMM.... Errrgh.."
Tycon chuckled to himself. That was a very poor choice of words.

He lifted up his helmet's visor.
Medusae were able to develop the ⌈Petrifying Gaze⌋ Ocular skill.

In order to not petrify their allies, their young, and themselves
when looking at their reflections, they trained to "dim" their vision,
effectively turning the passive ability on and off, at will. Tycon, as a
male Medusa-- a Maedar as the terminology went, had the same
capability for his own Ocular skill.
"Thank you, Centurion." Tycon smiled and patted the one-eyed

man's shoulder like he would an old friend, "I'll tell them you died
honorably."
The System's prompt filled his heart with a nostalgic warmth.
« Yes, please. Activate. Death to the enemies of Invictus. »

Tycon felt the mana circulating behind his face, concentrating in

his eyes. He felt the strange sensation of his pupils... twisting and
elongating. He knew that when he undimmed his vision, his pupils
thinned to reptilian slits.
The Centurion's pupils dilated and shook, staring into the face of
what had been his enemy all along. He struggled to move, to turn
away.
Resilient old fool.
Tycon placed his swords on the ground and ungently grabbed the
sides of the old man's head. .
He wondered if it looked similar to how a gentleman would gaze

into a lover's eyes. That would be embarrassing. He did not think
the aged human was attractive.
"Centurion, what's wrong?" Tycon asked aloud, "Is the snake's

gaze attack affecting you?"
He was referring to himself, but hoped the answer was yes to

either Ocular skill.
Cyrac's body began to shake and tremble violently. He couldn't

breathe. But was it from the paralysis or his own skill?
Dark blood began to spill from his mouth, dribbling down his beard
and spilling onto his armor and splashing a bit onto his own.
Ah, it was his own skill.
Nice.
Finally, the Centurion's body grew stiff and he collapsed. The old
man offered no last words to alert his Rhodoks to Tycon's
treachery. Was he trying to? Either way, he didn't do a very good
job.
"Centurion, NOOOO!!!!" Justus loosed a blood-curdling scream.
The young man had been having a terrible time, watching all of
his loved ones die.
"Die, you Flame-scarred SNAAAAKE!!!" The red-haired Decanus

resumed his clumsy, yet spirited onslaught of attacks. They
bounced off of his enemy's hide-- because he is an idiot and
seemed to have forgotten that he has a skill specifically developed
for piercing through Isidor's armor-like scales.
Optio Sixtus readied one of his pila, and as the Titan Snake burst
through the fog, he threw it at one of his eyes. It missed-- though
Tycon doubted it would have dealt any damage. Every part of
Isidor's body was empowered by his natural Gold-Rank mana.
"Flame take this beast!" Sixtus roared, drawing his sword once
more. "Zehr!!! Come help!!!"
Tycon again dimmed his vision and pulled his visor back down. He
picked up his swords, standing and turning towards the fight, "Yes,
Optio!!!"
He sprinted towards them-- watching as, in his rage, Optio Sixtus

plowed a mana-powered shield bash into the side of Isidor's head,
accompanied by a loud 'wank' sound.
Hah.
Isidor was in no danger of being defeated, but Tycon found it

humorous seeing the Titan Snake take a thump to the head.
Champion Sixtus was a resilient and tenacious combatant. Seeing

that he was unphased by Isidor's paralysis, he opted not to utilize
his own skill on him. Besides, it allowed him to not strain his eyes.
Doing so resulted in a sharp headache, afterward.
Holy Avenger Justus wasn't doing nearly as well. His sword wasn't
even glowing.
Seven hells, did he even know how to use his ⌈Avenger's Oath⌋?
The young man had class-changed only a few suns prior and he'd
spent his time grieving instead of honing his skills... Tycon
inwardly sighed, realizing that Justus was likely unaware of his
own potential.
It was a shame.
It would have allowed him to survive a tiny bit longer.

Chapter 270 Justice (Part One)
ycondrius of Sol Invictus dashed towards the battle, leaping over

T
the downed Rhodoks.
He'd finish them off afterward-- if they weren't already dead.
Optio Sixtus revealed an arrogant smirk, fully believing that help

had arrived.
"Duplicarius Zehr!! The enemy's scales are nigh-impenetrable!!"

Sixtus shouted, keeping his focus on Isidor, "Do you have any
skills that can pierce through armor!!??"
Tycon did.
He slowed his pace slightly to keep his balance, placing one of his
swords in front of his face in a stance that Decanus Justus would
be familiar with.
Ah, the young man wasn't paying him any attention. Such a hint
would have given him at least a chance to not feel so useless.
Tycon concentrated his mana into his blade, forming a razor-sharp

pointed edge at its tip. The white glow of his own mana coupled
with the silver from Fortuna's ⌈Emberglow⌋ enchantment made it
blindingly radiant.
Increasing his speed again, he refocused a quick burst of mana

into his legs to empower a majestic forward leap,
"⌈LegionnnBREAKER!!!⌋"
⟬ ⌈Legionbreaker⌋ Weapon ability: A sharpened point of radiant

mana gathers at the tip of the weapon, for use in penetrating
heavy armor. ⟭
Tycon plummeted down from above, piercing the tip of his blade
between Sixtus' neck and shoulder. Landing and steadying
himself, he pushed the weapon deeper, almost to its hilt. His
second blade, he stabbed beneath the Optio's left armpit, stabbing
somewhere near the heart.
Quickly, he withdrew the offhand sword, spilling the Optio's blood

onto the cavern floor. He swiped it in the air to flick off the blood
and took a step back to admire his work.
He decided that his main hand sword was... not worth the effort,
getting it free, so stuck inside of Sixtus. Anyroad, the radiance
from Fortuna's enchantment was largely muted, the sword now
illuminating his insides. The surroundings were darker, as he
preferred it.
Optio Sixtus fell to his knees, head bowed... dying with at least a
modicum of dignity. Tycon kicked him over. He'd have none of
that.
Tycon looked over to... Decanus Justus. He stood and... gawked

with his mouth agape like a disbelieving chipmunk. Both his shield
and sword arm hung loosely at his sides, his will to fight
completely gone.
Isidor looked down at the last remaining Rhodok, "Are... weee....

still fiiighting?"
"No, I think Decanus Justus is finished," Tycon answered... "Look,

the young man has dropped his guard."
"Pooooor form..."
"It is, I agree," Tycon nodded.
Justus took a wary couple of steps forward, "Zehr... How... how

could you?"
Tycon pursed his lips. Was that a... rhetorical question? The
answer to 'how' would be... 'quite easily,' but he sensed that was
not the answer the young Decanus was searching for.
Justus gulped, "What... what about the quest? The m-mission?"
Tycon curved his lips up in a polite smile, "This was the mission..."
"The mission... was to kill... that?" He pointed to the large, very

patient Titan Snake, curling up in the distance. The ⌈Obscuring
Mist⌋ had dissipated, revealing Isidor's whole form, over 80 fulms
long, his head nearly as tall as Justus, and a bit larger at his base.
⟬ Isidor, Gold-Rank Titan Snake ⟭
Tycon shook his head, "My mission was to kill the members of the
Gold-Rank Rhodok guild that posted a bounty on Isidor."
Justus gripped the hilt on his sword, clenching his teeth and...
allowing tears to flow freely down his cheeks, "Was everything... a
lie?"
"There was deception involved, yes."
The Decanus tore off his helmet revealing his mussed red hair--
as for why, Tycon had no idea, "What about your feelings for
Rena... was that a lie too?!?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I don't quite see how that relates to the
conversation... Also, understand that I haven't actively tried to
sabotage the Rhodoks until... this sun, actually."
"That... that can't be..." Justus shook his head.
He shrugged, "Every blunder thus far was the fault of your Rhodok
guild."
"Soundsssss like.... you've few goooood storiessss... Brother-

Tycon..." Isidor remarked.
"Your accent is coming out again, Brother-Isidor," Tycon chided.
"Sssssorry-- ugh... Myyy apologies."
"So your real name is Tycon..." Justus gulped, wiping his tears
with the back of his wrist, "What... what happens now?"
Tycon grimaced, organizing his thoughts. There was a way for him
to spare the young Decanus' life. Though he judged the chance
Justus would take it was slim, Tycon supposed he owed it to him
for his faith... and for his respect for the Ezyrian guild known as
Sol Invictus.
With a smooth and subtle motion, he wiped his palm free of

Centurion Cyrac's blood and raised it towards Decanus Justus,
"Join me."
Justus clenched his teeth, "I will NEVER bow down to a NON-
HUMAN!!"
Tycon tilted his head, his eyebrows deeply furrowed, "I feel that
there's a lot of misplaced hatred in that remark."
"The Manticore was evil incarnate... You--"
Tycon angrily swiped down his offered hand, "--The Manticore..."
Ah. He interrupted the young man. He hated being interrupted,

himself. He felt a bit guilty about his hypocritical actions.
Tycon continued, calming himself... "The Manticore is a poor

example. As far as large magical beasts go, look at Isidor! All he
does is lay about, take long baths, and eat tributes of cows and
swine. And for that, the Tyrion Adventurer's Guild ordered him
killed."
"Brother-TYYYcon..." Isidor's voice held a hint of betrayal.
"Not now, Isidor," Tycon glared, explaining quickly. "I'm trying to

prove a point. You're not a villain."
"...Alright."
"But... the kobolds..." The young Decanus stared at the ground,

depressed that Tycon was destroying his worldview.
"The Iredar attacked a large armed force traipsing around their

territory. Humans do that all the time-- Tyrions, especially. And
oftentimes they don't care about whether or not there are
civilians."
"The... the Spider Breeders?" Justus almost whispered.
"The worst example of all, the Spider Breeders were living off of
bats. You were likely the first humans they'd ever seen."
"They killed the Sssspider Breeeeders?" Isidor reared his head

back dramatically in shock, "We have... a huuuuge... bat
infesssstation..."
"Just two," Tycon frowned. "Were those the only ones? --And it's
not like bats are pests. They eat insects."
"Oh.... Just two... That's fiiiine, thennn..."
Justus shook his head, "I... I can't... It's too... According to

everything I've learned..."
"...Hatred against non-humans is deeply ingrained into Tyrion

culture." Tycon sighed, offering a polite smile. "Well, that was the
offer, and I've been rejected. Thank you for your honesty, young
Decanus."
"Th-thanks, Duplicarius, I think..." Justus scratched his cheek.
"Come on, then," Tycon stretched his back and flourished his
short sword. He lightly held his wrist, gently rotating it in a stretch.
"Wh-what?" The clueless Decanus asked.
"We have to fight." Tycon grimaced, "I just killed all of your friends.
Have you forgotten?"
Chapter 271 Justice (Part Two)
ycondrius held his sword horizontally, low and in front of him. It

T
was a similar stance that made Ferrutius charge at him like a fool,
but it seemed that Justus remained hesitant. He remained in his
spot, 10 fulms away, illuminated by the hole in the ceiling, an
allegory representing the good and just Tyrion forces and the big,
bad evils shrouded in the darkness.
There were a half-dozen ways that Tycon could have ended the
fight effortlessly. He could have used his ⌈Vexing Gaze⌋ skill while
Justus was off-guard. He'd get a sharp headache, but it would be
tolerable. He could have rushed forward and pierced the Decanus
through with ⌈Legionbreaker⌋.
Stars and stones... He could have just asked Isidor to deal with
him.
He didn't. It was a foolish decision, a peculiar whim. He felt that...

somehow, the young Decanus, the ally-turned-enemy, deserved
this fight-- a chance to defeat the deceiver and live on.
"You are... a very poliiiite swordsman, Brother-Tycon," Isidor

hissed.
"Thank you. I try."
It was nice that someone noticed.
Justus nodded slowly... "It... this all feels like a nightmare..."
"Unfortunately, it is real, young Decanus."
"Do we... really have to fight?" Justus asked, a glimmer of hope in

his eyes.
Tycon scoffed, "Tss... Really? Think about that for a moment. I'd
very much not like a bounty placed on my head-- I have a very
unique appearance."
And such a bounty would be on top of whatever bounties Tycon

didn't know he had.
"And you, Decanus..." Tycon gestured with his offhand, "--could

you rest easy, knowing that I was integral to the Rhodoks' failure?"
Justus grimaced, taking a step back like he'd taken a physical

blow... "I... I guess you're right."
"Of course I'm right," Tycon shrugged. "Never question me again."
The young man stared at the cavern floor, "What... what about
Gianna?"
Tycon hesitated, "She has to die, as well."
"But she hasn't done anything!!" Justus retorted.
Tycon sighed, "If any Rhodoks escape and report the mission
failure, another guild will be sent to hunt Isidor-- the Church may
intervene, as well. No, we need to eliminate the guild in its entirety
to buy Isidor time to move."
"I... have to whaaaat?" Isidor raised his head in surprise.
"Oh, shut up." Tycon glared at the bigger, heavier snake. "Did you
really not work that out? Your location is tied to your stupid
mountain and the humans will keep sending forces to kill you. Of
course, you'd have to move."
"I thought... Bah... I'll go get my things..." Isidor slithered back into
one of the large caverns, quickly disappearing from sight despite
his size.
Isidor had possessions? Tycon furrowed his brows, trying to think

what exactly he meant... And how would he carry them? In his
mouth?
Justus shut his eyes, "Then I have to fight... in order to protect
Gianna..."
Returning his attention to the fight, Tycon smirked, "You've finally

steeled your resolve then."
Justus opened his eyes, emanating a thick, golden mana that had
been suspiciously absent throughout the battle with Isidor, "Yeah...
I have."
He stepped forward, the cave lit up by his aura, his hair flourishing
upwards even in the absence of wind, "Duplicarius Zehr-- no,
Tycon... You have betrayed your oath to protect your brothers and
sister Rhodoks, actively murdering the defenseless."
Tycon had sworn no such oath. It was a huge oversight that would
have strongly affected his plan.
"I trusted you... We all did... And you've stabbed us in the back."
That was an amusing choice of words. He'd shot Fortuna in the

throat, poisoned Cyrac with magic, and shoved two swords into
Sixtus' neck and armpit. He hadn't literally stabbed anyone in the
back.
"And thus, I pray... Eternal Flame, grant me strength to punish the

Rhodok traitor... This is my ⌈Avenger's Oath⌋..."
...Empty night. Tycon quickly reviewed his options. Was it too late
to just kill Justus outright?
Decanus Justus charged forward, slicing his glowing sword

through the air, "⌈Sunblade HEAVEN SLASH!!⌋"
Oh, that sounded familiar. Tycon ducked a crescent of golden

energy, then twisted his body and spun to the side to dodge a
secondary projectile-blade. Justus' abilities as an Avenger meant
his attacks were twice as hard to dodge.
"If your opponent does not make mistakes," Justus growled,

rearing his sword back for another swing. "--force them to."
...Seven bleeding hells. That wasn't good to hear from the
opposite side.
Tycon lifted his sword in a reverse grip, bracing it against his

forearm. He blocked a heavy strike, which threw him off balance
and forced him to stumble to the side.
Justus switched directions and swung overhead. Oh, that one

wasn't so bad. Tycon steadied himself, deflecting the sword to the
side--
Oh... Aw... He expected a full strike and used too much force to
strike it away.
Justus grabbed Tycon's collar, "My entire body is a weapon."
Tycon's vision grew white as the Decanus smashed his forehead

into his nose. In response, Tycon quickly cut his forearm across
his chest, freeing him from Justus' grip.
He jabbed his sword out quickly, but it was deflected. The young
Decanus had very, very good reflexes. However, Tycon redirected
his blade's momentum by spinning his left leg back, managing a
light cut across Justus' face.
Distracted by his new injury, Tycon planted a solid foot to Justus'

midsection, pushing him back.
"If you're being pressured, create space," Tycon sighed. He

touched his hand to his nose. Blood ran from it, freely.
"Kicks and shoves are superior to retreating," Justus nodded,

knocking his knuckles against the muscled metal cuirass covering
his stomach.
"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" Tycon smirked.
"The offer's still open."
Justus shook his head, "You know I can't."
Tycon dodged Justus' overhead slash, stepping to the left, deep

into Justus' circle of movement. He sliced against the side of
Justus' armor, but his sword glanced off the Tyrion steel.
Justus swung his sword again-- bah, too close. Tycon braced his
sword to block instead of dodging or deflecting.
"⌈LEGIONNN-BREAKKERRR!!!!⌋" The Decanus yelled.
Aw, shite. That wasn't so easy to block.
Tycon channeled mana into his sword, bracing his offhand palm
against the flat of his blade. At least it was a slash, not a stab, so
the piercing effect wouldn't be as precise.
Justus' sword clanged against his, the blades sparking and a

brilliant burst of mana exploding outward.
The secondary blast of mana, however, followed past the sword,

cutting deeply into Tycon's chest and sending him hurtling
backward. As he rolled and tumbled against the rocky terrain, he
was internally thankful that Isidor wasn't here to see him struggle.
He got to his feet. His head hurt. He considered removing his

visored helmet-- but he remembered that that was stupid. Blood
ran down the gash on his armor, down its front.
"Surrender!!" Justus ordered, "You can't continue with that level of

injury, Zehr!!"
Tycon twisted his lips into a smirk, "And what? We'll go see the
healers together? Behind that large rock over there, Fortuna lies
dead with my crossbow bolt in her neck."
Justus paused... closing his eyes and finally allowing the situation
to set into his brain.
"T-to the death, then?" Justus asked, his lips quivering slightly.
Tycondrius readied his sword and nodded, "Either yours or mine."

Chapter 272 Justice (Part
Three)
ycondrius, Warlord of Sol Invictus, had taken an injury. It had

T
been awhile. He had almost forgotten what proper pain felt like.
The games were over.
"Come at me, Justus. Your hatred for non-humans, I will receive it

all.."
He flipped up his visor, undimming his vision. He didn't focus extra

mana into his gaze, so he doubted it would be effective against
another Iron-Ranker, but it would add to his intimidation factor.
⟬ Vexing Gaze: Ocular ability. Target takes damage from an

illusory poison, affecting both target's mind and body. If
Decanus Justus, Holy Avenger of Tyrion trembled slightly. He shut

his eyes and shook his head violently to rid himself of the illusory
poison.
"I don't hate you, Zehr," He said.
Perhaps it cleared his mind, as well.
"You won't be able to defeat me without it," Tycon chided. "You

don't have the technical skill to challenge me... nor can you
change your luck. You rely on strength and mana... both easily
empowered by rage and hatred."
"I... will... NOT!!!" Justus yelled. He placed his sword in front of his
face, charging it with a surge of mana. A beam of light struck the
cavernous ceiling, a series of stalactites cracking loose and falling
around them.
Tycon glanced up. It seemed he was safe from that. That was
incredibly reckless of the young Decanus.
"⌈Sunblade Heaven Slash!!⌋" Justus yelled, launching another two

crescents of golden energy-- the mana composing it, far more
powerful and concentrated than before.
Right... that ability could be used multiple times.
"Good!" Tycon nodded. He dodged the first slash, then deflected

the second with a mana-charged blade, "Use your aggressive
feelings, young man! Let the hate flow through you!!"
It was a marvel of Tyrion steel that it could handle so much mana-

abuse. He glanced down at his sword. It had cracked from where
he deflected Justus' attack.
...Nevermind.
"This isn't hatred..." Justus growled. "This is the power of my

faith."
Tycon felt his mouth twitch. For a soldier of the Holy Country,
that... was the same thing.
"Stop this, Zehr!!" Justus pleaded, raising his glowing sword for
another attack.
"Ah... hahaha..." Tycon chuckled ruefully, "Do you think this is the
best I can do?"
⟬ Inspirational Surge conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ⟭
« Activate, thank you. »
⟬ Activating. ⟭
Tycon drew the two fingers of his left hand across the injury on his
chest, wiping the blood off of the mending wound.
"Y-you can heal?" Justus asked, incredulously. "You... YOU CAN
HEAL???!"
"I never said I couldn't," Tycon smirked.
"Why... but Rena... You could have... W....why?" Justus seemed to

have become quite upset. "WHY???!! WHY DIDN'T YOU SAVE
HER?!?!"
There was a simple answer to that. His healing ability,

⌈Inspirational Surge⌋, increased the natural healing of a target
manyfold. As such, its effectiveness was muted on the elderly and
those with naturally poor regenerative abilities, like horses.
...It also made him hungrier-- he figured all increased-regeneration

type healing skills did. Near all healing abilities and potions had
this sort of effect.
Divine casters like Fortuna had access to more effective healing.

The most common of theirs reversed the damage, which allowed
more critical injuries to be "reset" to an earlier, less injured state.
Rena's injuries were not at the level he could help... nor could
Fortuna, for that matter. That sort of thing was useless to explain.
He doubted Justus wanted the truth. He just wanted a target to let
out his anger.
Tycon rushed forward, leaping up to attack. It was a calculated

gamble. The best thing to do was to dodge his attack. Knowing
Justus' personality, he'd likely block, distracted by the fact that he
could heal and he did nothing as Rena died from her own
foolishness.
"⌈SUNBLADE!! HEAVEN!!! SLAAAAASHH!!!!⌋"
Or Justus could attack. Shite.
Airborne, Tycon was unable to dodge. He desperately slashed his

sword at Justus' first golden crescent, his sword shattering near
the middle of the blade. He squinted his eyes, feeling bits of
shrapnel cutting into his face, wishing he had not raised his visor.
He crossed his arms in front of his chest, protecting his vitals from
the Avenger's second slash.
It cut deep.
It hurt. The injuries would bleed profusely. But Tycon was still
alive-- he wasn't certain he was going to survive, but that had
minutes to be determined. He landed, dropping down to a knee.
He was close enough to Justus to deal a lethal strike.
The boy placed his sword in front of his face, "I'm sorry, Zehr...
Receive thy ⌈Final Judgment.⌋"
Ah! That was the skill that felled the Manticore. Tycon could see...
tears streaming down the young man's face. He had a good heart.
It was too bad that that skill was far too slow to be effective.
Justus raised his glowing sword for the last time.
Tycon stood up and sprinted forward, sheathed by magical

shadows, "⌈Shadowfang Strike.⌋"
Not even the light of Justus' aura could pierce his movement
technique.
Moving quickly through the shadows, Tycon ignored the searing

heat of his injuries on his forearms to arrive behind Justus.
Tycon hooked his left arm around the young man's throat, then he
shoved what was left of his broken sword into Justus' lower back.
With his left elbow, Tycon violently tilted Justus' head up... and
grabbing the hunting knife off of his back, he sliced the Decanus'
throat.
...Ah, maybe that wouldn't be enough. He placed his knife back

against Justus' neck and cut again, slower, deeper. The young,
dying man dropped his sword, pulling desperately at Tycon's grip.
The young man struggled to breathe, but blood was filling his
airways, and his desperate gasps for air turned to bubbling
gurgles.
Tycon continued to hold Justus up, continuing his bloody work,
carving deeply into human flesh. It took several seconds for the
boy to stop struggling... finally falling limp in his hold.
Releasing the young man, Tycon kicked his back-- he was being
very careful. Justus' body slumped onto the cavern floor, his face
colliding hard against the rock.
Excellent. That was a good fight. Tycon hurt all over from using
his mana and taking a bit of injury.
He picked up Justus' Decanus sword, which was in surprisingly

good condition. He looked at his surroundings and counted the
bodies in the cave. No one had 'woken up' and escaped, which
was excellent.
« System, I'm feeling rather inspired. »
« Yes, please, and thank you. »
⟬ Activating. ⟭
« System, change setting: When I thank you, I'd like you to

respond "You're welcome." »
⟬ Setting change complete. You're welcome. ⟭
It was a job well done, he thought. Mana surged through his body,
healing the cuts on his forearms. There was a copious amount of
blood-- that he didn't yet feel lightheaded was a sign that he was
near his breakthrough to Gold-Rank.
Tycon finished his work, systematically stabbing the throats of the

fallen Rhodoks. It was best to be careful. None of them responded
to his efforts, but it was always best to be sure.
Tycon's personal mission was a success-- defeating and killing

several Iron-Rankers and a Gold-Rank. Now, all that was left was
to stamp out the remaining Rhodoks, to allow Isidor a safe
relocation.
Zero humans left in the cave. Twenty outside. Thirty-seven at the

base of the mountain.
Chapter 273 Krakhammer (Part
One)
ycondrius entered a comfortable section of Isidor's mountain

T
cave, warmed by Dwarven forges. A stout, bearded dwarf
apprentice worked tirelessly near one of the furnaces, clanging
away rhythmically on an anvil. An older dwarf stood behind him,
quiet and cross-armed, offering the occasional grumble of advice.
The room was anything but cramped. The massive Titan Snake,
Isidor, relaxing in the corner, only took up a third of it. The
peaceful coexistence was nice, though it did look a bit awkward,
as a whole.
The dwarves were strong, squat, human-like creatures known for

being as stubborn as rocks. They generally preferred to keep to
themselves, doing... whatever dwarves did. Their culture
produced storied blacksmiths and monster hunters, but as for
Isidor... They likely deemed the generally lazy and soft-spoken
Titan Snake as better company than as a trophy.
That and Isidor could probably fit their entire clan in his gullet.
Tycon nodded at a team of bearded Dwarven infantry as they

passed him, walking towards his titanic friend, "Brother-Isidor, I
was curious about the... things you mentioned."
"Oh... The humans... they broke all my stuuuffffff..." Isidor

moaned.
Tycon wore a sympathetic smile, "That was awfully rude of them."
"Indeed... I'm... a little depressssed..."

Tycon pat the side of Isidor's massive body, "No worries, Brother-
Isidor. We're going to kill them all. Then perhaps... we'll get you
more... things."
Isidor sighed. Because of his sheer size and his inversely-

proportionate spirits, Tycon found it difficult to take his melancholy
seriously.
"I've lived a lonnnnng time, Brother-Tyconnn... It's not the first time
I've lost something... important to me."
Tycon shut his eyes and nodded, "I know the sentiment."
"Besides that..." Isidor slithered to 'stand' taller, the rocks shifting

beneath him, "Have you broken through to Gold-Rannnk? You
seem... sssstronger..."
"Almost." Tycon smiled politely, "The last of the human elites gave
a good fight."
"Whaaaat? That last one didn't sssseeem very strong." The Titan
Snake bowed his head, "My apologies for leaving so ssssudenly."
Tycon waved the thought away, "No-- no, no worries. Admittedly, I

made a few blunders. MY performance was rather unsightly."
Isidor glanced down at Tycon's armor, "You look... well?"
Tycon smirked, "My own armor was ruined. This armor belongs to
one of the Decani you killed."
"Oooh... Clever," The Titan Snake bobbed his head in a nod, "I
tried to save the higher-ranked ones for you."
"Thank you for that. They've all been dealt with, as well," Tycon
lightly bowed his head, "And how is my daughter, Sasarame? Has
she been behaving?"
"About thattttt..." Isidor flicked his tongue hesitantly, "You'd best

ssssseee her..."
"...Very well," Tycon grimaced. He found it strange that Sasha
hadn't waited for him after his battle with Justus.
The bustling of wings came at a welcome pause in the

conversation. A small flock of harpies flew in from one of the holes
near the top of the cavern, human-like females with vibrantly-
colored wings and claws in lieu of arms and taloned raptor-feet
instead of legs. Seven of them descended slowly, gliding in
circles, finally landing gently near Tycondrius and Isidor.
Tycon exchanged greetings with the young women. He had met

with them a few moons prior, when he'd met Isidor-- and quickly
forgot everything about them. Thankfully, one of the benefits of his
System was that it quietly and intelligently recorded their names
and basic details for Tycon to review at his leisure.
After only a single meeting, he remembered each and every

name of his subordinates and allies. It made him appear very
reliable.
"Welcome back, Ivory Prince," The eldest harpy bowed her head.
She smiled radiantly with her eyes closed, the white of her teeth
contrasting with her raven-colored crest and plumage.
⟬ Virgilia Darkfeather, Iron-Rank Harpy Siren. ⟭
Tycon chuckled, "Lady Virgilia, please-- I am a Prince far from my

kingdom. You may address me as Tycon."
"Nonsense, Ivory Prince!! Your family ruled these lands when our
ancestors were mere eggs! The winds whisper from my
Bloodfeather sisters to the west that the alliance with the Queen of
Stone is as solid as her namesake."
Though Virgilia argued vehemently, the smile on her face only

widened-- wider than a human's and probably quite terrifying. But
she took good care of her teeth, so Tycon found it aesthetically
pleasing.
She was a rather polite lady-- but with her adulation, there was
likely a hidden motive... Tycon made a mental note to keep his
guard up. Unlike the Bronze-Rank humans, an Iron-Rank schemer
was something he would pay special attention to.
As Tycon conversed with the harpies, more allies began to file into
the warmed cavern, causing the dwarves grumbling to increase in
both frequency and volume. They were victims of circumstance.
The warmth of their forges would serve as the most comfortable
area for a Titan Snake. The mountain's denizens would meet with
Isidor, not the other way around.
...And the havoc and destruction he'd unintentionally cause,

visiting their homes, would not be worth the 'politeness.'
"Your allies have come, hearing of your arrival, Ivory Prince,"

Virgilia sang.
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Or was it because of the light show from
the humans' fight with the Manticore?"
"That too," She chittered a series of quick, high chirps, a... giggle?
It sounded positive?
There were more than a few faces and forms Tycon didn't
recognize. It seemed every faction in the mountains had been
alerted to the human threat. There were Spider Breeders, a gang
of fat raccoons, a timid-looking cave troll tightly grasping a tiny
book, an elven couple along with some griffons.... and...
Tycon narrowed his eyes... "Is that...?"
Virgilia turned her head. Oh. Huh. The Darkfeather Harpies could
turn their heads 270 degrees. That was a... rare trait amongst the
peoples Tycon dealt with.
"Oh, Stephanos? The Gorgon?" Virgilia chirped.
"A gorgon... right."
As the gorgon looked over, Tycon quickly dropped to a knee,

ducking down behind Virgilia and her flock.
...He didn't understand why he did so. His body moved out of
reflex.
"Gwahaha..." A deep laugh sounded, approaching Tycon from the

side, "Rare to see one of your kind kneeling, Snaaaake Prince."
A squad of dwarves swaggered over, led by a gruff and stone-

faced gentleman with a beautifully kept, braided beard-- a lustrous
chestnut brown.
The System offered no name, so Tycon was fairly certain they

hadn't met. He sat down cross-legged on the raised platform he
and Virgilia stood on, looking eye to eye at the dwarven leader.
"You honor me with your presence and your magnificent beard,

Brother-Dwarf."
The dwarf pointed angrily, "Snaaake!! I'm here to tell you the
Krakhammer Clan won't--"
Suddenly, he stopped... retracting his hand to stroke his beard,

"You think so? I've been using this new shampoo. Bartered with
one of the knife-ears-- said it smells like a summer's orchard, and
it does."
"Patriarch... we can't call them knife-ears here." One of the

younger dwarves whispered, "This is a public set-ting."
"Bah!" The Patriarch smacked the top of the younger dwarf's

helmet. "Whatever! We're all friends here, they won't be offended."
"Anyrooooad!!!" The Patriarch again pointed angrily, "Thrumondi

Krakhammer and his clan're no friends of you, Snaaaake!!"
Tycon's mouth twitched.
Was he... supposed to care?

Chapter 274 Krakhammer (Part
Two)
ycondrius sat, crossing his legs on an upraised platform, hands

T
on his knees. Isidor rested lazily behind him. He figured the two of
them together looked quite intimidating... but none of the
mountain's denizens seemed to fear the Titan Snake.
Tycon patiently listened to the Dwarven patriarch pointing and

yelling loudly. It was a bit stereotypical of the dwarf... Tycon
decided to take no offense.
⟬ Thrumondi Krakhammer, Bronze-Rank Dwarven Chieftain. ⟭
"Patriarch... we are friends of the snakes..." A female dwarf

reminded.
Tycon noted that the woman had no beard, looking more like a
squat, rock-muscled, young human. It must have been a more
modern aesthetic style-- perhaps to appear younger? Tycon
surmised that the female must have waxed her face to achieve
such an effect.
"AS I WAS SAYING!! We may be FRIENDS of you, Snaaake."

Without hesitation, the dwarf corrected himself. "But make no
mistake, we're not FRRRRIENDS!!"
Tycon felt his cheek twitch again.
Oh, no. This one was an idiot. He wished he could ask for
someone else, but this one seemed to be in charge.
His gaze met with the female. She didn't get her helmet struck like
the first dwarf. He reasoned that she must have had some status.
Tycon gestured towards her, "Translation, please?"
The woman bowed politely-- not too low, which was acceptable,
"Greetings, your lordship. The Patriarch wishes to say that there is
no benefit in the Krakhammer Clan taking arms against the
humans."
Ah. That made sense. There were a small number of species that
were an exception to human xenophobia, not actively hunted and
wiped out. In particular, dwarves, elves, and popotoes were fully
integrated in all societies besides... the Holy Country. Daeva,
dovahkiin, gnomes, and titanbloods belonged to that category,
too, but there were far less of them.
Tycon nodded, "Your name, noble warrior?"
The Dwarven woman smiled warmly, her eyes bright with pride,
"Diamantia, Prince."
⟬ Diamantia Krakhammer, Iron-Rank Dwarven Destroyer. ⟭
Even her name was modern. It wasn't Dwarven, but in the style of
the people of the Holy Country.
"That is unfortunate, Lady Diamantia. I was certain that the

humans would weep for mercy and the rivers would run red with
blood when the Krakhammers took to the battlefield."
The Dwarven Patriarch, Thrum, stiffened like worked steel doused

in water.
Tycon continued... "And the spoils of war, Patriarch... the gems

and rings to collect... they would look so opulent, reforged by
*proper* craftsmanship and woven into your magnificent beard."
The Patriarch's entire body shook. Slowly, he turned to the woman

at his side and spoke in a guttural Dwarven, "(Dia... My love... Can
we war with the humans? Please?)"
Ah... The Patriarch was the Clan Head... but Dwarven Destroyer
Diamantia was the neck that could turn the head any way she
wished.
The woman glared at the Patriarch. She glanced back to Tycon,

bowed again, "Prince, please excuse us... just for a moment."
Tycon kept his face impassive and raised a palm, "Please. Take
your time."
"(Thrumondi Krakhammer, son of Bumdael, son of Glorilgrin, son

of Thrumondi, we had discussed this. No means no.")
"(Oh, come on. Just one squad? Maybe two? Three! Three
squads, and that's all!!)"
"(We only have three veteran squads, you insufferable fool.)" The
woman placed her hands on her hips.
Thrumondi subconsciously dipped his head, raising his shoulders

in response, "(Dia... Please, the prince seems like a nice guy. He's
nothing like the stories say. Maybe we can invite him to drink? We
can play that board game you like-- ooh! The trivia game! You
*love* the trivia game!)"
...Dwarven ale and a board game? That sounded like a lovely

evening.
Diamantia scowled, "(First off, I heavily doubt that. The prince

likely has more important things to do, my love.)"
Tycon did, but one night off didn't sound so bad. He wondered if
he could bring Sasarame and Isidor... It wouldn't feel proper to
leave them out of the festivities.
"(This was *your* decision, Patriarch.)" She insisted.
"(I may have been a bit... hasty,)" Thrumondi apologized, looking

pitiful.
Tycon chatted idly with Virgilia as he waited. It seemed that

Thrumondi and Diamantia were husband and wife. Sensible.
Finally, Thrumondi approached again, "We're JOINING the war,
Snaaake! And there's NOTHING you can do to stop us!!"
Diamantia hooked her arms on the opposite side of Thrumondi's

neck in a 'loving' embrace... then she pulled his head down, while
simultaneously powering an Iron-Ranked knee strike into his side.
Thrumondi did not fall, a testament to his sturdiness, "S-s...

snaaake... We'll NEVER join your WAR. And there's NOTHING...
you can do... Yeap... Nope. Nothing."
Was he injured? Tycon was a half-step into Gold-Rank and was

fairly certain he'd be critically injured after such an attack.
Concerning the dwarves... to enlist their aid, Tycon had a few

things to offer at minimal risk to himself. After all, they were being
as polite-- honestly, as much as he could hope for.
Tycon took a deep breath and sighed. He wanted to give the

impression that he thought the dwarves were actually important.
"I have a Trading Company in the Kingdom. We'll invest in your

smithy."
The Dwarven Destroyer crossed her arms, "Ivory Prince, I'm sorry.
We've made up our minds."
Thrumondi grumbled haplessly at the comment. The other

dwarves gave their Patriarch pitying looks but remained silent.
Tycon smirked. He held a trump card that was rarely useful, but
would be effective for his current opponent... "I'll have you know,
I'm friends with the Prince of Arcanite."
"...Go on," Diamantia gestured, raising an eyebrow in interest.
Wonderful. Craftsmen loved working with quality material... and

Arcanite was suitably valuable enough to pique the Dwarven
matriarch's interest.
"I'll have my Quartermaster arrange for a shipment of Thorium...

though the mana stones would be more difficult to provide."
Diamantia looked at the various creatures around the cave, "Oh, I
think we'll manage."
...Was she going to slaughter her allies for mana stones? ...Her
class was Destroyer, after all. The thought was worrisome.
One of the largest differences between sentient races and magical

beasts like Isidor and Stephanos was that only the latter had
mana stones, harvestable from their corpses-- or spirit stones, as
the Hidden Sects called them. They were rarely useful-- save for
Hidden Sect techniques, magical power sources for Wizards,
and... for the forging of the mana-absorbent metal known as
Arcanite.
Diamantia nodded, her expression pleased, "It's a pleasure to do

business with you, Ivory Prince. We'll join your war. Isn't that right,
dear Patriarch?"
...The woman was cutthroat. He thought he was getting a good

deal, but judging by her expression it might not have been so.
However, Diamantia would not be dealing with Tycon, himself.

She'd be dealing with his Quartermaster, the Calculator, Sorina
Capulet. She was more than a match for Diamantia.
Sorina had a Business Degree.

Chapter 275 Stephanos
hrumondi Krakhammer, son of Bumdael, son of Glorilgrin, son of

T
Thrumondi, approached Tycondrius, wringing his hands.
"Snaaake... Is there uh... anything for me?"
Tycon's mouth twitched. The dwarf was a fool... and a shameless

one, at that.
"I have a small cask of Elven wine that I wished to sample with a
few choice battle companions."
The Dwarven Patriarch frowned, "Bah, knife-ear swill. Why would I

bother?"
Tycon responded with no change in expression, "We could sit

around a fire, drinking ale, intellectually discussing its poor
quality."
"I, Thrumondi Krakhammer, will devote my axe to your endeavors,

Snaaake."
Arrogance. It made friends... Tycon appreciated the dwarf's

honesty and looked forward to sharing his company... as long as it
was kept in small doses.
After the dwarves left to make their preparations, Tycon saw to the
other allies as they approached, ordered by approximate faction
strength. They all agreed to submit to his battle commands.
One of the nicest things about non-human assemblies was that

the leader was generally easily agreed as either the strongest
faction or the strongest individual. There were no weak leaders in
non-human factions. Those that were, were quickly replaced.
Violently.
All of the factions gathered were not large enough to stand on
their own-- even the Krakhammer clan was only some sixty
strong.
Isidor was a Gold-Rank Titan Snake. Tycon was a half-step away

from Gold-Rank, as well... and a Warlord, a class that specialized
in larger scale battles. Though no one in the cavern feared Isidor,
everyone knew that he was the strongest creature in the
mountain. It seemed Tycon was just as respected-- be it his aura
as a peak Iron-Rank or his title, it didn't matter.
With the dwarves as the largest faction, the others would follow
suit. Where he pointed his sword, the tides of battle would swell.
When he demanded their arrows sing and their hammers fall, the
humans would die.
Finally... it came the gorgon's turn to approach Tycon. Stephanos

was... a peculiar cross between a longhorn bull, a centaur, and an
animated set of full plate armor. Tycon wondered which brain he
had inherited.
He was larger than the Manticore, standing on four cloven hooves

at some 9 fulms tall. His bull body was huge and covered in metal
scales. The 'human' arms and torso were molded like a Titanblood
in peak physical condition. His short neck was like a thick tree
trunk, supporting a horned bull's head.
And to further exemplify the creature's status as an unstoppable

war machine, instead of a bull's tail, there was a tapered-metal
whip-like appendage with what appeared to be a spearblade at its
end.
The legends said the gorgons were killing machines created by

mad Wizards... creative ones... with too much time on their hands.
The brutish, metal-bull-centaur should have been intimidating...

However, for a reason Tycon could not explain, each of the
gorgon's features he observed only annoyed him more and more.
⟬ Stephanos, Gold-Rank Gorgon. ⟭

...It was the first time that he thought the System's assessment
was untrustworthy.
« System, change specific class designation: Stephanos is an

idiot. »
⟬ Understood. Stephanos, Gold-Rank Gorgon Idiot. ⟭
It made him feel a little better.
Tycon tried to hide his displeasure as he addressed the Idiot, "So

the gorgons are with us..."
The large, metal bull-creature wore a wide, foolish grin, revealing

great, flat, bull teeth, "Ivory PRINCE!! I haven't seen you in EE-
POKS!!"
He meant epochs. Tycon assumed he meant epochs.
Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin, scrutinizing slits, "Have we met?"
He wanted to apologize for not remembering such a... gregarious

personality, but he decided against it.
"I'm HUUURT, Brother-Tycon!!!" The bull placed his hand to his

chest, his entire 4-legged body swaying backward.
"Then you'd best see to a healer... or an... Artificer, to have you

repaired," Tycon nodded. "I believe the dwarves should--"
"BROTHER-TYCON!! We clashed briefly in Kasydon, but I was

CERTAINNN I gave you a thrashing you'd NEVER forget!!
Ahahahaha!!!"
Tycon's mouth twitched. He disliked being interrupted. But if Tycon

wanted to strike the bull, he'd have to stand and jump up to catch
Stephanos' horns... and his metal face would hurt his hands or
dent his sword...
No... As tempted as he was, it wasn't worth the trouble
Tycon waved his hand in a calm gesture, "I lost my memories."

"Ehhhh?!!" The tip of Stephanos' tail touched upon his chin as he
gazed up and away in thought.
He probably thought it looked wise. Tycon thought it looked stupid.
"No one... told me this... Was it... a Wizard's curse, Brother-

Tycon?" The metal-bull offered.
"Probably."
When in doubt, blame the Wizards. Tycon blamed them for

creating the gorgons-- no, that's terribly unfair... He blamed them
for creating this particular one.
Stephanos knelt down onto the floor, tucking his legs beneath him,
"Brother-Tycon... Surely you haven't forgotten Stephanos, the
FIERCE KNIGHT!!?"
Tycon grimaced, "Stephanos--"
"--the FIERCE KNIGHT!!!"
...Tycon grimaced and took a very deep breath through his

nostrils, before exhaling, "Are you quite done?"
"I am..." Stephanos nodded his fat, bull-head, "After we met in

Kasydon, we joined forces, and not for a short amount of time!
You MUST remember!! "
"I do not."
"Searching for the shards of the Shikon jewels with that

weretouched fellow? That took FOREVER!!"
"Negative."
"The ATTACK on TITAN!!!???"
"That sounds like it would be memorable, but no."
"Sailing the sea on the Going Merry, searching for the Great
Treasure, the 'One Piece'?"
Tycon hesitated, "That one sounds like it's made up."
Stephanos, the... Fierce Knight, leaned forward, lowering his voice

to what he thought was a whisper, "Then... fighting against the
Snake Cult in Caeruleum?"
Tycon squinted his eyes, "Why the hells are you whispering?"
"Brother-Isidor is quite partial to the Snake Cultists-- I figured you

wouldn't remember that, either."
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Relying on their tributes is also why he's
grown fat and lazy."
Stephanos sat up straight, laughing politely, "Hahaha... As great

as Stephanos, the Fierce Knight is, I don't have the status to say
such things aloud, Ivory Prince."
Tycon's eye twitched... If that was the case, why was the Gold-
Rank Idiot speaking so forwardly to *him*?
"The battle..." Tycon wanted to get back on point, "Can we call on

you for assistance, Brother-Stephanos?"
"--THE FIERCE KNIGHT!!!"
"...The Fierce Knight, yes."
The fool bull crossed his armored forearms across his chest,
again placing the tip of his tail against his chin, "I dunno... I know
they were going after Brother-Isidor, but... have they attacked
anyone else?"
Tycon felt confusion creep onto his face. With all that talk of battle
and adventure, was he really skittish about going to war with the
humans?
"They killed a few Spider Breeders," Tycon reasoned.
Virgilia gasped at Tycon's side, covering her mouth with her wing,
"Oh, no... Matriarch Feverbite won't be pleased..."
"Ehhhh..." Stephanos whined, "I didn't really know the Spider
Breeders."
What a selfish bastard.
Tycon pursed his lips, "The Manticore, too."
Stephanos slammed his palms onto the ground, leaning forward in

surprise, "They HHHH-WWWAAAAAT?!?"
Chapter 276 Beauteous Voice
ycondrius exchanged a look of confusion with Siren Virgilia.

T
From their idle conversation earlier, he had figured no one was
surprised-- or even upset that the Manticore was killed. She was
known for having a very reckless personality.
Stephanos, the Fierce Knight, placed a thick palm over his eyes...
openly weeping, "Every Tuesday night... was SINGING night.... I
will forever miss the Manticore's BEAUTEOUS VOICE!!!"
Singing night? That sounded quite pleasant. He knew Virgilia's

class was Siren. Did she...?
Tycon glanced over to Virgilia. Her face had paled and she wore a
look of sheer disgust.
No, she did not attend Tuesday singing nights. And no, it was not
pleasant.
"Thrumondi... Noblest of noble dwarves... Manti-CORA...

Manticor-iest of Manticores..." Stephanos sobbed.
"And I... Stephanos... the--"
"The Fierce Knight," Tycon offered.
"THE FIIIIIERCE KNIIIIGHT!!!" Stephanos continued, "The three

of us together... We were the masters of SONG... BARDS of... of
LEGEND, whose voices could make ANGELS WEEP!!!"
Tycon could picture it perfectly: angels weeping, gnashing their

teeth, and openly denying the existence of the gods they served.
Ugly tears streamed down Stephanos' face, dripping to the cavern

floor in oily plops, "We would always sing... songs dedicated to
Glory... to the HONOR of our CLANS..."
"Can we not do this right now?" Tycon asked, "I really have to get
going."
"NO!!" Stephanos clenched a fist.
Tycon frowned, "...No?"
"The humans... Will. PAY. For this TREACHERY," Stephanos

declared.
"I really don't think that is the correct word to use in this particular-
-"
Stephanos bowed his massive head, to which Tycon had to sway

his seated upper body back in order to avoid being struck.
"I, Stephanos, the FIERCE KNIGHT, will fight alongside you once
more, Ivory Prince... no... BROTHERRRRRRRRR!!!"
Tycon really didn't want a brother like this... but...
"...Thank you. I uh... accept your allegiance."
"GIVE ME A HUG!!!!" Stephanos yelled in Tycon's face. Snot

dripped from the bull-centaur's messy metal snout and onto
Tycon's lap.
"No." Tycon crossed his arms, "Absolutely not."
"COME ONNNNN!!! COWARDDDD!!!"
...With a sigh, Tycon stood. He approached the kneeling metal

bull-centaur and hugged the front of Stephanos' abdomen. He
patted his side, "Don't cry, brother Stephanos."
"--the... the Fierce Knight... Uhuhuhuuuu~"
Tycon felt Stephanos' disgusting, viscous tears dropping onto his

head as the gorgon returned the embrace. The bull was
surprisingly gentle and the hug solidified their brotherhood... but
the situation still made him slightly uncomfortable...
"...We'll uh... we'll make some ice cream. Would you like some ice
cream?"
"Uhuhhhhuuuuu..." Stephanos sniveled, "Yeahhhhhh..."
...
The meetings with the various races only took a few bells.
Declarations of loyalty in battle were received, promises were
made. There was still plenty of sunlight left, so Tycon wished to
hurry... but still, he felt obligated to see his adopted daughter,
Sasarame, before he departed.
Her room was dark, lit by a candle tucked away in a corner, with
the Dwarven oil lamp on her wooden desk only mere decoration.
The sad, dim flame provided the only light she needed to see.
"Sasha... I brought you gifts."
The dark elf sat at her desk in her white, hooded robe, scrawling
letters of the Common alphabet onto parchment with a feather
quill pen.
⟬ Sasarame, Bronze-Rank Snake Oracle. ⟭
Sasha was a very unique individual. She had a class and she had
picked up the Common tongue surprisingly well, considering her
age and species. Isidor was decades old and still had issues with
it.
Unlike Isidor, Sasha was also skillful at body manipulation,

wearing the form of a lithe dark elf female with the approximate
physical age of a teenage human. Her white hair was similar in
color to her natural form's silvery scales-- but appeared brighter,
due to her elf form's chocolate-brown skin.
Sasha said nothing, more preoccupied with inking her work than
greeting him.
Tycon was being ignored. Was... she upset? He couldn't think of
anything he'd done to upset her-- except the fact that she was left
alone for a few moons with Isidor.
... Thinking on it, that was a perfectly acceptable reason to explain

her sulking.
Tycon raised the small covered bowl in his hands, the movement
catching Sasha's predatory senses, "I brought you some ice
cream. It's flavored with wild berries."
Sasha's hand stopped, placing her quill gently back into its inkpot.
Slowly, she pushed the wooden chair away from her desk and
turned, tilting her gaze up at Tycon.
Tycon pursed his lips and offered his tribute forward. She
snatched the stone bowl and the wooden spoon away from his
grasp... then placed them politely on her desk.
"The Ivory Prince returns..." She mumbled.
"...I apologize," He started open-ended, in the case there were

multiple things he had to apologize for.
The chocolate elf continued to ignore him, uncovering the bowl

and taking a small spoonful of the cold dessert... "It's sweet."
Yes. That was the goal. Sasarame enjoyed sweet things.
"Sasha does not forgive..." She whispered.
Still, she continued to eat.
...Tycon still felt like he had the advantage in the encounter, but he
allowed his young companion her verbal victory.
"I will be leaving again... for a shorter period of time," Tycon

stated. It was not a negotiation. "The humans must be dealt with."
The dark elf paused her gluttony, turning her small mouth into as
large of a frown as she could muster. She turned in the wooden
chair, staring up expectantly.
Tycon's mouth twitched, "I expect Brother-Isidor and the others
have provided you with proper learning materials. When I return, I
will review your comprehensive knowledge."
He had tasked Isidor with instructing his daughter in language,

basic maths, and common learning. If Isidor had failed him, the
Titan Snake would suffer severe physical consequences.
Sasha bowed her head, "She will await... the Ivory Prince's
return..."
That was probably the best he was going to get... still, Tycon felt it
appropriate to request one more thing.
"I would like a hug."
The young lady pursed her lips, "She does not see why."
A dull pain ached in Tycon's heart at the rejection, but he did not
relent, "It's... a human affectation. It's part of your learning... to fit
in with human culture."
"Oh," Sasha stood up.
Tycon reached his arms forward and embraced the girl to his
chest.
After a moment, Sasha began to shove him away, "Master smells

of blood... She hungers."
"Right," Tycon chuckled. He ran his fingers through Sasha's white

hair, allowing a naturally occurring clump to stick upright like a
flower reaching for the sky.
Tycon reached into a side pouch on his belt and revealed his
second gift-- the trump card he was saving that would win back
his daughter's heart.
Chapter 277 Guard Work
ycondrius smirked, watching Sasha's elven eyes widen, her

T
pupils dilated. She licked her lips, clearly able to smell its
contents.
"Venison jerky," He waved the package in front of her, and her

eyes followed it... "Taken from the hindquarter. 1/8th ilm-slices.
Cut against the grain of the meat... Pliable but chewy..."
Sasha was visibly salivating. She wiped her mouth with the back
of her coat sleeve.
Tycon whispered his next words to attack her soul, "Sweetened...

with honey."
Sasha rushed forward, wrapping her arms around Tycon and

burying her face in his armored chest.
...Likely, she did not understand what she was doing, but she did
understand that a 'sincere' hug would see a reward. Clever girl.
Food was the most powerful diplomatic measure in all worlds, not
just this one. That he was decent at cooking was one of his most
powerful aspects.
He recalled that it was likely how the Rhodok Healer began to

trust him so unreservedly. When he picked fruits for the noble
Rhodok stallions, Bucephalus and Heracles, he cut and sun-dried
what he could, for his tent-group. Luck saw that those bits of
apples and berries suited Fortuna's elven palate.
"Do well, young lady," Tycon stroked his daughter's hair. "When I
return, we will continue our travels."
The chocolate elf looked up at him and nodded, a slight smile on
her lips.
...
Modestus sat underneath the shade of a leafless, dead tree on

the mountainside, staring at his dried rations with annoyance and
disgust. For the past several suns, he had padded his meals with
Duplicarius' Zehr's fire-roasts, meat jerky, fruits and berries-- both
fresh-picked and sun-dried. He knew the military rations were
bad... he was used to them from decades of military life.
...But Flame take it all, he missed that green-haired boy's food.
Decanus Ferrutius was in charge of the two tent-groups guarding

the entrance of a cave. Guard work was a good 80% of military
work, so no one complained-- well, no one was surprised.
Everyone complained.
The Rhodoks had arrived early in the morning and after an

excruciating 16 bells of guarding and patrolling, he checked the
sunlight to see... that it was just past noon.
Flame. Take it. All.
The Rhodoks had brought tents, but Modestus hoped they

wouldn't go on into the night. Knowing his luck, it would... but with
his sense of time, he'd probably be dead of old age and boredom
when that came around.
They guarded a cursed place... where over two dozen archers

had been killed by a monster called a Manticore. He and the men
swept through, covering up old blood with sand and earth,
whispering Old Prayers. Some more brazen men blasphemously
called on unfamiliar gods, hoping that *some* deity would hear
them.
Modestus didn't like it-- but he started to see some of the sense in
pleading for forbidden help from the great beyond. He forced
himself to chew some hard tack, washing it down with water...
"I'll worship whatever Flame-scarred demon that pops out, if she
can cook me a proper meal."
A Decanus with a wild, orange beard sat beside him, drinking

heavily from one of his canteens. It was filled with wine, and the
breaths of the two of them stank of it heavily, "How about you
head into the caves and ask the devil, Zehr, himself."
Modestus chuckled, scratching at his itchy grey beard, "Like hells,

I will. First off, the boy has a temper-- like you didn't notice. And
second... those caves are black as night and full of holes that drop
down to the hells."
"Tch," Ferrutius scoffed. "Like I'm scared of that prick. Haha...

More wine?"
Modestus smiled politely, taking the offered wineskin. The

Decanus had his own pride-- every warrior did. Zehr walloped him
in a straight fight. Ferrutius would be a fool to challenge him to a
second.
Modestus took a deep pull of the delicious liquid, returning him to

a warm state of light drunkenness.
"You ever wish you were anyplace but here, Brother-Immortal?"

Ferrutius laid backward, resting his forearms on the dirt, "I heard
you have a wife."
Modestus nodded, passing the skin back, "Aye. Most of the coin I
earn gets sent directly to her-- and she budgets well. And I've a
boy who was apprenticing for a potter-- pretty sure he's mine, too.
Even if the company goes to shite, I can just go home and be a
family man."
The Decanus began to chortle, squealing like a dying pig, "Flame

take you, Modestus. You sell your body for two silver slugs."
"Hey, that's three silver-- and that's for a kiss on the cheek!!"
The two of them laughed for a short while...

"Ah, no... It's a joke, Decanus," Modestus sighed.
"You know, with the way Zehr talks... Don't you think the boy
believes it?"
Modestus felt his eye twitch... Shite. That was right...
"It's too late now..." He let out a helpless sigh, "Any harm that's
done with that's, already done."
"Brother-Immortal..." Ferrutius sat up... "You thinking of retiring

after this?"
Modestus groaned and rolled eyes so hard, his entire head rolled
back. He wished he hadn't done so... with the way his neck felt, he
was certain it'd be sore in a few bells, "Flaaaaame take thaaaat,
Ferrutius. I'm immortal, haven't you heard?"
Ferrutius grinned, revealing a crooked, untrustworthy smile, "I

have."
"It's bad luck to talk about retirement. In the stories, the old man
gets offed on his last sun-- you know that."
Modestus scowled, snatching the wineskin back from Ferrutius.

He drained the last of it.
"I thought you said you were immortal?" Ferrutius countered.
"I can be as immortal as I like and not want my skull dashed

against the rocks, thank you."
The Decanus gazed up at the bright blue sky, "Well... I'm one to
tempt fate. I think I'll retire after this. I've done my duty to my
country... and the thanks I get is a bit shite for it."
Modestus sighed as he rifled through his pack, looking for another

wineskin. He offered it to the Decanus, "I don't blame you."
The scream of a large hawk or eagle cut the somber moment.

Modestus looked up to see several... bird... people swooping
down towards his Rhodoks.
Men and women began shouting. Their weapons clattered as they
scrambled to pick up their weapons.
The monsters of the mountains were attacking...

Chapter 278 Song Of Battle
he drunken Modestus staggered to his feet, strapping on his

T
shield and grabbing his pilum.
Harpies.
Flame-taken harpies. Naked women with chicken wings for arms.

A dozen of them swooped down, grasping his Rhodok allies with
their taloned feet and before gliding back up into the air.
The attack was so sudden, no one could get their shite together.
"Put me down!!!" One of the Munifices screamed.
The harpy dropped that one off of the cliffside, and they
plummeted down, hundreds of feet below.
Ferrutius squinted his eyes hard-- he had been hitting the wine far
harder than Modestus had, "That was a very poor choice of
words."
Modestus felt his heart beat painfully in his chest.
Seven hells, was it going to just... stop? Bah. Whatever. Even if it

did, he'd have a good six or seven seconds before he'd die. He'd
just go down fighting, "Decanus, put your helmet on. Quickly, now.
Everyone is dying."
"Ssssod off, Brother-Immortal," Ferrutius slurred as he grabbed

his helmet and buckled it on. "You're not my dad."
"Your mother's name is Scintilla, isn't it?" Modestus prodded.
The lush bastard had let her name slip during an earlier
conversation.
Ferrutius' eyes widened, "Seven hells... Maybe you are? ...To the
monster killing, then."
The pair charged forward, sobering somewhat as they ran.
A 9-foot tall creature made entirely of steel stampeded out of the

cave on four legs and hooves. It gored one of the Munifices with
massive bullhorns, piercing her chest entirely. In its two metal
arms, it carried a massive battleaxe, chopping the woman's body
in two.
"Do YOUR BALLS hang LOWWW~?!?! Do they DANGLE to and

FROOOO~???!"
It was screeching a cursed tune... None of the Rhodoks dared to

stand before it... everyone running, whether it was from its
appearance or its 'song', Modestus was unsure.
"Can you TIE them in a KNOOOOTTTTT!!!? UHUUUHUU~" The

metal bull-creature was... crying, in deep, sonorous sobs. He
sliced down, severing the torso of a Munifex and another Munifex'
legs below the knee, "Can you TIE them in a
BOOOOOOOWWW??!"
"Nope," Ferrutius stumbled in the dirt, tumbling and getting dirt in

his beard, but scrambling to his feet and running in a different
direction. "Big nope. Biiiig big nope."
Modestus was of the same mind. The two of them turned away
from the cave and immediately started running down the mountain
path. All of the Rhodoks with at least half-a-brain did the same.
Death cries all around, Modestus dared not look back. From the
shouts and shrieks and squeals, he figured even more
Flamescarred creatures were spilling from the mouth of the
cavern.
Seven bloody hells. The Rhodoks have unleashed a plague of

monsters on the Holy Country of Tyrion. We will forever be known
as the Gold-Rank guild of failures.
He hoped his wife and kid would be okay. There wasn't much
hope left for him.
He and the remaining Rhodoks... four of them total, stopped

running. The path ahead of them was lined with... spider's webs,
each strand as thick as a man's arm. And they had to get through
several feet of it, to continue down the mountain.
...Of course, there was a faster path down the mountain. It was
over the edge.
Ferrutius growled, "It's just some webs, you blockheads. We'll just
CUT through!!"
He swung his sword, trying to cut through the thick, vine-like

webs. The sword stuck. As he struggled with that, his hand stuck.
The webs moved in the wind or by some unseen force, and his
forward leg stuck.
Two long, monstrous purple arms reached through the webs,

grabbing the remaining two Munifices and pulling them into the
webs.
Modestus could barely make out its form within the web forest, but
it was big... and it wasn't shaped like a human... It spoke with a
voice so low and deep, the webs vibrated, further entrapping
Ferrutius and the others in the glob, "We... shall keep you....
alive... My children... will feast... upon human flesh... for many
nights."
That sounded like a horrible time. Modestus took a step back,

glancing at the stuck Ferrutius, "Decanus, I'll be going."
Ferrutius gave a muffled scream in response. It seemed some of

the webs got onto his mouth.
Modestus turned and began running towards the ledge to jump.
He had always wanted to do the leap through the air, pilum-

pointed-downward attack... landing on his knees like a hero. He'd
never done it before. He knew he'd probably hurt himself doing it.
But in this situation, he figured he wasn't going to survive,
anyroad, so he figured this would at least be fun.
Something snatched his spear wrist and tossed him to the side,
and he rolled several times on the hard dirt instead of off of the
mountain. His head smashed painfully onto the hard-packed
surface, banging against his helmet.
Bollocks.
"Can't have that, Brother-Immortal," The voice of Duplicarius Zehr

sounded out throughout the carnage of battle.
"Zehr? Seven hells, boy!" Modestus sat up, trying to blink his eyes
out of his daze, "You know how long it would take for the two of us
to kill all the monsters here? I'd rather die!"
"Ever the modest individual," Zehr pursed his lips.
Zehr's armor was pristine, untouched... a bit dusty, but it was

marked by no bits of blood. And under an arm he carried... the
Primus Pilus' helmet.
The forward team had failed, that much he could guess. But
Zehr's appearance was... ominous.
"Brother-Thrumondi, I have need of your axe arm!" He called.
...
Tycondrius examined Modestus' severed head, holding it up by

his black and white peppered beard.
He wasn't certain that the old veteran was actually immortal, but
just in case, he had the Dwarven Chieftain fight him in one-on-one
combat. The dwarf won easily, cutting off the Munifex's head.
There was no burst of light, no leaking of mana, no sparkly

reincarnation or transmigration effect-- it was likely he wasn't as
immortal as he said he was.
But still, Tycon liked being thorough.

"Woz that all, Snaake?" The surly dwarf grumbled. "Seemed
hardly worth the trouble."
"My thanks, Master Dwarf. It was a personal request," Tycon

smiled. "And as you know, there are more at the base of the
mountain."
"Ahaha," Thrumondi chuckled. "Then let us continue our war!"

Chapter 279 Numbers
ycondrius traveled with the mountain factions for most of the

T
way, finishing the journey with a short flight, courtesy of Virgilia.
He planned to act on his own for about a bell of time, to prepare
for the main body's arrival.
The orange horizon promised a cool, refreshing evening. Most of

Tycon's recent allies could see well with little to no light. The
humans could not.
Tycon as "Duplicarius Zehr" returned to the Rhodoks alone,

carrying the Centurion's helmet as proof of his service. He
reported the obliteration of both the forward group and their
accompanying tent groups.
The remaining Rhodok leadership was devastated but...

unsurprised.
News spread quickly that he'd be passing word to the company--

that Tycon would be relaying the Centurion's final wishes. Of that,
they wrongly assumed.
Everyone was to gather for accountability, a rote gathering that no

military-minded individual would question. In large military groups
like the Tyrion military, and by extension, the Rhodok adventuring
company, their most important resource was people.
Accountability was a way of life-- knowing the location of your
resources was integral to utilizing them.
Tycon was informed that many injured Rhodoks would be unable

to attend the formation. As such, he volunteered to check the
infirmaries, himself.
...
Tycon and Scout Placidus checked the medical tents, thankfully
cordoned off from those of the dead.
There were enough tents and few enough Rhodoks that Shield
Maiden Gianna had her own, personal tent.
"Seven in the medical tents, Duplicarius," Placidus saluted. "Eight,

including Shield Maiden Gianna."
"Check again. Memorize their names," Tycon glared through his

visor. "I will be checking on Munifex Gianna, myself."
"Hah. I'll leave you two alone, then," the injured scout went off,
wearing a suspicious smirk. "You know Gianna has a very
particular reputation. Enjoy."
...What was that about?
Tycon adjusted his armor, allowing the metallic sounds to

announce his presence, "Gianna, it's me."
"I know," Gianna's low voice called out from within her tent. "Come
inside, Duplicarius."
Entering her tent, Tycon found the woman out of her cot-- sitting
on her footlocker, wrapped in a dark blanket. She stared up at him
quietly, like she was expecting something.
...He'd begin by stating the obvious.
"I came to see you."
"I know..." Shield Maiden Gianna whispered. She averted her

gaze, "Did... did Justus make it?"
Word traveled fast. Gianna would rightfully be in mourning,

knowing her young husband-- or fiancee, as it were, was killed.
"He did not," Tycon shook his head...
She continued to... stare at him? He offered more, to fill the

silence, "I gave him an offer to escape with me. He decided to
stay and fight."
Gianna's voice raised in pitch, "Tell me truthfully... is it possible

he's still alive?"
That was rather direct.
"It is not. Justus is dead."
The Shield Maiden sighed and... chuckled ruefully to herself...

"How about you come closer, Zehr."
...Peculiar. Tycon didn't sense any malice in Gianna's request, so

he approached as requested.
Gianna reached an arm out of her blanket, pulling him close. Her
other arm was no longer in an earth plaster cast but was
bandaged and hung in a sling.
But with the blanket slipping off of her shoulders...
Tycon frowned, "Where are your clothes, Gianna?"
"It's you I want, Zehr," She whispered as she wrapped her long,
muscular legs around Tycon's waist. "Can you feel how much I
want you?"
Tycon furrowed his brows underneath his visor. He could feel the
seductress' loins, stiflingly hot, pressed against his groin. The
woman was in heat.
"I can," Tycon admitted.
"Good, haha..." Gianna smirked. She hooked Tycon's head with

her functional arm and pulled him down, lapping her tongue at his
lips, "I was afraid of what I'd do if I couldn't have you."
Tycon glanced over to see an unsheathed dagger on a nearby

table, beside a wrap of bandages, "I can see that."
"I want you to comfort me, Zehr. My 'husband' was just killed and I
am in *desperate* need of you," She whispered, nibbling on his
bottom lip.
With a coy smile, Gianna's voice gained sudden forcefulness,

"Now, take off that helmet. And everything else."
"...Right."
Tycon took off his helmet as he undimmed his vision.
"S-snake?" Gianna's gaze widened as she recoiled back in

sudden fear. Within seconds, blood spilled from her mouth, down
her naked chest. She choked on her own blood, unable to breathe
or scream.
Tycon picked up the fallen blanket and wrapped the naked woman
with it, soaking up her life essence. Picking her up, he laid her
back in her cot and checked her pulse.
Dead.
Good. He didn't want to make any more of a mess than he had.
He didn't quite understand the Shield Maiden's motives... but that

was a mystery he didn't care to unravel.
"Rest now, young lady. I'll be checking with the others," Tycon
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, before exiting the tent.
...
Tycondrius carried a lithe form, wrapped in a blanket to the

Rhodok nighttime accountability formation.
There were supposed to be thirty-seven of them. When everyone

had been gathered, there were twenty-five, sleep-deprived,
miserable, and mostly injured Rhodoks... Three had died. 'Nine'
were in too critical a condition to join the formation... or escape.
Tycon mentally arranged the numbers to account for Gianna's

death. Twenty-five 'able' Rhodoks. Eight injured. Four dead. The
numbers matched Optio Sixtus' reports of thirty-seven.
He was surprised there were no deserters, as the situation
seemed rather bleak. However... the Rhodoks did have an
excellent reputation, paid rather well, and it was likely that those
who remained incorrectly assumed that they were safe from
attack.
After Tycon counted the Rhodoks' numbers and was able to

visually confirm their presence, he unwrapped the bundle in his
arms to reveal... a harpy. Virgilia awoke, refreshed from a short
nap.
Unveiled to the stunned humans, she began to sing.
Siren Virgilia had developed a rather nasty Vocal skill she lazily
named ⌈Siren Song⌋. A few affected humans began to fall to the
ground screaming, bashing their heads against the rocks, one
unsheathed a dagger and tried to bore it into his ear... then into
his eyes, for whatever reason. One began to strip off their armor.
More than one began to attack whoever was closest to them...
None of the humans were having a good time.
Then the dwarves came. And the fat raccoon gang. And a rather
hesitant cave troll. And Stephanos, the Idiot.
And the one-sided slaughter commenced.

Chapter 280 Blade Dance
ycondrius decided to not wade into the carnage. He had a

T
unique helmet, but the armor he wore was still distinctly Tyrion.
Everything was on fire. The dwarves seemed to be having a great

time. Stephanos was crying. The fat raccoon gang was looting.
The single cave troll was, terrified, caught between two burning
blazes of Rhodok tents.
What was that one doing here, anyroad? He didn't have to come.
He was obviously not a combatant.
Tycon sighed, "Virgilia, go... go save that guy. "
"Yes, commander," The harpy shook her blankets off before flying
up into the star-filled sky.
A deep and gorgeous voice cut through the battlefield, a sweet,

wondrous song about smiles, a spring morning, and a new
beginning... sung in a fluent Dwarven tongue. Diamantia
Krakhammer swung a two-handed hammer, breaking a human's
thigh and pulverizing the bones that should have been protected
by the meat of it. Then, she whirled her weapon around her head
and smashed it against the human's temple.
All that, and her timing as she sang was uninterrupted. It was
pleasing to hear.
"Sister DIAAAA!!!" Stephanos yelled, "You should join us for

SINGING NIGHT!!!"
"GRARWRREEAAAARRRGHH!!!" Dwarf Chieftain Thrumondi

seemed to go into a berserk rage... perhaps related to the bull-
centaur's casual invitation. With his axe held overhead, he
smashed into a shield wall of humans by his thrice-damned self,
slashing and headbutting, bashing and chopping. All that, while
taking cuts and stabs from sword and spear.
With that kind of recklessness, armor was useless. Was the dwarf
relying on prayer to survive?
Tycon frowned. They'd win without his help, but his battlefield
presence would prevent a severe injury or two.
He stepped forward, "Master Dwarf! Is that the best you can do?!"
...
After the battle, the mountain factions gathered the bodies... or

whatever was left of them. The time it took was doubled due to
having to gather partially-eaten body parts and petrified stone
crumblings. The fat raccoon gang's gluttonous nature and the
Gold-Rank Idiot's ⌈Petrification Breath⌋ were to blame for that.
Tycon made them do most of the work.
There were thirty-seven dead humans. His own forces suffered

zero casualties.
Tycon's mission was complete.
"What shall we do with the bodies, Commander?" Virgilia asked.
Tycon placed a finger against his chin in thought, "In order to

avoid magical scrying, anything that can't be consumed by this
time tomorrow, I want gone-- destroyed or burnt, preferably."
Siren Virgilia bowed her torso and tilted her head several degrees
too far, "We can just toss them off the cliffs, your lordship."
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Don't be lazy, young lady. That would likely
create undead for whomever to deal with next."
"But it won't be... our problem~" Virgilia sang sweetly, nuzzling her
head of dark raven hair against Tycon's shoulder.
"I want the bodies gone. You have an entire sun to do so," Tycon
rolled his eyes, "The particulars will be up to you."
Virgilia revealed her too-wide grin, "It shall be done, Commander."
...
⟬ The following morning. ⟭
Tycondrius reviewed the parchments holding Sasha's cumulative

test results. It tested her reading skills at an advanced level, local
history, and general history of the Realm.
It was a far more 'modern' collection of knowledge than he had,

himself.
There was a section, too, on... basic human interactions....
'When a human asks you how you are doing, how do you
respond?'
Tycon glared at the parchment. That was one of the easier

questions.
'How do you politely say no to an invitation?'
Seven hells... Tycon put the paper down, looking at the... almost
regal elven couple.
"Lord Ithilrandir, Lady Elacrai," He addressed them with respect. "I

thank you for your assistance in this endeavor."
The two lowered their heads politely, with Lady Elacrai speaking,
"I was a University teacher at Delacour, prior to moving east and
have served as a private tutor for several households for over
three centuries."
The elven couple lived peaceably among the Mountain Factions,

helping when they... felt like it.
The capricious and whimsical nature of the elves made them...

unreliable, to be polite. They likely treated Sasarame as an
anomaly and teaching her was something new, to break up the
monotony of... whatever elves do.
The male elf spoke in a flowing, graceful song, but deep and
masculine voice, "Sasarame performs well in archery. Had we not
known better, we would have guessed she was a pure-blooded
elf."
Tycon nodded, "My thanks, Lord Ithilrandir. I will relay the

message to her."
The elf tilted his head, "She is aware."
Ithilrandir blinked slowly as he observed Tycon. The sclera of his

eyes were pure black, marking his bloodline as far more pure than
that of most elves. Tycon knew not to demand anything of him--
only to request.
"Prince Tycon," The elf began.
Tycon looked up, trying to hide the surprise in his face. There was
something else? A hole in his gut formed, worrying about what
sort of developmental problem his daughter had.
"... The winds whisper that you are versed in the elven art of the
Blade Dance," The elf closed his eyes and tilted his head
downward in... what appeared to be high regard for the subject.
Oh. That was fine, then.
It was a blasphemous statement, a trap. As isolated as this couple

was from their kin, Tycon doubted the words of any adult elf were
meant to be answered with unfiltered honesty.
The correct response was to be annoyingly humble and borderline

obeisant. Tycon gave the Elven Ranger what he wished, denying
his own skill and praising the elves, wishing only to emulate their...
grace and... uh...
Tycon spoke with colorful... long words, most of which, he did not
put forth the effort to memorize. He had his System open a
reference document for long, impressive words, and he peppered
his statements with them out at random-- sporadically.
The elves were satisfied. Tycon learned some new words. Sasha
was miserable... but educated. Everything was fine.
...
The Titan Snake sought Tycondrius shortly before it was time to

depart the mountains.
"I'd like..... to speak with youuu... of something, Brother-

Tyconnnn..."
"Empty night, Brother-Isidor," Tycon twisted his face in a grimace

so set, his cheeks hurt. "Don't tell me you're having second
thoughts."
"No... no.... Maybe.... But anyroad," Isidor tasted the air with his
forked tongue as he hesitated... "It's about... Ssssssasha..."
Chapter 281 New Hunting
Grounds
ycondrius was checking his gear. He kept his looted Tyrion

T
Decanus armor, throwing his dark cloak over it. He left behind his
helmet; Duplicarius Zehr would be counted amongst the
casualties.
...He wondered if his promotion was in-writing, somewhere.
Anyroad, Tycon's hood allowed him general anonymity. Most

people seemed to assume he was elf-blooded, which wasn't...
terrible.
He took two Decani swords-- they were good quality steel, as well
as his halberd and crossbow.
Isidor loomed over him... admittedly, looking rather cowardly and

uncertain for an 80 fulm long Titan Snake.
"Sssashaaaa... She refers to herself... in third-person."
Tycon narrowed his eyes. Sasarame was young and he found the
trait endearing. Though yes, it was flawed according to common
diction, "What of it?"
Isidor lazily swayed his head back and forth-- like a cobra... which
he was not, "You... you encourage ittttt..."
"...State your point, Isidor," Tycon urged, slightly impatient.
The Titan snake hesitated once more... "You mussst... stop.

Ssshe is... physically thirteen, according to human standardsss...
Near the age of adulthoooood... old enough... to marry."
Marry? His daughter? None would dare.
Tycon felt his mana circulating rapidly, a sudden and inconsolable

rage blossoming in his heart. Mana too coursed through his
halberd... the oiled leathers covering its blade disintegrating and
illuminating its mana-sharpened edge. He slammed the base of
his hafted weapon into the ground, forming cracks in the earth as
he turned his gaze towards Isidor.
Gold-Rank mana surged through every fiber of his being, and his
eyes glowed a harsh white.
"Did. You. SAY SOMETHING?? BROTHERRRRRR??!?!"
Isidor shrunk back, ducking his head down against the dirt,
making himself look as small as possible, "No, no. I said nothing,
Brother-Tycon."
"Get your things. And we will be leaving the mountain," Tycon

ordered. He clenched his teeth, growling the last words, "Brother-
Isidor."
"Right. Going," Isidor slithered away...
Tycon slowed the circulation of his mana... He tried to do so

gently. He had to sit down and concentrate in order to stifle his
anger, narrowly avoiding injury to his mana-circuits.
Minutes passed. Bells of time passed as he sat and regulated his

mana flow. Finally, a bell or two before the morning sun, he grew
confident in reigning in his power.
« System, display: My personal information. »
⟬ System response: Tycondrius, Gold-Rank Maedar Warlord. ⟭
Tycon frowned. If anyone asked him how he turned Gold-Rank,

he... would have to lie to save his dignity.
...
The fearless Isidor returned, complaining that he didn't want to go,
after all. Tycon had to bribe him with the promise of meat and
spices.
There was not a single bag of holding amongst the fallen

Rhodoks, nor any bags amongst Tycon's closer allies amongst the
mountain factions. (Likely the elves and dwarves and fat raccoons
had them, but had not openly volunteered their use.)
Tycon lamented having left his spatial items in the Kingdom with
his allies. Without them, he was forced to be particular about
carrying only what was necessary.
Sasarame carried a shortbow and wore her white, peak-hooded

cloak. Tycon forced her to carry a few of her own items, as well...
extra clothing, a thick bedroll, and extra quivers.
It turned out that the Krakhammers wanted to move to a more

resource-filled area for years, but lacked the reason and the
armed forces to do so. With the threat of more humans constantly
sieging their territories and the factions gathered with Isidor as
their base, the dwarves had both. They suggested the alliance
travel to the Aetnian mountains to the west.
Tycon incited a war. Reaping the lives of the injured and hopeless
Rhodoks did little to sate their bloodlust. They would continue on,
taking their frustrations out in a new war. With the Gold-Rank Titan
Snake and Idiot supporting Destroyer Dia and Chieftain Thrum, he
had no doubt the alliance would gain a powerful standing in their
new home.
The mountain factions journeyed together in looted Tyrion

wagons, the forefront consisting of the Elven couple and the
Krakhammers. Tycon insisted the alliance pay a visit to a certain
Iredar tribe, the Blood Paws. They were forcibly inducted into the
conglomerate-- an easy task, since most of their warriors had
been killed in recent weeks.
The Iredar preferred grassy areas to mountainous, which was

fine. At the base of the mountains, the Blood Paw territory would
be a trap-filled threshold for any invading forces. They would fend
for themselves, birthing more pups and training them to be
heroes. Should the humans attack in force, they could lobby to
have the mountain factions to help defend their territories against
the major threat.
It was more-or-less how the Free Nation worked in the far west.
The Eastern States worked similarly, as a republic composed of
several city-states.
In a few years, the heroes of the Blood Paws would howl once
more, as one.
...
Three hooded figures of varying heights and sizes walked the

nighttime streets of Caeruleum.
Tycondrius found the city's name familiar... Where had he heard it

before?
Tycon led the trio, wearing his favorite cloak and peaked hood,
dark and stylish, though comfortable. Sasha wore her glaringly
white coat, her hood pulled down low to disguise her Elven
features. She refused to wear a different coat, as it was literally a
gift from her god. A bulky figure, shorter than Tycon and Sasha
both, followed quietly behind.
Isidor was disguised in his humanoid form. It wasn't... very good

and the Titan Snake found it bothersome to wear, but due to his
size, he would not cause immediate alarm amongst the humans.
And he ate less, which was arguably the main reason Tycon
insisted upon it.
They were searching for a particular tavern, directed to him by

Virgilia Darkfeather before they parted ways. However, the
conspicuous trio found "trouble" before they found their
destination.
"The streets are dangerous at night, friend," A human with a

patchy beard sat on a dilapidated wooden crate. He brandished a
knife, picking the dirt underneath his fingernails.
⟬ Bronze-Rank Human Thug. ⟭
"Thank you for the advice... friend," Tycon eyed the suspicious
individual warily.
"Gehehe..." The human grinned, "But now that you're here... how
about you... stay awhile?"
Chapter 282 Lone, Ranger
(Part One)
ycondrius identified six male individuals in the dark, their outlines

T
illuminated by the nighttime street lamps. They watched with great
interest, quietly drawing sword and dagger, not knowing that all
three of their marks could see as well in lamplight as in sunlight.
Tycon pulled Sasha closer-- he'd be able to defend her better, in
the case the enemies had crossbows.
His System designated the first man and his surrounding allies as
possible enemies. However, the first human was Bronze-Rank
and had a low-tier class... and the others were Unranked, save
one other Bronze. With their numbers, they weren't a real threat to
anyone but Sasha.
It was somewhat of a waste of mana to deal with them... but that

was fine.
Though Tycon and his friends were hungry after their journey, a
pre-meal exercise would be fantastic for whetting their appetites.
As a bonus, he'd be able to see how Sasha's martial abilities had
progressed, as well as give Isidor some much-needed practice in
controlling his rarely used humanoid-form.
All this, he could get for the low price of a mere seven counts of
murder.
Tycon grinned wide, allowing his golden eyes to glow with mana
underneath his hood, "Now that we're here, how about we give
you gentlemen our own lesson of... 'life advice.'"
In order to continue living, don't cross guild Sol Invictus.

"Hold it!!" A sharp command cut through the quiet night. The
voice's owner turned around a building corner, yet another
cloaked figure... yet this one looked like he had some self-respect.
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, swept his hood back, "No one
f*cks with my friends."
Tycon crossed his arms. That was a surprise. His old ally had
come to their aid.
...That was fine, too.
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark... was a human with unfriendly

eyes and medium-short, dark hair. He wore a scruffy beard that
Tycon insisted the young man shave clean each morning, though
it would regrow to a dark shadow by evening. His skin had
bronzed from constant suns outside, and he had a tired,
weathered look about him, most notably in the dark spots
underneath his eyes.
A cut across his nose had scarred over his wide face, an injury
from long ago, marking him as no stranger to close combat, and
he'd a broad, armored chest that revealed the well-developed
muscles of his arms. They'd thinned slightly since last he
remembered, growing more compact with function rather than
bloated in size.
"And who in the hells are you?" The knife-wielding human

groaned.
"I am the grilled cheese sandwich of your deaths," Lone grinned,

his eyes widening to reveal his bloodlust. "Now, which of you
arseholes wants a bite?"
Tycon had met the young man during his adventures in the
Kingdom to the west and immediately bullied him into service.
And then he broke him.
He was weak. Sol Invictus trained him.

When he made a mistake, his punishment was more training.
When his performance was deemed lacking by even one of their
number, he was punished with training. When Tycon was bored...
he trained alongside him.
Tycon, Lone, and the members of Sol Invictus... they trained

together, ate together, bled together.
Lone was made to hate his training-- to hate his failures, to hate
his own weaknesses. He grew reckless, seeking perfection of the
art of war... anything he could do to make the training stop. His
first instincts were not to run or cower in fear, it was to close with
the enemy and eliminate each and every one of the bastards in
close combat.
Tycon took that hate, he took that recklessness, and he cultivated

it into a perfect combatant-- a machine trained to war... and one
better than any creation made by mad Wizards.
He instilled in him instant and willing obedience to orders.
He instilled in him the arrogance that only belonged to the victors

of war and battle.
The training was no longer to defeat a specific enemy... It was to

overcome his own flaws, to defeat the unseen enemy that would
come to take his life and everything he held dear.
But tonight... that undefeatable monster, the bringer of hope and

despair, the life-reaping sandwich... was Barza Keith, the Lone
gods-damned Shadowdark.
Tycon pointed at the ruffian with the knife. He gave Lone a single
word.
"Kill."
"DEATHHHH!!!" Lone screamed. He tossed off his cloak, grabbing

a Dark Iron hammer and unsheathing a magical longsword from
his waist.
"TO THE ENEMIES!!!!" He sprinted forward, leaping up-- crossing
near 30 fulms before anyone could move.
"OF INVICTUUUSSS!!"
The Bronze-Rank Thug had no chance. Lone's hammer swing

struck the side of the man's temple, denting his skull in. He
stabbed his sword into the man's abdomen, then tore it to the
side, eviscerating him. Blood and guts spilled onto the floor.
Tycon snapped his finger.
⟬ Commander's Strike activated. ⟭
It was Tycon's strongest and most useful skill. A surge of rage and
battle-lust would affect his target, sharpening their senses and
increasing their speed. Lone would push the limits of his body and
execute an empowered attack, made accurate by the guiding
mana, empowered by the flowing hate.
"RrrrrrrrraaaaAAAAAHHHH!" Lone's growl crescendoed into a

roar. He dropped his weapons-- an interesting choice, and one
that he would be punished for... if not for the longbow he grabbed
in one hand and the two arrows in the other.
"⌈Whirl Shot!!⌋" He fired a mana-powered arrow, which found its

way to the center of a man's chest, then spun around, dropping to
a knee. Tilting his bow, he fired a second shot, the glowing arrow
striking the center of another man's kneecap.
Hohhhh... A skill... The young Lone had improved with his solo
training... and by mana-powered leaps and bounds.
"Taste the power of an Iron-Rank death-sandwich," Lone spat.

"⌈Whirl Shot.⌋"
Another two fell.
An Iron-Rank, huh?
Tycon smirked. It was wonderful news. Sol Invictus grew stronger,
each and every sun. He shut his eyes, pleasantly surprised.
"S-stay away!!" One of the humans called out from behind him,
"Or-- or your friend GETS IT!!"
Tycon furrowed his brows... No, they couldn't be so stupid.

Opening his eyes, he tilted his head down at his side. Sasha's doe
eyes looked back up at him.
He looked back to where the polymorphed Titan Snake would

have been...
The humans had captured Isidor.

Chapter 283 Lone, Ranger
(Part Two)
he two remaining humans had captured Isidor. One had his arm
T
hooked around Isidor's neck and was pointing a knife at... his
head?
The second human pointed a sword towards Tycondrius in an

attempt to appear threatening. The man's knees buckled like he
was about to piss himself and his sword hand trembled terribly.
Tycon did not feel threatened.
"Whatttt.... should I doooo?" Isidor asked.
Tycon pursed his lips. The situation was absurd.
The two humans, a Bronze-Rank and an Unranked-- had just

captured a disguised magical beast with a Gold-Rank physique
and were threatening him... with a knife.
Sasha tugged at the fabric of Tycon's cloak, "Th-they've...

captured Brother-Isidor..."
Tycon's mouth twitched, "Yes... yes, they did."
Lone strode up, standing beside Tycon, "Let the kid go and no one
gets hurt."
No one gets hurt? Tycon turned to glare at Lone. And why would
they believe that? *How* would they believe that? Five adult men
had just been murdered or were inflicted career-ending injuries,
and he had done that, himself! There was no way they'd even
entertain the thought.
Tycon looked back to the two ruffians. They didn't believe Lone's
words, either.
Tycon took a deep breath and sighed, "Isidor, just uh... kill them, I
suppose?"
Isidor frowned underneath his head, "Brother-Tyconnn... I... I don't

know if I should."
"Shut up! You're just a HOSTAGE!!" The swordsman screamed.
In his foolishness, the sword-wielding human backhanded Isidor

across the face... which threw back the hood hiding his form.
Underneath Isidor's cloak, his humanoid form resembled a

beardless dwarf. He had a thick, heavy build of muscles and was
capable of using his Gold-Rank physique, though he stood a head
underneath Tycon. It was strange that Isidor had to look up to look
at the humans. In his natural form, that was definitely not so.
Reptilian scales covered his skin... unlike any dwarf Tycon had
ever seen. Isidor's was so untalented with his alternate-form ability
that he'd... become a unique creature.
The human that struck Isidor immediately began to scream. He

held up his hand, his flesh torn...
Isidor grimaced, looking apologetic while revealing his pointed

teeth.
Besides the scaly skin, Isidor's form also had sharp, thin teeth
like... a crocodile's.
...Tycondrius had no idea why they were like that. His natural form
was nothing like a crocodile.
He frowned. They needed to end the fight and quickly relocate.

They'd made enough noise that would attract undue attention...
and while he couldn't stop Lone from yelling out his attack names
at the top of his lungs, reducing the noise Isidor's captors made
would be reasonable.
"Brother-Isidor, please. Silence the human," Tycon ordered.
Tycon had no idea what Isidor would do. He realized that the
notion slightly worried him, but it was too late to take back the
order.
The Titan Snake turned scaly dwarf had no idea how to fight in his
new form... but a clumsy punch or even a bite from a humanoid
with a Gold-Rank physique would be... messy. If his cloak were to
be drenched in blood, they wouldn't be able to take him into any
public places without being questioned.
...And it would be a pain to clean. It would stink if they didn't.

Tycon, however, did keep a bar of scented soap in his pack. He
considered it necessary adventurer supplies.
Isidor walked forward, dragging the human at his neck along with
him. Hesitant for a moment, reached his burly arms around the
swordsman's lower back... and squeezed.
The human stopped screaming very quickly, unable to breathe.

He even dropped his sword.
Trash.
The human with a knife began to panic, stabbing at Isidor... It did

nothing-- not when he stabbed his back, not his arms nor his
neck. Even stabs to the thinner parts of flesh on his face were
unable to make Isidor flinch. The human stabbed so hard that his
hand slipped off of his blade, cutting deeply into his palm.
Tears in his eyes, palm bleeding severely, the human pulled at

Isidor's arms, he punched ineffectively at his face, even trying to
poke his eyes. Isidor was undeterred.
Really, what he should have done was run away. But with the way
he was fighting so desperately, maybe they were good friends?
Finally, Isidor released the human. The body fell to the ground,
limp and lifeless, its eyes rolled into the back of his skull.
"I broke... hiss ssssssspine," Isidor looked back to Tycon with a
small, polite upward curve of his lips.
Nice. He learned to smile. Tycon was very proud of his friend.
Tycon turned back to Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, "Lone,

help me grab their wallets and let us quickly leave this place."
Lone frowned, "Boss, there's one more guy."
Tycon took out his hand crossbow and shot the remaining human
in the eye.
The man collapsed backward.
"...R-right, I'll get the guys over there," Lone pointed.
Tycon nodded, "I'll search the other half."
...
Following a brief introduction of Isidor, Lone led their small party to

their target destination, a particular inn and tavern, the sign
marking it displaying a drum with a hole in it.
Tycon entered the establishment first, loudly declaring, "Holy

Drum!!"
The mustachioed gentleman behind the bar counter looked over,

unsurprised by the outburst, "Nope. Care to try again,
adventurer?"
Tycon crossed his arms. He was so certain... The rest of Sol

Invictus entered, behind him.
"R-rhythm Heaven," Sasha suggested. She pulled her peaked

hood down with both hands, hiding her embarrassment.
"Nice try, young lady." The bartender shook his head. "We're just
called the Broken Drum."
Tycon pursed his lips, "I was hoping for something... more
creative."
"We can't be beat," The bartender shrugged.
"...I stand corrected." Tycon admitted, "That is indeed very clever."
"They got me too, Boss." Lone nodded, "I thought it was a cracked
barrel."
"Cracker Barrel," Sasha softly suggested.
...
Sol Invictus sat down for a meal. With their ill-gotten coin, Tycon
was confident of a short, comfortable stay in Caeruleum, to
include meals and a private room that fit the four of them.
...He doubted the stay would be short, though. In the morning,

he'd search for a way to earn more coin.
"Boss..." Lone grinned, "I've finally... reached Iron-Rank. What do

you think?"
Chapter 284 Hope For Lone
ycondrius looked away, trying to think of how he'd word his

T
response.
« System, display: Information on Mister Lone. »
⟬ System Response: Lone Shadowdark, Bronze-Rank Human

Ranger. ⟭
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, hadn't ranked up, at all... He

*did* class-change, which... which was nice. That was the goal of
him going off, training in the woods as he volunteered several
moons prior.
Lone's original class was Ruffian, a low-tier class. Tycon took

great pains in training his martial senses-- the original goal being
to change his class to Fighter, a standard-tier class.
...When he did get the class-change... it was to Warrior... another

low-tier class.
Then he found out that the gentleman had a good sense for
tracking, wielded two weapons ambidextrously and with finesse,
and even had an Iron Wolf companion named... something stupid.
Tycon figured he'd have a greater affinity increasing rank in the

standard-tiered Ranger class. All of those traits, Rangers were
known for.
...Though not the stupid-naming one. That just made Lone unique.
Lone stared at his hands, "I practiced with my bow every sun, me
and... me and my wolf, Tres Leches."
Oh, right. That was the name of his wolf. It was a sentient magical
hammer made out of Dark Iron that transformed into a wolf. It did
look rather handsome with a coat packed with sharp metal spikes.
Lone had mistakenly thought the name meant 'Three Moons.'
It wasn't the case.
Lone looked so... proud, though. He had his longbow strapped to

his back, a hunting knife on his waist, animal teeth and claws
decorated his gear and clothing. He looked the part of a storied
Ranger who lived off of the land.
Tycon... as the current leader of Sol Invictus wanted nothing more

than to increase the young man's power, guiding him towards that
goal as best he could. However... he knew if he told his friend that
he did not in fact rank up... such a setback would hurt the young
man's fragile-as-glass ego.
He was trying, ever so hard. He needed to be encouraged--

shown that his hard work was... not as useless as it actually was.
Even a single step in a journey across the Realm was forward.
Tycon reached over the wooden tavern table and grasped Lone's
shoulders with both arms, "I'm very proud to have a loyal and
hard-working Ranger in Sol Invictus."
Lone grinned, beaming with pride, "An Iron-Rank Ranger."
"But a Ranger, nonetheless," Tycon felt his mouth twitch but

prayed Lone would not notice it.
...
The meal was more than satisfactory and it cost none of Tycon's
personal savings. He recalled an old aphorism that free food
tasted the best.
Or was that for stolen food?
Besides the coin looted from the ruffians, the remaining coin was
from looting the Rhodoks. The greedy-- no, the financially sound
Krakhammer dwarves took most of the spoils.
"This... this pleaaasesss.... my palate," Isidor whispered. His

humanoid form was hidden away by his heavy cloak, so as to not
alarm the humans. "Tell me.... of its... composition."
Tycon smiled weakly, "Meat, vegetable oil, salt, and... black

peppercorns."
The ingredients were simple... but it was fire-roasted properly to a

crisp exterior-- with the contrast giving the sense that the juices
were 'sealed' inside. Further, Tycon went into the kitchens himself,
to specifically point out the cuts of beef he wished for.
It seemed to have been considered rude... but it ensured the

quality of their party's meal, so was worth the effort.
"Black peppercorns..." Isidor held his steak by the bone and took
another ravenous bite, revealing pointed teeth in his maw, "The
magic the humannnssss wield... It has... progressed much."
Tycon frowned. He would have Isidor accompany him for a few

suns longer. If only that impressed him, the cuisine of the Holy
Country had far more to offer.
The white-hooded Sasha quietly and unobtrusively nibbled on a

large meatball, perfect to fill the young lady's small stomach. She
ate even less in her natural form, but as a Bronze-Rank Oracle, it
was best she remained in a humanoid body. She had gained
access to her dark elf form relatively recently... and interestingly
enough, she was far better at using it than Isidor was using his.
Blood, meat juice, and ale were slathered all over Isidor's chin and
onto his clothing. It was... shameful. Isidor would certainly be the
"older" brother, having lived for several decades, while Sasarame
had lived for... less than five?
Tycon took a dinner napkin and dabbed some tomato sauce off of
Sasha's chin.
At least Lone would be a proper gentleman. He was a human,
after all.
He looked over... and again, his hopes were dashed against the
rocks. The figurative skull of said hope was cracked open, its
figurative pink brains, strewn about, and was picked by record-
breakingly large figurative carrion birds.
The young glutton was savaging his meal, his face and clothing
covered by sauces, butter and bread crumbs, and... tears?
He had thought grilled cheese sandwiches would be a relatively

neat meal.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Mister Lone... Please."
Lone wiped his eyes and took a long, noisy pull from his nose,
breathing in a hearty glob of snot, "I'm-- I'm sorry, Boss. I've just...
This is the best meal I've had in moons."
He was a Ranger. His skill at archery was more than well enough,
he had seen it. His hunting skills should have been excellent. His
cooking skills... must have been decent enough to feed himself, at
least.
...Though Tycon was aware that Lone was lacking in that area.
The man couldn't even melt butter properly.
Tycon was curious as to why Lone had no questions about Isidor's

strange appearance. It seemed he was preoccupied in taking care
of himself-- which was fine. It was proper to celebrate their
reunification.
The meal finished in good time and wine was poured. Even
without Tycon specifically requesting it, Sasha's wine was heavily
watered down to little better than grape juice. It was the custom in
the Holy Country, for serving wine to non-adult, young persons.
Tycon leaned over to catch Lone's attention, "I tasked you to

reach out to the Archbishop. Did you receive my message?"
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, swirled his wooden winecup,
hesitant, "Y-yeah... I met with that girl."
Tycon raised an eyebrow.
Was there an issue with the harpy messenger that Virgilia

Darkfeather sent?
Chapter 285 Polixena
"You'll have to be more specific, Mister Lone," Tycondrius urged.
There were many harpies in Virgilia's flock, and he was fairly

certain he'd met all of them-- even their hatchlings. If one of them
was rude to a member of his Sol Invictus, he'd have Virgilia punish
them severely.
"Well..." Lone twisted his face, looking up at the tavern ceiling,

"She had wings instead of arms..."
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Yes, she was a harpy. I sent a harpy to
contact you, but I was asking on identifying details for the
*specific* harpy."
"Oh, right," Lone nodded. "The feathers on her arms were... black
and white? And the ones on her chest were a bright orange... and
her hair--"
"You mean her crest?" Tycon politely corrected him.
"Boss--" Lone frowned, "I'm trying to tell you."
"You're right. I apologize."
Lone finished talking, but Tycon ignored him, instead choosing to

review his System's database on Virgilia's flock. One matched the
description.
"Ah... You speak of Polixena. Her plumage is indeed, quite

beautiful," Tycon smiled.
The harpies that originated in the Holy Country all had lovely,
vibrant colored feathers. Unfortunately, because of that, they were
also valued as slaves or "pets" in most countries... which
admittedly, was slightly better than hunted to extinction by the
xenophobic Tyrions.
"Y-yeah... We went on a date," Lone averted his gaze.
"Oh, that's nice," Tycon nodded.
He assumed it was a romantic date. He had recalled that his

friend's endeavors towards that tended not to end well, but Tycon
still wished the best for him and hoped he would succeed.
...He was fairly certain a harpy and human pairing would create
eggs. And that was more potential power for Sol Invictus, several
years in the future.
"Sh-she tried to feed me, Boss," Lone crossed his arms,

discomfort in his expression.
"Yesssss...." The hooded Isidor remarked, "A romantic.....

notionnnn...."
"Isidor, no..." Lone tried to argue, "Boss Tycon..."
"She... she liked you..." Sasha nodded.
"No, guys-- you don't understand!" Lone stood up, looking as if he

was about to cry again.
Tycon groaned, "Sit down, young man. Just tell us your issues."
Lone sat down, pointing his finger aggressively at the table and
speaking through clenched teeth, "She chewed up food and tried
to vomit it into my mouth."
Tycon's eye twitched, "Well, that was... nice of her?"
He didn't see the issue.
"R-romantic," Sasha agreed.
A wide grimace crossed Lone's face, "Guys, no. It was *gross.*"

"Oh, come now, Mister Lone," Tycon chided. "It's just as
unhygienic as kissing. This really shouldn't be a big deal."
"Boss! It's different!!" Lone raised his voice, before realizing he

was being glared at by the other tavern guests. He shot them
apologetic nods, before lowering his body and his voice, "It's... it's
different."
Tycon shared an uneasy look with Isidor.
Turning back to Lone, he asked, "If this were to happen to me...

should I... also be disgusted?"
Lone pursed his lips, "Yes."
"...Very well, I will take this into consideration."
And thus, Lone taught the three non-humans a valuable lesson.
...
The Lone Shadowdark had indeed received Tycondrius' message

by Polixena's mouth, as well as... a uh... a full meal, apparently.
The Archbishop would be journeying to Caeruleum, herself--

which was more sincerity than Tycon could have hoped for, and
they needed to stay in the city for a few suns more in the interim.
Tycon had enough coin to keep Sol Invictus fed and sheltered for
the time being. They needed more. As a last option, he could
withdraw funds from a branch of the Realm-wide Banking Guild,
but that would also broadcast his presence to all of his unseen
enemies.
He decided not to worry at least Sasha and Isidor. The quartet

walked the market streets of Caeruleum, the two of them taking in
the sights of colorful street stalls, the smells, and the sounds that
they'd been away from for far too long. A small budget had been
set aside for the young snake and the "young" snake to purchase
food or... souvenirs.
They were enjoying themselves.

Tycon shared his financial worries with Barza Keith, the Lone
Shadowdark-- though he honestly didn't expect his human friend
to come up with any worthwhile ideas.
"We could just... sleep outside, Boss?" Lone tilted his head as
they walked.
Tycon shot back a look of incredulity... then of worry, "Is that what
you've been doing? Haven't you earned any coin while we've
been out?"
Lone looked away, "I uh... I haven't, Boss."
"You can't... you... no." Tycon stopped and turned to look at him,
"You can't be serious. What have you been doing all this time?"
"I've... I've just been doing low-level jobs and selling... pelts and
stuff," Lone gulped.
"Why... the..." Tycon shook his head and pulled Lone close to
angrily whisper, "Why in the seven bleeding hells didn't you sign
up at the Tyrion Adventurer's Guild to take any quests?"
Lone panicked. He was unsure where to place his arms, so he

limply flailed them about, "Boss, I thought-- I thought maybe we
committed a crime or something?"
"What? No. Neither you nor I have committed any crimes." Tycon
rolled his eyes, shoving Lone back, "You're probably thinking of
Dragan or... or Horse."
Dragan Ashlord and Horse were two other members of Sol

Invictus. One liked to commit murder and had a penchant for the
stimulant drug known as cocaine. The other was Dragan.
"Oh... Well, shite. I think I'm just stupid, then..." Lone admitted with
chagrin.
"Yes..." Tycon sighed, "I think that, myself."
"Boss?" Lone frowned, "Can... can you be nicer to me? Just

today, at least?"
Tycon took another deep breath. He hadn't heard such a request
from him before, "Very well. Is there a particular occasion?"
"It's... it's been an entire year since I've taken the name the Lone
Shadowdark... and have been in Sol Invictus."
"Your Name-day, then?" Tycon closed his eyes and chuckled,

"Has it been so long already? I apologize, Brother-Lone. Let us
work together as allies so we don't have to sleep outside the city
walls."
Lone pursed his lips... "Should we... rob someone? Together,

Boss?"
Ah. There it was, Lone's habits from his original Ruffian class had
revealed themselves. That it lacked originality and thought should
have bothered Tycon... but it did sound like a viable plan.
"I would love to rob someone with you, Mister Lone."

Chapter 286 Robbery
ycondrius gave Sasha and Isidor their pocket money and shooed
T
them off to get into trouble. Sasha was a clever young lady and
Isidor was... old enough to take care of himself.
The chocolate elf took Isidor by the hand and dragged him off.
Sasha was a verbally quiet young lady but had no issue acting
upon her impulses and curiosities.
...It was a disservice to the city of Caeruleum that Tycon

unleashed the two of them... but their little 'adventure' without
supervision would be conducive to their growth.
Lone had the privilege of choosing their destination. It was his

Name-day, after all. The two of them traveled to a different tavern:
dirtier, cheaper, and with a larger collection of unwashed
adventurers than the Broken Drum.
Tycon swirled his wine cup, noting not one, but two still-living flies,
struggling within it. He calmly called over one of the tavern
waitstaff. He was provided with a decanter.
It would do.
"So, Mister Lone. How does this go?"
Lone downed his wine-- notably without utilizing the decanter to

de-fly it first.
"Well... usually, we wait for a well-off young master to come in,

then we take him into the back alleys and shake him down for all
he's worth."
Tycon narrowed his gaze into thin slits. During their very first
meeting, Lone's guild attempted that very plan with him as the
target, "I'd like a different plan, please."
Lone placed a hand on the back of his neck, "Oh, right. That might
not go so well."
The young Ranger was the only survivor of his previous guild.
Tycon murdered the rest of them in ruthless and bloody fashion
with bolt, steel, and spell... and a spine-breaking constriction.
"Well..." Lone bared his teeth, grinding them lightly in thought, "--
we could just start a fight and take the wallets of the loser?"
Tycon furrowed his brows... "Very well. Seems... logical, enough.

Shall I?"
Lone wore a worried expression, "Boss, I don't really think you'd

be good at that."
"Nonsense," Tycon frowned. "How hard could it be? If I were to

ignore the fact that this tavern smells like weeks-old unwashed
undergarments, I could find fighting words calling attention to the
Tyrions' unbrushed teeth; feebleminded, racist bigotry; and the
looming stench of poverty that hangs over them all."
Lone frowned, nodding, "I don't want to fight the entire tavern,
Boss."
"...Oh." Tycon averted his gaze for a moment. He gestured to

Lone, "Then, please."
It was no time for Tycon to practice something he was apparently

unskilled with. It was best to allow an 'expert' to demonstrate their
prowess.
He sipped on his wine as he watched Barza Keith, the Lone

Shadowdark, saunter over to... admittedly, the poorest-looking
fellow in the tavern.
It was good to start with a low-difficulty target, challenging higher

difficulties from there. He imagined that with Lone sleeping
outdoors for several moons, he'd be out of practice.
...Right. They had both been away from civilization for some time.
After this endeavor, the next order of business was a trip to the
public baths.
"Hey, old man!!" Lone slammed his hands down on the poor
adventurer's table, startling him.
⟬ Unranked Human Beggar. ⟭
The older gentleman with a malnourished pallor shrank at Lone's

unwarranted aggression, "Wh-what do you want?"
Lone sneered, the muscular Ranger looking down at his prey,

"Give me all your money."
With his battle-scarred appearance, Lone struck a fearsome and

unfriendly appearance. Tycon supposed if he, himself, was an
Unranked human, he'd be obeisant to such a confident command.
"I... I don't have nothing on me," The old man frowned, his eyes
sparkling with a hint of tears. "I... I been robbed a coupl'a nights
ago... P-please don't hurt me."
Lone looked down at the old adventurer's fare. It consisted of

discarded bread heels, a small bowl of broth, and a cup of water.
"You must... really be hungry," He glared.
"Y-yes... I... I am."
Lone raised his hand as if to strike the beggar.
Tycon held his breath. Arrogance. Ruthlessness. His friend was

being quite heartless, but this was how this world worked. The
weak were trampled underfoot, while the strong grew in power. If
these tactics could get Sol Invictus the coin they needed to
survive comfortably, then so be it.
A waiter approached the beggar's table and addressed Lone,

"How can I help you, sir?"
Lone scowled at the waitstaff, "Get this man today's special-- on
my coin."
"Right away, sirs."
Tycon's face fell, his forehead striking against the table. At the last
moment, he had the cognizance to hold onto his winecup so it
wouldn't spill.
...
Lone returned to Tycon's table looking quite proud of himself.
Tycon spent a large amount of willpower and... he felt like it cost

him mana to *not* use a Third-Circle ⌈Vexing Gaze⌋ on him.
Lone sat down, his expression suddenly changing to one of

shame. He looked away, not meeting Tycon's glare... "I uh... I
failed, Boss."
" Y e s . " Tycon gnashed his teeth, " Y o u d i d . "
The Ranger turned back with a wide smile, "But I did a good
deed."
« System, activate ⌈Vexing Gaze⌋. »
⟬ Warning: The target is a Trusted ally. Continue activation? Y/N? ⟭
Tycon took in a deeeeep breath through his nostrils... and

exhaled... slowing his heart rate, returning him to a calmer state.
...Then he took a second breath.
« System, disregard. Do not activate. »
⟬ Understood. ⟭
Tycon twisted his lips into a hard grimace, "Just... do it again. And
pick a wealthier mark, if you would."
"Got it, Boss," Lone nodded hurriedly, eager to please.

Lone stood from the table and immediately swaggered over to a
trio of filthy adventurers. They looked a bit wealthier, but they were
the third-strongest group in the tavern.
The most outspoken gentleman amongst them was a large,

bearded fellow who looked almost fat on account of his underlying
musculature.
⟬ Bronze-Rank Human Warrior. ⟭
Lone's new target had more promise than his last.
With an antagonistic scowl on his face, Barza Keith, the Lone

Shadowdark, insulted the man's mother.
Chapter 287 Provocation
Tycondrius watched the exchange with great interest.
The Lone Shadowdark was... a coward. He was also often a fool.

But he had his good traits. He was a natural with weaponry,
wielding sword and hammer to great effectiveness. He also had a
great eagerness to prove himself. His battle fervor, as it were,
allowed him to cross metal rankings and defeat stronger
opponents on more than one occasion.
Were Lone to face a single adventurer of the same rank, he'd

surely win... but Lone faced a potential three-to-one situation. With
only a Bronze-Rank physique, a single attack catching him
unaware would nullify any advantage of pure skill he had.
Tycon also kept careful tabs on the one other Gold-Ranker in the
tavern. If that person chose to move against Lone, Tycon would
be forced to intervene-- the goal being to escape rather than to
prove his dominance. It was more important to keep his
companion alive than to gain a few paltry coins or for an
adventurer's sense of 'pride.'
The bearded adventurer responded to Lone's provocations.
...He insisted that his mother's cooking was the greatest in the
nation-- a very bold statement and one likely marked by bias. The
conversation continued for some time but ended with Lone being
invited... to the adventurer's mother's home for a meal.
Lone politely thanked the adventurers at the table, before

returning... defeated.
He sat back down at the table, lips quivering. He opened his

mouth to speak-- but no words came. Tycon waited patiently...
Lone had indeed tried harder than his previous attempt, so he
wasn't upset.
"Boss... I... I don't understand," Lone ruffled his hair in frustration.

"That was... that was my greatest move."
Tycon was just as surprised that the young man's tactics had
failed, something he didn't allow to show in his expression.
Instead, he smiled politely, "May I offer a suggestion?"
The young Ranger took a deep breath and sighed, "Y-yeah... Go

ahead, Boss."
"The Tyrions have a great love for their religion. Maybe if you...
insulted their High Oracle?"
The High Oracle was the highest existence in the Church of the
Eternal Flame. It was said that she could speak directly to their
deity.
...Just why that Oracle was so celebrated and respected was

beyond Tycon's understanding. Oracles weren't a common class--
none of the Divine classes were particularly common, but they
weren't unheard of.
Empty night, even Sol Invictus had one.
...But then again, Tycon was very proud of her.
Lone stood up... "Well, yeah. I guess I could give it a shot."
"I believe in you, Mister Lone," Tycon nodded. "Do your best."
"Thanks, Boss."
Lone walked off, slightly less confident than earlier. He

approached a table with a smaller, less-dangerous looking
adventurer.
⟬ Bronze-Rank Human Expert. ⟭

Severely lacking in enthusiasm, Lone insulted the Tyrion High
Oracle.
He immediately received a punch to the face.
"TABLES!!" Someone yelled-- one of the tavern goers or one of

the staff.
Like a practiced battle formation, the adventurers worked together

to push the surroundings tables back, creating an impromptu
fighting ring in the tavern's center. Plates of mediocre food spilled
onto the floor and various persons amongst the crowd grumbled in
annoyance. It appeared that fights were a common occurrence.
Lone boxed his opponent with hands and knees. He won quickly
enough, knocking the other party unconscious-- but took a strike
to the ribs and a few shots to the face for his troubles.
He looked very proud of himself. He should not have been. Tycon

made a mental note to emphasize hand-to-hand combat in Lone's
training regimen.
An adventurer wearing heavy chainmail and a two-handed sword

on his back approached Tycon peaceably from the side, "That guy
yours?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes slightly in thought. The honest answer

was yes. The correct answer was... not that.
Thinking of a proper response, he had a sudden, lucrative idea.

He placed his wallet on the adjacent table, the silver bits inside
jingling in temptation.
"That guy is who I'm betting my coin on. Care to have a wager?"
...
Over three solid rounds of betting, Lone was victorious against

each opponent. Tycondrius made some decent coin-- enough for
a comfortable stay in the city, as well as market-stall money for the
children. Those who lost coin grumbled about Tycon hosting only
the three.
With each of Lone's successive fights, the betting odds grew... as

did the probability of Lone losing. Tycon decided to only risk that
much.
The adventurers continued to bet amongst themselves. The crowd

grew into a cheering frenzy as the coin that would feed and
shelter them in the coming weeks was consumed by their greed.
Lone placed a finger of his blood-covered hand against a nostril

and blew, expelling snot and blood. Then he raised his hand up in
an arrogant victory pose, "Another one BITES THE SANDWICH
OF DEFEAT!! Who remains to challenge the Ranger of Sol
Invictus?!?"
The crowd both cheered and booed, depending on where they

had placed their bets. It seemed that the reasons for fighting had
been forgotten.
Tycon figured that was not an uncommon occurrence in human

history.
A thin figure stepped forward out of the crowd, their form wrapped
in a heavy cloak, "I will be your next challenger, Sol Invictus."
Tycon furrowed his brows, quietly observing Lone's newest

opponent. Two long blades hung from their waist. They removed a
longbow and quiver worn on their person, setting it upon their
table.
⟬ Gold-Rank Elven Hunter. ⟭
...He was glad he had not continued betting.
Though the elf was a Gold-Rank, he (or she) seemed to prefer

minding their own business. They hadn't moved other than to help
push back the tables. It was because of that fact that Tycon was
confident in betting his coin as he had.
Then Lone blurted out the name of his guild.
...Sol Invictus had a reputation in the Holy Country... something

that he was fairly certain the Ranger was well aware of.
Regardless of the particular reasons behind it, it appeared that
Lone's thoughtless declaration was the reason for his newest
challenger.
",
Chapter 288 Sol Invictus
he cloaked and hooded elf unbound one of their two long,

T
straight swords from their waist.
Tycondrius narrowed his eyes at the action. Only a single sword?
Lone's previous four fights were all done bare-handed-- bloody

fistfights that raised the crowd's energy the more either party
suffered and swelled.
Now he'd face an edged weapon. Tycon hoped he wouldn't die

too quickly for him to heal. It would be somewhat of a waste of all
his prior training.
The elf then unsheathed their sword, wielding that in their right
and the empty scabbard in the left-- an improvised blunted
weapon.
"Felinus, First-Ranger of the Brazen Guard," The elf introduced

himself with a male name.
Tycon was inwardly thankful for it. Because of the elf's light voice,
he struggled to discern their-- err... his gender.
Lone grinned. The blood running down his nose and a cut from a
swelling wound on his forehead made him look especially wild and
reckless, "The Lone Shadowdark, Legendary Ranger of Sol
Invictus."
It was a proper one-on-one challenge. Tycon could not intervene

unless he incurred the ire of everyone in the tavern. He might
have made folly of adventurers' pride earlier, but that same pride
would ensure Lone and that Felinus fellow would have a 'fair' fight,
without outside interference.
But concerning that 'fairness'... Measuring Devices were
uncommon and pricey in the Realm. Further, skills emulating their
effect were almost nonexistent. It was likely that only Tycon knew
the strength disparity between the two combatants.
"That's a pretty bold statement," Felinus chuckled lightly. "To say

you belong to the storied Ezyrian guild, Sol Invictus."
Lone smirked, still painfully unaware of the danger he was in, "But
it's true."
"It's ridiculous, that's what it is." The elf shook his head, "And then
you'll tell me that you were trained by Quies, himself."
Lone's smirk widened into a mad (but clueless) grin, "Never heard
of her."
Tycon grimaced. Quies, or 'Quay', as the members of Sol Invictus

referred to him, was the previous leader of guild Sol Invictus. He
was also the single father of one of their guild's strongest
combatants, the half-elf boy, Pale.
Tycon required the assistance of Sol Invictus Oracle Sasarame, to

delve into his previous self's memories... and learning his guild's
past was one of the more important periods of history he sought to
learn.
Sol Invictus popularized themselves as the strongest gladiator

guild in the Holy Country many years prior, undefeatable. They
were celebrated as heroes... human heroes. But in truth, their
roster was entirely made of men and women with Outsider blood.
It was a fact only known in rumors... and one that directly related
to the guild's quiet disappearance.
Dragan Ashlord, the fiery-haired axe-wielding Berserker (actually

a Magic Warrior-- or a Swordmage, as the class was properly
called) was a near 9-fulm tall Titanblood. His ruthlessness and
arrogance were unquestionably masculine and drew in a majority
of the guild's popularity from coliseum-goers thirsty for blood.
Lulu was a beautiful and unapologetic platinum-blonde seductress
who took to the field wearing close-fitting robes and wielding a
parasol. Her spells littered the battlefield with magical traps and in
close combat, she defended herself with Gold-Rank mana
coursing through her seemingly flimsy weapon. She was also
literally a demon.
Tarquin Wroe-- nicknamed the Prince of Arcanite, armed Sol

Invictus with weapons and gear that far surpassed that of the
other gladiatorial teams. Further, he was a fantastic duelist,
trained in Nemayan swordsmanship. He was a Daeva--angelic
blood coursed through his veins. With fluffy feather-down blue hair
and 'enchanting, ocean-deep eyes', he was arguably the 'prettiest'
person in Sol Invictus.
Quay was a stereotypical blonde elf, skilled in the Elven blade

dance-- that annoying, generally-useless blade dance that elves
needed to practice for 80 or 100 years before they grew
somewhat proficient at it. But proficient, he was.
Then there were others: Levi Wolfrider, the Weretouched;

Indrazeal Zuko, the Phoenix-blood; Bella Sapphira the Witch...
Gobsuke the Goblin.
Horse.
And of course, there was himself, the shadow-leader of their guild.
Sol Invictus was headed by a snake.
"I see..." The elf narrowed his eyes. He brandished his held blade
and scabbard, a smooth and subtle motion indicative of Elven
blademastery, "So you say you're a Ranger? Show me."
"Pshhh" Lone scoffed, "You say YOU'RE a Ranger?! Show ME!!"
...Tycon had never considered tact or... persuasiveness as part of

Lone's skillset.
Felinus tossed his sword... up, and it spun in the air. The Elven
Ranger performed a graceful pirouette, and a sliver of steel
rushed towards Lone.
It was too fast for Tycon to react to at the distance. Had the shot
been aimed at Lone's eyes or neck, the human would have taken
a grievous injury.
Lone raised an eyebrow, smirking pompously, "Was that it?"
Seven hells, the young man was good at acting.
Blood dripped down a fresh cut on his cheek.
The adventurer standing nearest to the elf also had a knife

missing from their chest bandolier. They hadn't even noticed it
was taken, staring at the opposite side of the tavern. A dart-board
behind Lone had a throwing knife embedded in it-- not quite at the
board's center, but close enough to prove a point.
Lone didn't look impressed. Tycon figured it was because the

young man didn't see the dartboard. Or feel the cut on his face.
The elf caught his blade before it hit the ground, rotating his wrist
in a flashy flourish.
Tycon considered just leaving... but that would have been rude to
his friend, death-sentence or not.
Lone chuckled to an unspoken joke that only he found funny as he

drew a sword with his main hand... a beautifully crafted, simple
blade.
⟬ Shatterspike. Second-Circle Magical Longsword. Deals

increased damage to weapons and objects. ⟭
The weapon also cleaved wonderfully through flesh. The Gold-

Rank elf would not be able to take a mana-powered strike from
that weapon... Tycon doubted they would be fool enough to allow
themselves to feel its bite, but Lone did have a minuscule chance
at victory.
Lone's second weapon, the Dark Iron wolf-headed mace, he
allowed to fall onto the tavern floor, its weight cracking the wooden
planks.
"Howl, Tres Leches," He whispered.
The weapon began to glow with a violent crimson mana, twisting

upon itself, expanding, and forming into a four-legged wolf. It
growled, frothing with weapon-oil at the mouth... baring sharpened
metal teeth that could bite through armor. Its metal coat gleamed
in the tavern light, rough and spiked, and its eyes glowed red with
bloodlust.
"Oh?" Felinus mused, "So you *are* a Ranger."
The elf did not appear intimidated, even with Lone's display of
enchanted weaponry.
Tycon stealthily counted the coins in his wallet. Was it too late to
bet on Felinus?
Chapter 289 Pride As A
Ranger
arza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark charged forward, along with

B
his wolf, Tres Leches.
It was his chance to show Boss Tycon-- to show everyone, the

results of his several moons of training in the woods. It would be
his first real fight since he ranked up to Iron.
His pride as a Ranger was on the line.
Rushing forward, he grabbed onto his wolf's tail with his off-hand...
With an enchanted flash of Tres Leches' crimson mana, Lone
drew a fully-formed mace from the wolf's butt.
Two weapons were better than one! Boss said that his endurance
was one of his best aspects, and he was trained to swing his arms
for hours. The elf seemed like he was pretty skillful-- but everyone
got tired eventually, especially as weak as the elf's tiny arms
looked.
Lone would win by relying on an unending onslaught of attacks.

He wielded a heavy hammer made out of Dark Iron. He had a
sword that could literally cut through anything. And he even had
his bestest buddy, Tres Leches, attacking on the side.
He leapt up into the air-- an overhead sword going high and when
he landed, he'd swing his hammer low. Tres Leches-- he'd do
something, too! Three attacks! Like three wolves howling at the
moon! That's how his wolf gained his incredibly awesome name.
"⌈Whirl Strike!!⌋" He yelled. Mana empowered his attacks, which

would allow him to strike quickly with both weapons while keeping
his balance.
"⌈Twin Strike,⌋" The elf muttered.
...Oh. Right. He was a Ranger too.
The elf deflected Lone's Shatterspike with his own sword, then
struck Lone's wrist with his scabbard.
Lone landed on the tavern floor, his knee striking painfully against
the wood so he wouldn't fall onto his face. Neither of his attacks
were successful and he felt his left wrist swelling up terribly. He
almost dropped his hammer-- but he was trained to only drop his
weapon if he'd died. Tres Leches leapt forward to defend his
master.
The elf turned to face the oncoming wolf, not looking at all
surprised, "⌈Raptor Strike.⌋"
With a loud metal clang, Felinus' scabbard struck the center of

Tres Leches' forehead. The wolf collapsed in a noisy heap.
Lone narrowed his eyes and clenched his teeth.
"Shite."
...
The fight was a one-sided beatdown. The elf bashed Lone

repeatedly with the unsharpened edge of his sword and gave him
several painful whaps with his reinforced, hardened leather
scabbard.
Lone was very powerful for a Bronze-Ranker... Gold, however,

was... too much for the young man to handle.
The crowd had nothing left for the young man, save jeers and
insults.
It was a good run while it lasted. And the elf was polite enough to
not kill the young human.
...Though when Lone laid upon the floor, covering the back of his
neck with a hand, the elf did continue lazily beating the young
man for another several seconds.
Then the elf stopped. His ears twitched. In a flash of mana,

Felinus used a movement skill-- Tycon saw the back door open up
and the elf escaping, swathed in a blur.
"By the light of the Flame, what is GOING ON??"
The Caerulean Guard entered the tavern, shouting and yelling.

Several uniform armored individuals wielding blunt sticks began to
detain adventurers trying to escape.
It was time to go.
Tycon wished he had the cognizance to disappear at the same

time as the Gold-Rank elf. He had no wish to be the target of
Tyrion xenophobia.
Whether Lone was too injured to escape or was too foolish to try,
he remained. Or maybe he'd forgotten that he'd committed high-
degree treason in insulting the Tyrion High Oracle. The detained
adventurers immediately shifted the blame for the disturbance to
him and Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark was arrested with
great prejudice.
Tycon was questioned as well. He cleverly implied that he had no

relationship with the treasonous fellow, though he did have his
wagered winnings reviewed. Apparently, betting was illegal if the
pool of coin grew beyond a certain amount. Such large amounts
were reserved for nation-run gambling: arena fights and racing
events at the local coliseum.
He expected to have to bribe the guards but was pleasantly

surprised when they released him, his winning intact. They let him
off with a warning-- and a reasonably polite one, considering the
circumstances.
Lone's weaponry was confiscated and the young man was carted
off in chains.
Tycon watched him taken, feigning an expression of indifference.

...Happy Name-day, Lone Shadowdark.
He would be meeting with the Archbishop in a few days... Tycon

hoped she was a magnanimous individual. She was his best hope
for Lone being released.
...
A few suns later, Tycondrius met with Archbishop Natalya Crucis

at the local eatery. His main quest in the Holy Country of Tyrion
had to do with her. His main goal in his transmigrated life was to
complete the three quests for Rylania, the Queen of Stone. He
wouldn't think beyond that until they were complete. The quests
alone were more than enough trouble.
⟬ Natalya Crucis, Gold-Rank Human Hallowed Summoner. ⟭
She was a tall, mature woman who appeared even taller with the
hat atop her head, part of her... holy uniform, as it were. She
removed it upon entering the premises, revealing lively crimson
hair tied into a ponytail.
Her forehead appeared quite large because of it, but her face was
symmetrical and did not easily reveal her age. Her uniform
revealed her arms and adhered to her curves, proving that she did
not neglect her physical training.
Tycon reasoned that she was reasonably attractive, especially for

one in her station. Good for her.
He stood up to greet her, exchanging pleasantries... but the sneer

of disgust never left her face.
"Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Archbishop," Tycon

bowed deferentially.
The Archbishop was more-or-less a Princess in status. His actions

showed his sincerity.
The woman groaned and rolled her eyes, "Sit down, Tycondrius of
Charm."
She was being rude, but Tycon was here to ask for a favor... even
if that favor was... to ask to perform a favor for her.
"Thank you, your Holiness."
"Spare me, Irvhir." Natalya sat down, oozing the snobbery and
self-importance as her rank allowed.
Tycon felt his eyebrow twitch at the Archbishop's terminology.

Chapter 290 Two Reasons
Irvhir? That wasn't correct, at all... Irvhir was the proper name for
bipedal scalekin creatures that populated various caves
throughout the nation, and eternal enemies of the dog-like Iredar.
...The humans, in their lack of knowledge, assigned the term to all

scaled sentients: the Medusa, Troglodytes, Yuan-Ti, and even
Dovahkiin, at times. Tycondrius figured that Natalya Crucis was
uninformed... but with how she was treating him, even if she knew,
she would likely use the term anyroad.
"I know you are not of our faith." The Archbishop shook her head,
"Address me as Lady Crucis, as befitting of your own station..."
She groaned, "--or Natalya, if you must."
The eatery waitstaff approached the table, "May I take your

orders, Your Grace? Young master?"
Tycon hid his frown and tried to continue the pleasantries, "Lady
Crucis, would you like me to order you some wine?"
The taller woman narrowed her eyes, "No, this is my country. I will
be paying for this meal."
Oh. That was nice of her. Tycon forced a smile and looked to the
male waiter, "I would like an ale, please."
"My companion and I will be having the wine," Natalya ordered--

also specifying a brand.
...Oh. Well, that was fine. He did enjoy Tyrion wine.
"I'll have an order of the garlic lamb-- the lunch portion, please,"
She continued.
That sounded... absolutely wonderful. Tycon wished to order that,
as well.
The Archbishop twirled her finger towards Tycon dismissively,

"And that one will have the salad."
No... Oh, no...
"Wait..." Tycon caught the waiter's attention as he was leaving, "Is

there... any meat you can add to the salad? Poultry will do.
The waiter looked back to the Archbishop, asking for confirmation

with his eyes.
"Please." Tycon said with a strained voice, "I'm begging you."
He hoped at least one of the two would hear his plea.
Though Natalya Crucis was unhappy about it, the waiter noted
Tycon's change in order to add grilled chicken. If Tycon ate too
many leafy vegetables in a sitting, he'd get a vicious
stomachache. At least this way, he'd at least be able to somewhat
enjoy his meal-- politely picking at the greenery.
When the waiter was out of earshot, the Archbishop furrowed her
brow, carefully scrutinizing Tycon's face. He waited patiently for
her to speak, betraying no more expressions. She wanted
command of the conversation, and so she would have it. He was
at her mercy.
The Archbishop spoke slowly, her voice dripping with malice,

"Have the dragons finally returned?"
Tycon took a deep breath, anger welling in his heart at the

mention of the nonexistent creatures, "They have not."
Archbishop Natalya Crucis crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed

to thin slits, "That... Tycondrius... I had incorrectly assumed would
be the only reason you'd *dare* step foot in my country."
Tycon raised two fingers, "My reasons are twofold."

"What's the first?"
...He was getting to that. The Archbishop was not a patient

woman.
"The Queen of Stone wishes to mend her relationship with you."
Natalya scoffed, snorting in an unladylike gesture, "You're

serious?"
Tycon pursed his lips. What a stupid question, "Yes, Lady Crucis. I
am."
"Ridiculous," She waved. "I merely dislike Queen Rylania for her
personality and demeanor. While her actions during the Snake
Cult Wars were inconvenient for our forces..."
Natalya paused in thought before shaking her head, "No... any

offenses incurred were impersonal."
"Nonetheless, I offer myself and Sol Invictus' services to your

cause and to your Holy Country towards gaining your favor."
Tycon lightly bowed, "This is our sincerity."
The Archbishop placed a hand on her chin in thought, quietly

analyzing... "I must say that I expected more arrogance from you,
Ivory Prince."
"I'm a different man from the one you've met prior," Tycon stated.
...It was not a figurative statement. He had transmigrated with

zero memory of the previous Tycondrius' relationships,
personality, and motives.
"I can see that," Natalya mused. "As a person, I trust you very
little. But since you come to me as a tool, it would be folly for me
not to utilize you."
A thin smile crossed the Archbishop's face... It reminded Tycon of

a torturer's grin. He hoped she wouldn't ask for something
incredibly demeaning... or lewd. He doubted it due to her station,
but if she was particularly cruel, Tycon was uncertain he'd be able
to complete his mother's quest.
The meal came.
Natalya remarked that the grilled chicken on Tycon's salad looked

delicious. She helped herself to over half of it.
...Tycon watched her do so in silence. Why did she get the lunch
portion if she could eat so much? The dinner portion only cost two
silver more!
It was one of the most depressing meals Tycon had, to memory.

The chicken was marinated and juicy, the herbs were fresh and
flavorful, and the meat itself was tender and grilled with lovely
cross-hatched char-marks.
...But he had so little of it.
"I'm having some trouble deliberating on what I'll have you do,"
Natalya mused. "I *am* having issues with... traitors amongst my
ranks, as of late."
Tycon tried to focus on the conversation, not on the fact that

delicious food was unjustly taken away from him, "Perhaps I can
assist you in rooting out those traitors."
"I was referring to how I don't wish to have you, Prince, amongst
my people," Natalya teased.
Tycon returned to staring dreamily at his plate. He did not like this
woman. He just wanted to finish this quest and go home.
"No, that wouldn't do, anyroad. It is an issue I will have to assign

to someone of higher status-- and within our rank structure," She
mused to herself. "For mere personal reparations, I shall task you
with something of appropriate importance..."
Natalya finished her meal, dabbing a cloth napkin at the corners of

her painted red lips, "Ah... I have just the thing."
Tycon glanced up, his hopes not high. Was she going to taunt
him, again?
"But before that..." She wore a sleazy smile, fully aware that she
was playing with his feelings, "What was the second reason you
mentioned?"
The second reason... brought Tycon no joy. He grimaced,

gathering his thoughts... "Maximus of Ezyria, Sanctum
Parmularius of Tyrion, is dead. He was killed in honorable combat
by a creature hailing from the Plane of Fire."
The woman's eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped. The napkin
she daintily held in her hands fell to the ground. She stared into
Tycon's unrelenting gaze... and she did not ask for clarification.
She took a deep breath, holding a hand in front of her collarbone,

"Tell me what you know."
Chapter 291 Favor Of The
Church
ycondrius sipped his wine quietly, allowing Natalya to process

T
the information. He had previously learned the details of Maximus'
demise through the first-hand account of Sol Invictus member
Dragan Ashlord. He relayed that information to the Archbishop,
truthfully and without embellishment-- though he utilized much
more polite diction than originally presented.
"You tell me that Sanctum Parmularius Maximus found an

honorable death..." The Archbishop shut her eyes in
contemplation, "He served well..."
A frown crossed her lips, "Did he tell you why he left the Holy
Country?"
"He did not," Tycon narrowed his eyes. "I thought it odd, but Sol
Invictus, as an adventurer guild does not ask those kinds of
questions."
Natalya ground her teeth, "Of course, all you adventurers think
about is--"
"--Only that he acts with honor." Tycon glared. He had no

compunctions in interrupting the conversation to ensure Natalya
Crucis did not cross his bottom line, "And that is something, Lady
Crucis, that I will not allow you to question."
The Archbishop swallowed her words, nodding in annoyed

acceptance, "Many of his orders near the end of his Tyrion service
were questionably bereft of such a luxury."
Tycon took a deep breath, "Then... the reason he sought out Sol
Invictus?"
"...Likely to regain that honor lost," Natalya said solemnly. "After
his Arena days, he joined the military... and this was the time
shortly after the Snake Cult wars... He served... as an Avenger."
An Avenger? That somewhat explained the man's obsession with

serving under a guild with an honorable background. However...
Tycon steepled his fingers and leaned forward, "Lady Crucis, I had
thought Avenger's work was a lifelong occupation."
"It is. After Maximus took an injury that dropped his ranking to
Iron, he was discharged as a personal request. Even as
weakened as he was, he defeated all of the Assassins I sent."
Tycon frowned and spoke solemnly, "You mean 'the Church sent.'"
"I know what I said, Prince." Natalya scowled. "You, of all people,
know how my organization works, so don't you dare act
surprised."
She rolled her eyes and refilled her wine glass, "And anyroad, this
whole place is sheathed in a ⌈Zone of Truth⌋, and your shite news
has caused me to babble national secrets by mistake."
She sighed in frustration, gnashing her teeth, "By my hand,

Maximus was attached to the Avengers and forced to trade his
warrior's honor for the honor of preserving the Church's integrity
and reputation.
"You lost a friend and ally." Natalya took in a deep breath through
her nostrils... After exhaling, her voice softened... "I, on the other
hand, allowed a national hero to grow disillusioned with his cause
and die far from his home."
Tycon remained silent. He was no longer upset about the

Church's kill-the-defectors policy. Thinking logically, it was likely by
Natalya's order that the Tyrions *only* sent so many Assassins.
The Archbishop sat back in her chair and crossed her arms,
"You've returned news of Maximus' death. He died honorably and
against the enemies of humankind. He will be honored as a Saint,
remembered for his glory. For this, the Church shall grant you a
boon."
The Church of the Eternal Flame would offer Tycondrius, a

nonhuman, a boon? That would be sacrilege. It was probably a
trap, something that would cause him to be indebted to their
cause. Tycon already had a ridiculous Realm-spanning quest from
a monstrous Queen-- he had no desire to serve a faceless
organization on the side.
"What the Church can provide me with, Archbishop..." Tycon

leaned back to match the Archbishop's posture, "--is a quest, the
purpose of which, is to mend relations between the Queen of
Stone and... you."
"Fine." The Archbishop shook her head and shrugged, "There's a

noble daughter from a fallen house, a young girl named Athena.
Take care of her."
"Avenger work? You would have me kill a child?" Tycon glared in

disbelief, "Is your opinion of me really so low?"
"Yes, it is." Natalya returned the glare, "But in this case, I

misspoke. I do not want Athena killed. Her house has fallen out of
favor, both in public and amongst her noble peers. I want her
family name strengthened and her honor restored."
She took a slow, steady pull from her wine cup... "She is a good
child... and does not deserve what befell her family."
The order was complex and open-ended, but Tycon expected a

bothersome trial of this level. He would strive to complete the
mission in such a way that the Archbishop would be unable to
doubt his sincerity... And even if she still did-- humans were an
untrustworthy lot, after all... as long as he completed the quest to
his own high expectations, he would meet Rylania's conditions,
regardless of Natalya's judgment.
"I accept." Tycon nodded firmly, "I need one of my companions

released from your prisons."
The woman laughed, "Mister Lone? I've heard. I will have him
sent to Turrim Orientem until we see results."
"You don't trust me, Archbishop?" Tycon raised an eyebrow, "On a

professional level?"
"I'm fairly certain you know that I do not."
...Asking for Lone was worth a try. Tycon hoped the facility transfer
was a good thing.
He shrugged, "Very well. Provide me with the young lady's details

and I shall be on my way."
"Oh, I will~" Natalya's voice lilted playfully, "--After you ask for a
real boon, Prince."
It was Tycon's turn to be incredulous, "You can't be serious, Lady

Crucis."
He crossed his arms, trying to make sense of the woman's

insistence.
"No, I am." Archbishop Natalya Crucis confirmed, "You gave

Maximus what I could not-- the honor that he sought. As it is, I
owe *you* a favor. Please understand that I am disgusted by your
presence and find you loathsome company."
Tycon was very handsome. He was quite confident in that regard.

Natalya must have been talking about his general presence as a
nonhuman.
"I want someone resurrected."
The Archbishop narrowed her eyes.
"Absolutely not," She said with finality.

Chapter 292 Sanctified Oracle
ycondrius felt his heart tremble. He asked for something he

T
should not have asked for... a forbidden magic. The dead were
dead. Returning them to life was an honor reserved for only the
greatest of heroes.
Archbishop Natalya Crucis leaned forward, speaking low but

emphasizing each of her words, "Maximus will be honored as a
Hero and a Saint-- a dead one."
"No, not Maximus," Tycon shook his head. "He died honorably
and I would not take that away from him... But someone else--
another one of yours."
He hesitated, a knot forming in his heart. Remembering Holy

Bolter Rena, he lamented her loss... He wished to resurrect her...
maybe if only to tell her how stupid she was, "Her name is..."
"Prince... this is not negotiable," Natalya kept a stern voice.
Tycon furrowed his brows, trying but failing to reign in his anger,
"Gods damn it, woman. I *know* you have at least one healer
capable of a Third-Circle Resurrection. Rena of Leopardon was a
devout follower of your Eternal Flame. She trusted me and I failed
her. How can you tell me no?"
...What the hells was that? Tycon's eyes shot open wide and his
heart was beating rapidly. He had... just blurted out far far more
information than he had originally intended to provide.
Natalya chuckled to herself.
...It wasn't funny.

"I told you this place is covered in a ⌈Zone of Truth⌋," She spoke in
an uncharacteristically gentle voice. "It allows honesty even you,
yourself, may have been unaware of, Prince."
She paused, "As for resurrection, we literally cannot... Firstly, only

High Oracle Troia can perform such a ritual."
Tycon steeled his gaze, "I shall persuade her myself, Natalya.
Grant me this much."
"...Allow me to finish, Tycondrius," She gestured calmly.
Tycon didn't realize it, but he'd half-stood in his seat. He adjusted
himself, closed his eyes, and nodded, "Please continue, Lady
Crucis."
"Worshippers of the Eternal Flame have their souls returned to the

Flame, itself, to be reincarnated. As such, your companion cannot
be resurrected," She explained.
Tycon nodded slowly. That was something he should have been

aware of, had he thought for more than 5 seconds about the
Church's beliefs... "I see."
He felt like an utter fool... "I apologize for my outburst,

Archbishop."
"This, I will forgive." She took hold of her wine cup and swirled the
liquid inside of it... "We have both failed Heroes of Tyrion, it
seems."
Tycon clenched his eyes shut and exhaled his useless anger in a
breath. He took his own cup and offered it forward in a toast, "For
the fallen..."
Natalya's eyebrows twitched... Tycon was worried she wouldn't

reciprocate, but the Archbishop gingerly tapped her cup against
his... "And for those who order them to their deaths."
"No good end will come to us," Tycon drained his cup.
"...Unlike what our doctrine states... I am inclined to agree," The
Archbishop took a deep pull from hers.
What else could the Church of the Eternal Flame offer him?
...After a moment of quiet deliberation, Tycon offered another
improbable request... "I want an Oracle sanctified and trained."
Divine casters in the Holy Country of Tyrion had to be sanctified

by their government in order to operate legally. The process
included training and indoctrination... but was something almost
exclusively reserved for humans.
The Archbishop twisted her lips, "Sanctified... perhaps. But be

aware, it takes years for an Oracle to reach Bronze-Rank, even if
he or she is gifted."
Tycon chuckled to himself, "And what if she is already Bronze-

Rank?"
"Hmmm~ I suppose I can make the arrangements," Natalya

hummed.
...
Tycon brought Sasha to the largest temple in Caeruleum, as

Archbishop Crucis instructed. He specifically did not bring Isidor.
His scaly head would probably end up being mounted on one of
their walls, Gold-Rank physique or not.
Sasha was cute and polite-- and had a far higher mastery of her
humanoid form. She'd probably be fine.
"A dark elf..." Natalya scrutinized her form. "That will do. Hoods
are common amongst the students, so she will be able to easily
hide her Outsider blood."
Tycon nodded, "And she will be in an all-female dormitory, you

said?"
"Correct. Further, because of her special case and your

sponsorship, she will be provided private quarters."
"And they offer three meals each sun?" Tycon asked.
"Indeed. The professionals in charge of the childrens' nutrition

were hand-picked by myself. You have my word that they will be
cared for."
"And she can write letters through the Courier's Guild?" Tycon
grimaced, "Should I give her coin for postage?"
"Tycondrius..."
"Yes, Lady Crucis?"
"Compose yourself." The Archbishop chided gently, "Your young

companion will be fine. I'm sure you will see her during the
summer or winter vacation weeks."
"Lady Crucis, this young lady is my daughter," Tycon insisted.
The Archbishop narrowed her eyes, exuding a moderate amount

of skepticism... "Right."
The chocolate elf hugged her adventuring pack, looking up at

Tycon with a tiny pout, "She doesn't want to go..."
Tycon's heart was being torn as he looked down at his daughter's

pitiful face... But no, Sasha was old enough to go to school. It was
what children did. They went to school.
She had to go, to better her effectiveness in Sol Invictus. He

couldn't just keep her around. It would be selfish of him...
Maybe she'd make some friends.
"Beautiful Child, if you wish to be useful to me, you will learn,"

Tycon stroked his daughter's soft white hair.
"She... she wishes to be useful," Sasha's turned away, clenching a

tiny fist. Her look of uncertain discontent turned to one of...
uncertain determination.
That would do, "I'll have you know that I'm very proud of you."
Sasha bobbed her hooded-head up and down, her lips pursed in a
subtle smile, "She is aware."
And with that, Tycon saw his lovely daughter taken away by
Church officials. She would accompany Archbishop Natalya
Crucis to the island of Cersei's Rest, the following sun.
Children grow up so quickly. Tycon missed her already...

Chapter 293 Friends, Then
"Is everything in order, Lady Crucis?"
Tycondrius let out a deep sigh, plastering a fake smile on his face
for the Archbishop.
Natalya Crucis nodded, tapping the bottom of her white staff

against the ground, "Yes. The Measuring Device marks your
'daughter' as having a Divine Class capable of casting First-Circle
spells. The Church will train her."
Tycon nodded solemnly, observing the Archbishop's Measuring

Device. It was straight and somewhat compact, carved with sharp,
perfectly inscribed runes. At its tip was a brilliant blue mana-stone,
cut for sharp edges.
Spellcaster equipment in the Holy Country was quite different from

those in the Kingdom. A Kingdom staff might be gnarled wood
with a rough-cut crystal set into it-- the wood grown over to hold it
in place. A Holy Country staff was much the opposite, worked with
human hands to harness the powers of the elements and whatnot.
"Would you like me to measure you, as well, Prince?" Natalya

offered, her voice lilting playfully.
Tycon eyed the woman incredulously, "Have you done so already,

without my permission?"
"Yes, I have," She replied.
The woman had no shame... but it was the answer Tycon

expected.
"Then yes, I would like to know my results."

"Your mana measures at Gold-Rank," The Archbishop winked.
"Congratulations~"
It was the most insincere compliment Tycon had ever heard. He

surmised Natalya was... very, very strong as a Gold-Ranker.
"Also, your class is not divine in nature-- if you weren't aware,"

She added.
"I was aware, thank you."
Natalya revealed a full smile.
The Archbishop's teeth were white and properly aligned... Tycon

had deemed her as an attractive woman (probably)... If he was a
proper human male, he should have been enamored-- smitten,
perhaps.
Instead... he felt... that there was an almost palpable malice in the

Archbishop's expression.
Tycon frowned. He was in a temple belonging to her Church... in

the middle of Caeruleum. He'd run into a host of issues if he
fought his way out... Depending on how strong Natalya was, he
might not even make it out of the courtyard.
...But If she wanted to kill him, why would she have taken this
long?
Tycon did his best to force a smile, "Was there... something else,
Lady Crucis?"
"Since you've given me one of your precious Sol Invictus

members, I shall grant you one of my own."
Archbishop Natalya Crucis of the Church of the Eternal Flame

continued to smile radiantly, pleased with her own machinations.
Tycon pursed his lips, "A guardian, to keep me out of trouble?"
"A babysitter," Natalya assured. "He will ensure your safety-- and I
hope you will ensure his."
Natalya raised her staff, spinning it dramatically as she channeled
mana into it. A song of praise began to reverberate through the
temple-- in the Holy Country's Old Language, foreign yet familiar
enough to feel haunting and ethereal. She smashed the end of
her staff against the white tiled floor, a brilliant circle of light
enveloping the two of them...
And when Tycon's vision returned, he saw that a third person had
joined them in their circle... a tall, armored man, kneeling in
reverence.
"This..." Natalya gestured with an open palm, "is Centurion

Skyreaper. He will be your symbol of the Church's authority in
your quest-- when appropriate, of course."
The gentleman stood up, a tall human, taller than Natalya, and
over a head taller than Tycon. He had a pristine, cut-to-regulation
mustache, and handsome, youthful features. His Centurion armor
was clean and polished, too-- his sculpted abdominals particularly
shiny.
That would do wonderfully. If the gentleman was agreeable and

his work ethic matched the care for his person and belongings, he
would be an effective asset for Tycon's activities in the Holy
Country.
There was, however, two issues-- possibly related.
The first was that teleportation-class magics were outlawed by the

Gatekeepers, a Realm-spanning organization whose main job
was to prevent incursion by other planes. The Church of the
Eternal Flame was not exempt to their few laws.
Tycon spoke aloud, "That was not teleportation magic."
"It was not," Natalya confirmed.
The second was that Skyreaper was breathing rather hard... a thin
trail of sweat dripped down from his regulation haircut.
Tycon scrunched his brow and took a cursory glance at his
surroundings, "Did you make him... run out of hiding? Was he in
the seating area?"
"I made him run out from one of the side columns," The
Archbishop confessed.
Tycon frowned. Columns were popular in Tyrion architecture, and

the temple had several of them. The Archbishop could have
agents everywhere...
The tall man took a deep breath and put on a friendly smile, "My
name is Zenon Skyreaper. Would you mind starting this
partnership as friends?"
⟬ Zenon Skyreaper, Iron-Rank Human Librarian. ⟭
Friends?
Tycon felt his eye twitch as he stared at Zenon offering an

outstretched hand. He glanced back to Natalya, her calculating
smile not having left her face. It felt like... there was some sort of
trick, but he couldn't fathom what it was.
Centurion Skyreaper's smile was... well, it looked genuine. It

carried a... youthful optimism that was... very uncharacteristic of
Tyrion officials.
Setting aside his doubts, Tycon shook Zenon's hand with a firm
grip, "Tycondrius of Sol Invictus. Friends, then."
...
Tycondrius found everything about Centurion Skyreaper...

peculiar.
Veteran Tyrion soldiers tended to be jaded, unfriendly, xenophobic

individuals.
This one was... disturbingly agreeable.

Tycon followed Zenon throughout the twists and turns of the large
temple, listening to him speak excitedly about the most...
mundane topics. Most addressed any concerns he had with
hospitality received in Caeruleum.
It had been the friendliest reception Tycon had experienced since

transmigrating.
There were far too many 'firsts' and 'most this or that' in this stupid
temple. Tycon wanted to leave. Immediately.
The gentleman even insisted upon being called 'Zenon' in private

conversation. Tycon, similarly, insisted on being called 'Tycon' as
opposed to 'Tycondrius.'
...Everyone else did so, anyroad.
As Tycon racked his brain over what treachery Natalya could

possibly have been planning, a brash, masculine voice called out.
"'Ey, Zenon! Get over here!"

Chapter 294 Scuzz
large Centurion in heavy-armor approached Tycondrius and

A
Zenon, larger-around but not quite as tall as the Librarian. The
man's armor carried scuffs and scars from old battles-- a great
deal more weathered than Zenon's own. A few achievement
medals and decorations on the fellow's armor, too, made the
Librarian's look... empty.
⟬ Bronze-Rank Human Champion. ⟭
The man's voice echoed in his full-helmet "Brother-Librarian..."
He spun his gauntleted finger casually, then pointed it behind him,

"I need the toilets scuzzed."
Tycon was unfamiliar with the word... but considering the context,
it sounded... demeaning. The Centurion was asking Zenon to...
clean? ...Or maybe Tycon was privy to a secret, holy ritual-- the
blessings of the sacred piss-pots.
Zenon smiled with chagrin, "Brother-Centurion, I... The

Archbishop has tasked me with escorting this adventurer on his
quest. Right now, I belong to his guild and not the Caeruleum
temples."
He was? Tycon was pleasantly surprised by the admission, as

he'd thought Centurion Skyreaper would be acting as an
independent advisor. He wasn't planning on mistreating the help,
but that the Iron-Ranker would heed his battle commands? Tycon
grew more confident in facing the challenges ahead.
"Oh, is that right?" The Centurion mused. "Then I'll have you mop
the vestibules before you leave."
The Centurion turned on his heel and walked off with heavy metal
steps... Tycon expected some sort of... congratulations or... at
least concern from Zenon's associate.
Archbishop Natalya had said that Zenon's rank was that of

Centurion... yet with Skyreaper's armor compared to the other
Centurion's, there seemed to be a clear difference in status.
He was glad that his own Decanus armor was hidden underneath
his cloak. The rude Centurion might have ordered him around, as
well.
"Zenon," Tycon pursed his lips... "Is this normal?"
"Whaaat?" The Librarian smiled. Compared to his earlier

expressions, Tycon judged the current one to be lacking. The
smile didn't reach his eyes, "Yeah-nahhhh."
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Which is it?"
Zenon took a deep breath and released a tired sigh, "Just-- just
give me a few moments, Tycon."
Tycon followed Centurion Skyreaper, watching as the tall,

mustachioed gentleman retrieved a bucket and mop. He offered to
assist, but Zenon insisted on doing it alone. He had a particular
'system' for mopping.
...He did. And he was very good at it... but deep in the pit of his
heart, Tycon felt that a Centurion should not be cleaning common
areas... alone. None of the temple's clergy assisted him-- they
were busy cleaning other areas. Tycon also noted that no one of
Decanus or higher rank was doing any cleaning, at all.
Was this why Natalya was so eager to let Zenon go? For him to
gain a few battle scars on his armor? Tycon was unsure...
The treatment of Zenon Skyreaper, however, was causing him to

grow irritated.
"I hope that was okay, Tycon," Zenon spoke with uncertainty as he
mopped. "That I'll fall under your command as a member of your
guild?"
"That's perfectly acceptable," Tycon nodded. "By my honor, I will

never give you an order that would prove harmful for your faith or
the followers of which. That is the only type of order you may
disobey."
Zenon was a noble Tyrion Centurion... mopping the entrance hall

like a recruit. He was a gods-damned joke-- or in his case, maybe
a Flamescarred one. Tycon offered his words to display his
sincerity, to alleviate Zenon's spirits. He rated at least that much
respect.
The Librarian nodded as he worked, "Thank you for that. I wasn't

worried, but it's pretty nice to have it spoken aloud."
He wasn't worried? Tycon pursed his lips. Did Zenon... know he

was a non-human? No, he must have... but did he, though?
Tycon pushed back his doubts and wore a serious expression,

"Centurion Zenon Skyreaper, welcome to Sol Invictus."
...
Zenon emptied his mop bucket outside the temple, then set that
and the mop against the building wall, "Alright, I'm done. Let's get
out of here before I get asked to do anything else."
Tycon still felt a nagging irritation, "Would you like me to... teach
that Centurion a lesson?"
He had more than a few abilities and skills to wreak subtle

vengeance... Stealing or sabotaging some of the fellow's personal
items would be simple for him, especially since he'd recently
ranked up to Gold.
The tall man chuckled, "Haha, no. We are all of the same faith,
Tycon."
The two walked in silence, Tycon contemplating the situation.
After a short while, Zenon continued, "Anyroad, spilling that guy's

entrails onto the temple floors would be a pain to clean. And then
the adepts would have a horrible time removing the standing
candelabra I shove up his arse."
Tycon used an inordinately large amount of focus for his face to

not change in expression, "I understand. For the good of the
Church, then."
"For the good of the Church," Zenon nodded. "Where to next,

Brother?"
Tycon returned his best 'amicable' smile, "I have one more
companion that I need to send home."
"Oh, right. So you came to Caeruleum with that person and your
daughter, right?" Zenon's own smile had returned. "I went to the
same school she did and I turned out fine."
Tycon tried not to read too much into that statement, "Right. Also,
a third companion is being sent to... what did the Archbishop say...
Turrim Orientem?"
Zenon visibly flinched, "Ooooooh....."
He sucked in air through his teeth, "That... won't be a fun time."
Tycon took a breath and averted his gaze. That reaction was not
at all promising, "I don't suppose you've been there, as well,
Centurion?"
"Turrim Orientem is a prison containing the most violent criminals

in Tyrion. A large number of them have enough political strength
to not be outright-executed-- and those people essentially lead big
prison gangs."
Zenon bared his teeth in a grimace, "I uh... I hope he's strong."
Well... Tycon considered that to be overall good news. He was

worried that Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, would grow
weaker while incarcerated. But with this knowledge...
"He'll be fine," Tycon smiled politely. "Do you know how to get to
the Broken Drum from here?"
"Of course," Zenon chuckled. "They can't be beat."
Tycon's smile fell into a grimace, "So I've heard."

Chapter 295 Isidor’s Hoard
ycondrius settled his bill with a staff member of the Broken Drum
T
inn and tavern. It pained him to see so much coin lightening his
wallet... but the beds were comfortable and the rooms were clean.
It was well worth the additional coin to not sleep in squalor.
He did not add an additional tip. If the Broken Drum wanted more
of his coin, they'd have to wait for Sol Invictus to stay another
evening.
Isidor wore his hood low, revealing only a nose and wide,
unsmiling lips on a beardless chin. A leather sack nearly half his
size was slung over the stout fellow's shoulder.
"What's in the sack, Brother-Isidor?" Tycon asked. He was fairly

certain of the answer, but still... he held hope that he'd be
pleasantly surprised.
"It'ssssss... filled withhhh... sssssouvenirs..." Isidor explained.
Tycon took a deep breath, "Isidor, really? How are you going to
carry all that?"
Also, how was he able to afford all that? Tycon had provided him
and Sasha with enough coin to purchase food and a few trinkets if
they spent frugally but...
No... Tycon had a feeling he knew how he was able to afford so

much junk.
"I was going to carry them in my mou--"
"Hold on, Brother-Isidor," Tycon raised his palm. "Did you... eat?"
Slowly, the scale-dwarf's mouth twisted into a pout, then into a
grimace.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "If you lie to me, I will beat you."
Isidor was ridiculous. It seemed he had spent his money for the
past few suns on stupid souvenirs, ignoring his personal health.
While he was a Gold-Rank and was in no immediate danger of
death by starvation, he must have been quite uncomfortable.
Zenon Skyreaper crossed his arms and frowned, "Y'know, Tycon,

I don't wanna tell you how to raise your kids, but--"
Tycon shut his eyes, raising up his palm to stop Zenon, as well,
"Brother-Zenon, please. Isidor knows not to lie."
Also, Isidor was not a child, not by size, nor by age. He knew the
consequences of his actions.
"Is... is there more coinnnn... for foooood, Brother-Tycon?" He

asked, his face still set in a deep frown.
Tycon exhaled through his nose, "Zenon and I are continuing our
journey. Go. Return to the Aetnian Mountains and rejoin your
faction."
"What of the young Ssssasha?"
"I sent her off to school."
"The... the Lone Ssssshadowdark?
"He's gone off to..." Tycon paused for a brief moment, "--to train."
"Can... I go withhh you?" Isidor asked hopefully.
"No," Tycon glared. "You have prior responsibilities, Brother-Isidor.

I will not be your 'excuse' to ignore them."
"I don't... eat muchhhh..."

Tycon narrowed his eyes into a deeply scrutinizing glare. In
Isidor's scale-dwarf form, he ate as much as a Titanblood. In his
natural form, he could go without food for some time, but when he
ate, he would gorge on the Snake Cult's tributes of quadrupedal
non-sentients... and probably the occasional human.
"I have already closed our account at this establishment, Isidor."

Tycon explained, "I will not reopen it on account of your
selfishness."
Isidor looked down at the tavern floor. He somehow managed a

sullen look, even though he generally had trouble expressing
emotions with his humanoid disguise.
Tycon felt no remorse. The Titan Snake knew what he was doing,
spending money on useless trinkets instead of filling his belly.
"Hey, Tycon..." Zenon spoke in a calm voice. "How about you

guys stay at my place? I have to get a few things from home,
anyroad."
Tycon shook his head, pursing his lips, "Centurion, we really

shouldn't impose. Isidor can feed himself while he's on the road."
Only the wildlife in the Holy Country's forests could properly

satiate a snake of Isidor's size.
"It's just one night. And I'll take you guys to dinner," Zenon urged.
Isidor looked up, his eyes full of expectation-- his mouth still set
into a frown, so he looked quite pitiful. He... he really needed more
practice, if he hadn't yet learned to un-frown.
"I know all the best places," Zenon offered. "I've been stationed in
Caeruleum for awhile."
The Centurion was... far too kind of a human. Tycon let out a deep
sigh and smiled politely, "Very well... one night will be fine. We can
set out with the morning sun."
"You have... my tttthankssss, Brother-Zenonnnn," Isidor thanked
the Librarian, his expression still clashing with his tone.
Isidor didn't want to go to Caeruleum in the first place. Now he

didn't want to leave? It was absurd.
"And you will return, afterward," Tycon reminded.
...
Tycon wanted to eat at a restaurant that offered fire-roasted lamb.
Centurion Skyreaper lamented that he could not afford to pay for

everyone's bill if that were so. After a short deliberation, they
agreed that the Librarian would pay for the cost of their party's
drinks. Sol Invictus would be able to eat better, while still allowing
the Centurion the pride of a generous host.
As for why Zenon couldn't afford to pay when he had the rank of
Centurion-- it seemed he was only being paid as much as a
Decanus. His rank was afforded to him because he was a
Sanctified Psyker-- Tyrion's designation for a legal spellcaster.
Zenon's status in the Church of the Eternal Flame was... as pitiful

as his pay grade.
Tycon was finding it harder to judge Archbishop Natalya's motives

as being anything but generous and benevolent. Attached to Sol
Invictus, Zenon was away from the toxicity of his temple's
leadership-- and he was certain to gain a few battle scars, gaining
him an award or three to pin onto his armor.
It was a partnership mutually beneficial to both parties.
Well played, Natalya Crucis.
"This is the place!" Zenon pointed at the eatery sign they were
searching for. "Best food in Caeruleum, right here!"
Tycon scrutinized the sign, "That's... an... oblong-shaped berry?"

"It's an olea. It's a small tree fruit common in Tyrion cuisine,"
Zenon happily explained. "Come on, let's get a table."
Chapter 296 Bronze-Rank
Musician
ycondrius of Charm, Centurion Zenon Skyreaper, and Isidor

T
the... snake ate at a restaurant called Olea Garden.
It was little better than street stall food... specifically a street stall
that cheaply churned out hundreds of meals per sun.
Isidor was fed cheaply with a deal on an "endless" noodle dish,

where he could finish a plate and ask for another. The ingredients
for each plate was cheap enough, and Isidor ate worth... perhaps
double the coin spent, had Tycon purchased the ingredients
individually.
Tycon ordered the lamb. He received... a pathetically small portion

of it. He also ordered some grilled chicken. That was slightly
better.
Zenon consumed three entire baskets of bread, toasted with an

acceptably copious amount of garlic, butter, and herbs.
Tycon thought the bread was good... though not three-baskets

good.
The wine was good. The meal, overall, was... Ugh. It really was
not.
...But Isidor and Zenon were happy. Good for them.
In the morning, Tycon would refill his stocks of dried herbs and
spices at the market before they departed to the City of Silva. He
and Zenon could hunt some wild boar or deer. He looked forward
to impressing the Centurion with his campfire cooking.
During the meal, Zenon discovered that Isidor was not, in fact,
human. He had pointed crocodile teeth, far more evident while he
was eating. Anyroad, besides the hood, Isidor wasn't particularly
hiding his features.
Tycon expected an immediate xenophobic bloodbath. Again,

Zenon shattered all of the stereotypes Tycon knew of members of
the Church when the Centurion only responded with excitement
and good-natured curiosity. Zenon expressed that he had never
met a mountain dwarf before.
Isidor was not a mountain dwarf. Tycon did not correct him.
Having lived amongst the Krakhammer dwarves for decades,

Isidor was able to provide the answers to all of the Centurion's
inquiries. The disguised Titan Snake was able to practice his
Common, focusing on his accent. Zenon was able to gain
knowledge of non-humans. Tycon was able to not think about how
shite his meal was.
...
Afterward, Zenon led the group to his... dormitory room. The

building was in disrepair-- but at least he wasn't the only one living
in horrible conditions. A few low-level adepts walked past Sol
Invictus, each of them minding their own business. They paid no
special attention to Zenon other than offering a voiceless wave or
nod of acknowledgment.
...Tycon had the sneaking suspicion that the Centurion did not
have any friends.
The tall Librarian had to duck to avoid striking his head against the
top of the door frame.
"Regulation haircut, regulation-trimmed mustache, and uniform

polished to regulation standards," Tycon mused. "But not
regulation height."
Zenon shrugged, "Yep, that makes me a failure."

Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I don't follow."
"It was a joke, man." The Librarian chuckled to himself, "Come on

in, you two."
Isidor strolled in fearlessly. Tycon mused that if the humans had

merely offered Isidor food, they would have gained enough of his
trust to have the Titan Snake deliver himself to wherever the
humans wished.
...Then he wouldn't have needed to go through all the trouble he

had, in order to eradicate an entire Gold-Rank guild.
The Centurion's room was small, containing lockers, two desks,

and having two bunk beds, a sleeping pad on the base, and a
second accessible by a short ladder. A chair was set beside one
of the beds, likely to allow Zenon's entire length to fit when he lied
down.
"Brother Tyconnnn... He has....." Isidor pointed... at a stringed

instrument on a wooden stand at the corner of the room.
"Oh, you guys wanna hear me play my guitar?" Zenon asked,

almost giddy with excitement.
Tycon's mouth twitched... "Yes... If you would."
...
Tycon listened patiently to Zenon Skyreaper's musical talent. It

wasn't... expert level, but if his class had been Musician, Tycon
would have rated it around Bronze. Not horrid. He'd be able to
earn some copper playing in the streets and... wouldn't have to
starve in the woods like Sol Invictus' Ranger had.
The scaly, beardless dwarf that was Isidor... absolutely... loved it.
He sat and stared, enthralled by Zenon's mastery of the arts.
...Tycon wondered if he was being too harsh in his judgment.

Zenon and Isidor were both enjoying themselves, leaving only
himself as miserable, worrying about what tomorrow would hold.
The warmth of being in the company of friends in good spirits was
something Tycon hadn't had the chance to enjoy, as of late. One
company-- he was integral to their murderous eradication. Then
he sent his daughter off. And Lone got arrested for treason.
...And Isidor was leaving in the morning.
Tycon decided to change his mind. The music of the evening

wasn't bad, at all.
Zenon played his guitar and he sang. The Centurion reminisced

about his past (Tycon couldn't relate), and he shared his hopes
and dreams. Most of all, he spoke about his hobbies-- most
notably, watching gladiatorial battles in the coliseum at
Caeruleum.
Tycon wondered if Zenon knew the legacy of Sol Invictus, though

he wouldn't have been surprised if he did not. The young man was
born in a different generation.
And besides the Centurion's extensive knowledge on the topic...

he showed off his extensive... collection of... gladiator toys.
No... Zenon called it something else: his collection of 'figures,' an

assortment of 5 or 6-ilm carved statuettes of assumedly real
persons.
He politely, but firmly corrected Tycon when he suggested they

were 'miniatures.' Apparently, there was a difference between the
two. Tycon didn't know any better, so... 'figures', they were.
"Asuna, the Flash, is one of my favorites," He explained, handing

a light-armored female model to Isidor.
Isidor held the figure in his open palms, knowing better than to
attempt manipulating it.
"She is... pretty," Isidor held his palms out towards Tycon.
Tycon carefully picked up the figure by its base, scrutinizing it...

"The attention to detail is very good. Though the art is static, the
way her clothing is carved suggests dynamic movement.
Wonderful."
He returned it to Zenon who nodded excitedly, "That's not all. Her

underwear is visible, too. Check it out!"
With that, he popped off the figure's armor, revealing the...

excruciatingly detailed intimates underneath.
Chapter 297 Optio
ycondrius frowned, casually observing the object of Zenon's

T
admiration.
"...She wears only a brassiere underneath her armor? No tunic?"
"Is that.... peculiar?" Isidor set his face into his well-practiced
frown.
Tycon looked up to Zenon, "She'd chafe terribly, traveling in that."
Zenon bared his teeth in a wry grin, "Okay, maybe there's a little...
artistic interpretation. In real life, she probably wears a tunic and
chain underneath her armor-- but look? She has sculpted abs!"
Tycon and Isidor took a closer look. She did. She looked very
strong.
Zenon replaced Asuna's clothes and grabbed another figure from

his display shelf, "And this is, without a doubt, my coolest one.
Behold! Orcus, god of battle!"
Tycon carefully received the figure, a male in dark armor. He

rotated it slowly, so Isidor could also see its details.
Zenon's 'coolest' figure was a shadowy, almost-villainous figure.

The Centurion's expression only held awe and worship.
Tycon couldn't make sense of it. He thought the Tyrions far

preferred holy-looking white and silver, not dark and brooding.
What was the variable? Was Zenon strange? Was Orcus so
popular? Or perhaps the stereotype was incorrect...
"I thought..... all Tyrions followed... the Eternal Flaaame...?"

Isidor's frown correctly exemplified his confusion.
"It's just a stage name. And it's reaaaally cool." Zenon chuckled,
taking the figure back, "He's not actually a god, just a god of
battle."
The Centurion was met by the blank stares of both snake-

persons.
"I can see how that would be confusing to non-Tyrions," He

admitted. "But really, Orcus is a legend in his own league-- a
legend at the apex! He's a hero emergent from the storm of war!"
"Are you quite done?" Tycon frowned.
"He's a Champion of the Eternal Flame and one of the greatest

heroes of mankind! This guy is something else!"
The blank stares continued.
"What... does that meeeean?" Isidor asked.
"I think, in the context, it's... a good thing," Tycon suggested.
"What's even cooler--" Zenon continued, "is that the title is passed
on from legend to legend. This is the current Orcus-- and I have a
total man-crush on him."
Tycon was familiar with the word... crush. It referred to the

figurative crushing weight of an unrequited romantic longing for a
person. But... a man-crush?
Was there a point to needlessly making such a term masculine?

There was nothing wrong with respecting another man's
accomplishments and expressing admiration in their physical
beauty. That was what a crush was-- or so he thought. The
concept didn't seem pointedly gendered.
Or maybe it meant something else, like the difference between

figure and miniature? Tycon felt like it would be rude to keep
asking, so he mentally filed the information away and nodded to
imply that he understood, "I see."
Zenon scoffed, laughing, "Don't worry about it, Optio. It's a very
normal thing to have man-crushes on Tyrion heroes. It's not weird,
at all."
Tycon narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips into a slight frown,
"I'm sorry... what did you just call me?"
Zenon scratched the back of his head while laughing uneasily,

"Oh, you know. Optio! Since my rank is technically Centurion, I
figure you can be my Optio! It's pretty legit'. It's a real rank! I can
do that! (You won't get paid, though.)"
"Taaaaake it, Brother-Tyconnnn," Isidor urged. He placed his hand

to his mouth to adjust his frown into an unnatural smile, baring his
pointed crocodile teeth.
Sure, why not. What could it hurt?
Tycon forced a smile and offered his arm, "Of course, Centurion.
You are more than worthy of my loyalty."
He and Zenon clasped wrists and shook. The affirmation of

friendship brought a heart-warming smile to the tall, mustachioed
Librarian's face. Tycon found a comfortable feeling welling in his
chest, as well.
"Yeah..." Zenon nodded, tapping a closed fist to his armored

chest, "It feels pretty nice being a senior leader."
Huh. Concerning that... to judge Zenon by his youthful face, he

appeared to be in the early stage of human adulthood. Tycon did
not know the exact age of his body, but as he was an adult with
the Medusa bloodline, he was definitely older than 100. This didn't
include the one or more lives Tycon had transmigrated through.
But, in order to protect his friend's smile, he decided not to correct

him with such unnecessary information.
"And when you return home, Brother-Isidor, you can tell your
buddies that you're an honorary Duplicarius," Zenon offered.
"Yesssss... I climb... the ranksssss," Isidor nodded his head. "The
othersss will be jealousssss...."
Tycon's mouth twitched. He had a sudden ominous feeling that

various members of the mountain factions might seek them out,
asking for human-granted military ranks. The Krakhammers... the
Darkfeathers... the... the Fierce Knight.
He decided not to inform Isidor of where exactly he and Zenon

would be headed to.
...
The Holy Country spanned a large amount of coast on the

western continent. Because of it, their seafood cuisine was the
most developed in the Realm, arguably the best. Arriving in the
coastal city of Silva, Tycon looked forward to a meal: a nice, large,
meaty fresh fish. Fried? Grilled, perhaps? Oooh... braised.
The scent of the sea reminded him of his time in the Kingdom at
port cities Caractere and Saint Guinefort. Though this time, he
was thankful that he had yet to run into any pirates with quirky
personalities.
Instead of a regenerating, rip-and-tear Sea Wolf, Tycon had a...

Librarian. What kind of class was Librarian, anyroad? Because
Zenon was a Sanctified Psyker, it meant he was a Divine or
Arcane class, capable of magic. But Librarian was... not in Tycon's
purview of class knowledge...
He didn't ask.
They were certain to get into trouble eventually-- a skirmish with a

group of rogues, adventurers... adventuring rogues or rogue-
adventurers. He'd find out, then.
Tycon had a very brief glimpse of... what he thought might be

cruelty in the Centurion's easy-going personality. He looked
forward to seeing more of it. Perhaps he could harness it-- utilize it
as a weapon. Zenon could only grow stronger, because of it.
"Wwwwwwelcome to the City of Silva, travelers!!"
Tycon grimaced at the voice's owner, quickly approaching.

Chapter 298 Footman
ycondrius and Zenon warily eyed the human that approached

T
them, a young boy wearing vibrantly-colored clothing. A greeter of
sorts?
The boy revealed a sleazy grin of crooked teeth, "How about I

give you a tour of the place! See the sights! Live the history that is
Port City Silva! Just 8 silver slugs, gentle sirs!"
Tycon looked around the busy main road, merchant wagons and
various peoples walking by. No one was paying their group any
special attention. He did notice a few street performers... along
with more than a few people carefully watching the crowd--
pickpockets, likely.
He surmised that the young person who approached them preyed

on travelers. But would he be useful or was he merely another
street thief?
Zenon crossed his arms, "Well, 8 silver doesn't sound so bad..."
Tycon glared at his companion. 8 silver? That was a brazen

robbery. And the sun was bright in the sky, the child's con clear to
see.
He narrowed his eyes at the little thief, "I'll give you 2 if you can
direct us to a decent inn."
"Whaaaat? I got a family to feed, adventurer!" The boy feigned a

hurt expression, "8 coin goin' towards feedin' my mum! She needs
the money fer medicine!"
That was, in no way, Tycon's problem.
"Sod off, whelp. We'll find one ourselves."

"Whoa, hold on, Optio," Zenon stopped Tycon from walking away.
"What is it, Zenon? I'm not 'made of silver', as it were, and neither
are you." Tycon scolded, "Don't tell me you believe this young
man."
Zenon wore a sorry expression, but a credit to his honor, he did

not relent, "No, it's not that bad. I still have some coin."
Tycon furrowed his brows, his mouth agape, "What?! No."
Zenon could barely afford a meal at *Olea Garden*. Tycon

wouldn't easily allow him to spend so much his hard-earned coin
on a relatively useless service.
"Fine!" Tycon growled. "I'll pay for it."
He stared down the boy with angry golden eyes, "What was it
again? 2 silver? 3?"
"S-six silver, sir," The boy pouted.
"SOD OFF, you whelpling SHITE!!" Tycon raised his voice and his
arms. The boy stumbled back, shrinking in fear.
He retreated a few fulms away to safety, turning back and pointing

with a rude gesture, "Yer as cheap as a Greer!"
Tycon furrowed his brows at the insult.
What the hells was a Greer?
Zenon crossed his arms and looked down at him with

disappointment, "Optio, that wasn't very nice of you."
Tycon glared back... well, he glared up in order to meet Zenon's

gaze, "And you think that wasn't deserved?"
"I don't think it was," the Centurion frowned. "We don't know what
that kid's been through."
"Earning coin by earning sympathy from travelers is an effective
way to survive," Tycon shrugged. "But it won't be my coin. And it
shouldn't be yours, either."
Zenon remained unconvinced.
"Anyroad..." Tycon rolled his eyes, "How about you listen to the
conversation that the young man is having with his next mark?"
The crooked-teeth boy had approached another group of

travelers, led by a merchant who appeared to have some wealth,
"Welcome to the City of Silva, sir! I'm a servant of princes and
senators, alike! I'll show you the sights of the city for 15 silver!"
"15... It sounds a bit much," The merchant grimaced, deep in

thought.
"I've got to, sir! My dad's in a wheelchair! Got both 'is legs
chopped off in the war 'gainst the Snakes!"
Zenon crossed his arms, "Well... it might... be true?"
Though the Centurion spoke the words, they lacked the support of
his earlier confidence.
"Or is it more likely that the boy is utilizing deception?" Tycon

waved the thought away without waiting for Zenon's response,
turning to walk off, "Regardless of what is true, let's be off. I wish
to find a place that serves braised fish and hopefully has a decent
clam and cream soup."
"Y-yeah..."
The Librarian took a last look at the boy in the distance before
hurrying to catch up.
...
The two friends found a lovely restaurant in a commercial area,

near the Silva Adventurer's Guild. It was cheap and their specialty
was a slow-cooked cauldron of the clam soup that effectively
sated Tycon's palate. They'd prepared gallons of the stuff each
day, and the longer it stewed in the cauldron, the more tender the
clams, the pork, and the root vegetables became.
Zenon enjoyed himself, though he waxed more upon the fact that
their prices were reasonable, rather than on the food's quality.
Tycon was waiting for him to admit that that fare was a great step
up from Olea Garden... The admission never came.
They inquired of the eatery staff about a trustworthy inn. With their
shop's location, they catered to adventurers daily. Tycon trusted
their recommendation over that of a snot-nosed child-thief.
Upon leaving the restaurant, Zenon lowered his head, whispering

quietly to Tycon, "Looks like the Flame's on our side today, Optio."
Tycon pursed his lips... "You are a Centurion of the Church of the
Eternal Flame. Isn't your deity... always on your side?"
"It was a figure of speech." Zenon's mouth twitched. He pointed

stealthily with his palm, "Take a look. That's our guy."
Tycon looked over, his face scrunching up in confusion. He

observed a young human male speaking with a group of
adventurers.
"Yes. That is a... 'guy'... but concerning the young gentleman

being 'ours', I had thought... we were searching for a young lady?"
"Check out the tabard he's wearing. That's a footman of House

Vanzano."
He's a footman of House... No. Tycon must have misheard Zenon.

He turned, his brows furrowed hard, and his eyes squinted in
disbelief, "I'm sorry. You said..."
"I'm pretty sure I know who he is, too," Zenon continued. "You
see... Orcus, the God of War, has a twin brother. And I think that's
the guy."
"No, the other thing," Tycon glared.

"Right. It's a stage name. It's really cool, right?" Zenon explained,
the slightest tinge of irritation in his voice. "He's not really a god.
And we don't really worship him--"
"No..." Tycon huffed a deep sigh, "The house name, Centurion.

What did you say it was?"
Chapter 299 Surrounded By
Trash
he conversation Tycondrius was having with Zenon reminded

T
him of similar back-and-forths with the other Sol Invictus
members... notably the Titanblood buffoon Dragan Ashlord and
the Void-worshipping Daeva, Tarquin Wroe. However, Centurion
Zenon Skyreaper was no fool...
...At least that was something Tycon desperately wished to be

true.
Perhaps Tycon had misspoken during the conversation... That

was the reason for getting such asinine answers. Yes, that was
it...
"Yeah, Optio!" Zenon raised an eyebrow, "House Vanzano! The

house of Sanctum Parmularius Maximus-- the greatest gladiator
known to Ezyria."
Tycon couldn't help but inwardly applaud the arrangements of

Archbishop Natalya Crucis. It was not enough to rely on his honor
as an adventurer or his sincerity in completing Queen Rylania's
objectives. The quest Natalya engineered was one that Tycon
would have a personal desire to succeed to the best of his ability.
The Church of the Eternal Flame knew well how to effectively

utilize guilt in their machinations... and the guilt that weighed upon
Tycon for allowing Maximus to die was by no means small.
However... the house of Maximus, well apparently that was a

"stage name"-- the house belonging to the deceased Gian
Vanzano had... fallen? He couldn't fathom how. Gian was a
popular Ezyrian Gladiator and went on to serve honorably in one
of the militant arms of the Church of the Eternal Flame. His fame
was immense and would certainly extend to his family's
businesses...
The Vanzano footman in the Adventurer's Plaza was a pale

human with slicked-back, bleached-white hair. By the young man's
features and lack of facial hair, he was a young adult or barely
just. He was nearly as tall as Zenon-- so near a head taller than
himself... which Tycon found slightly annoying.
He wore sculpted-muscle leather armor and a white tabard over it,

displaying a stylized lightning bolt painted in black. Tycon recalled
that Maximus had the same symbol on his own shield and armor,
though colored differently.
Most peculiar was that the young man carried no weapon... not
even a sword on his side.
⟬ Vanzano Footman, Human, Unknown Rank, Unknown Class ⟭
...The System's analysis of him proved relatively useless. Tycon

had experienced the phenomenon once before, so he had his
hypotheses... but he couldn't be certain. Still, he knew not to act
carelessly around any combatant whose strength he could not
approximate.
The footman was conversing with a couple of adventurers. Those

two, however, did not look strong at all.
⟬ Bronze-Rank Human Knight; Bronze-Rank Human Rogue. ⟭
"Just one dungeon," The footman insisted. "It'll be easy. In. Out.
And we're done."
"Yeah, I'm not really feeling it," The Rogue pursed her lips. "You're
really not offering the right amount of coin for that sort of job."
"Flame take you, man." The Knight huffed, "You should be paying
*us* for wasting our time."
The footman was a dungeon runner? Interesting.

"Should we go talk to him?" Zenon offered.
"Hmm." Tycon placed his hand on his chin in thought, "Let's wait a
moment. I'd like to see how this plays out."
...
Trash.
All I'm surrounded by is filth and trash.
Tanamar of House Vanzano wore the fakest gods-damned smile

he could muster, "Well, thank you for your time, Miss."
The Rogue was somewhat-civil. He'd been treated worse-- much

worse, even during the span of the two bells he'd spent recruiting.
House Vanzano's reputation was in the dirt, and even the

adventurers knew it... No one had ever heard of the Stormbrand
adventuring company before, so few unguilded adventurers cared
to risk joining.
And then the garbage-looking Knight dared to ask for more coin.
"Oh. Well... Sir Knight..." Tanamar felt his mouth twitch.
Mana surged through his arms and chest as he thought he'd like
nothing more than to jam a Holy Lance up the man's arse. And not
in the sexy way. Though he figured that his Rogue probably railed
him every night with a wooden cock.
She looked like she wore the pants in that relationship.
Tanamar reigned in his mana-- he didn't know why he bothered.

The idiot probably couldn't even tell he was so close to bleeding to
death via irreparably torn rectum, "What do you think the going
rate for your services should be?"
The Knight thought it over, trying his best to not look like he was
pulling a random number out of his arse, "Two gold coins would
suffice."
It didn't matter what the f*cker said. Tanamar wasn't going to pay
him shite.
"Oh, very well," He nodded. "Well. Thank you. For your time."
A vein was throbbing on his forehead and he felt a migraine

quickly approaching. Thankfully, the two went on their way before
Tanamar could lose his gods-damned composure.
Trash. Absolute and utter trash. He was fine with the Rogue and
Knight not coming along. Chances were they'd need to be
coddled, anyroad.
He wished he and Athena could complete dungeons with just the

two of them. He had a complete and utter disdain for recruiting...
but he needed more bodies to throw into the meat grinder.
...This was his life now.
And he supposed he'd sacrifice two of his own gods-damned gold

coins, trying to recruit the next meatshield.
...
"He looks professional," Zenon nodded in approval.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "He looks like he's about to kill
everyone in the plaza... Open your senses to see the mana he's
trying to hold in."
Zenon took a second look... "Oh. Well." He crossed his arms,

"F*ck."
"Aptly stated," Tycon scoffed.
Iron-Rank mana. That solved one of Tycon's questions. Iron-Rank,

considering the footman's age, though, was very, very good. Lone
was a few years older and hadn't reached that level (though he
didn't know it.) Zenon was Iron-Rank, also older, and had the
benefit of being cultivated by the Church as a Sanctified Psyker.
Zenon didn't seem to think anything special of it... Either he was
used to being surrounded by Iron-Rankers, or he didn't judge
people based on the quality of their mana.
In the case of the former-- the concept that the Church had Iron-
Rankers hidden behind every column horrified him. In the case of
the latter... it proved that Zenon was a more righteous person than
he was.
Tycon very much preferred to judge people by their mana output.

He liked to know who he could and could not kill at a moment's
notice.
With a tacit gesture to Zenon, the two of them began to approach

the Vanzano footman.
Chapter 300 Warehouse
he white-haired footman straightened his back, seeing two

T
gentlemen approach, one armored, one cloaked... Tycondrius
found it amusing that they resembled another Knight and Rogue.
The young man nodded warily, scrutinizing them both, "Good

afternoon. How can I help you?"
Tycon rested his halberd against his shoulder and unbuckled the
top of his cloak to reveal the Decanus armor underneath. At least
the armor and weaponry worn by himself and Zenon were far
more professional than the footman's previous numbskulls.
"Zenon, Iron-Rank Librarian," The Centurion gave a friendly smile.

"Long-range caster."
"Tycon. I operate as an Iron-Rank Tactician. Mid-range support,"

Tycon stated.
"Ah, you guys are here for recruitment," The footman smiled... but
disappointment was evident in his eyes. "Tanamar, Iron-Rank Holy
Lancer, footman of House Vanzano. Thank you two for being
professional-- haven't had much of that, recently."
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Is there an issue?"
"Oh, no," Tanamar grimaced. "I was just hoping for a class with
heavy armor specialization. Always need those."
For a typical monster-subjugation quest, any possible threat could

be reduced by fielding a larger number of adventurers. It was
upon that concept that the Rhodok Adventuring Company built its
reputation. Dungeons, however, tended to be inside of cavern
structures, old ruins, or otherwise had limited space. In such
conditions, success via overwhelming numbers was highly
inefficient. Efficient dungeoneering utilized fielding a number of
quality individuals, reasonably synergistic team compositions, and
working as a team.
Decent defense-type classes were sought after in dungeons... but

not because the classes were rare. Armored Knights,
Weaponmaster Fighters... even low-tier Warriors were fairly
common. The difficulty was that the defensive roles in a dungeon
were responsible for the well-being of several others in their team.
With that setting, attention-to-detail, quick thinking, physical
reflexes... all of their flaws became much more apparent.
Shield Maiden Gianna and Champion Sixtus performed well,

protecting their allies in the thick of combat... and they were two
out of two-hundred Rhodoks. Adventurers of their caliber, Tycon
judged as far fewer than 1%.
Sol Invictus did have a powerful armored class... the Iron-Rank

Berserk Knight, Seldin Korr. Should this mission require her
assistance, he'd send Sorina Capulet a missive via the Courier's
Guild.
The young Tanamar again forced a smile. His annoyance was

clear, but the two of them didn't seem to be the source of his
frustrations, "Since you two are interested in running with the
Stormbrands, let me tell you about our requirements."
The young man's ''requirements' were laughably simple.
1. Don't be an idiot.
2. Listen to directions.
3. Offering two gold pieces to recruit an armored class.
Tycon thought deeply about the list, "Your first... requirement

seems... like it should be a well-understood, unspoken rule?"
That considered, the second rule also seemed redundant.
Tanamar shook his head, "Oh, you sweet summer child..."

What did that mean?
...Was he being insulted? Concerning age, the footman was far

more of a child than Tycon was.
The sound of bells rang out through the adventurer's plaza before
Tycon could ask.
"Aw, Flame take me," Tanamar grit his teeth. "I have to go. Come
by the Vanzano estate in four bells and we'll talk more."
The footman hurried off at a steady jog.
Zenon pursed his lips into a grimace and looked down to Tycon...
"Anything you wanna do that'll take four bells, Optio?"
"No, there is not." Tycon shrugged, "Let's follow him."
...
Following the Holy Lancer's trail, Tycon and Zenon eventually

found the young man... driving an oxen-pulled cart... full of
marketables?
"Yeah, looks good! Back it up nice and slow, Tanamar!" A

warehouse overseer called out.
"What... what is he doing?" Zenon asked, incredulous.
"He appears to be working a part-time job... driving a cart into a

warehouse," Tycon crossed his arms, mulling over the thought of
it.
"No, I mean... he's a footman of a noble house. Why would he be

working a second job?" The Centurion crinkled his mustache.
Tycon had similar thoughts... He observed Tanamar's skill in

checking over his shoulder to judge distance, directing the oxen,
and listening to the overseer's commands. It was clearly not the
young man's first sun-- he looked like he'd been working dutifully
for weeks or moons.
House Vanzano should rightfully belong to a social circle of
wealthy noble peers. If word surfaced that one of their footmen
was forced to work a second job... and in a mundane business...
they would receive nothing but contempt and derision.
But surely Tanamar must know that?
Tycon approached the cart, raising his voice, "Tanamar of House

Vanzano..."
"Holy shite!" The young man jumped in surprise, nearly out of his
seat.
The Holy Lancer was still wearing his tabard-- he wasn't hiding his
identity, at all. He really shouldn't have been that surprised.
Tanamar's mouth twitched, "I... commend you on your interest in

joining the Stormbrands."
"I'd like to address the fact that you're working as a common

laborer." Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin slits, irritation hastening
his speech, "You are a footman of *House Vanzano*. Do they not
pay you enough?"
"I can explain... just give me a bit," He sucked in air through his
teeth but kept quiet until he could park the cart properly.
The young man had excellent work ethic. Tycon could not fault
him for that.
Dismounting the cart, Tanamar thanked the warehouse overseer

for his patience. The latter seemed... apologetic about the job,
while the footman offered unabated thanks for the opportunity.
Tycon feared that Natalya's quest was even more difficult than
he'd anticipated.
Tanamar faced Tycon and crossed his arms, hesitant... "House

Vanzano... is not doing well financially, right now."
"That seems... painfully obvious," Centurion Zenon shook his

head.
"...Who's in charge of the House?" Tycon furrowed his brows, "Do
they know about this?"
"Athena's parents are... and they don't know."
"And the young mistress?" Tycon interrogated, "Does she know?"
"Ehh... let's just say she doesn't." Tanamar grimaced, baring his
teeth, "And let's just say... I'd rather she not find out."
Chapter 301 Athena
anamar of House Vanzano scratched the back of his head in

T
embarrassment, "Athena's doing everything she can-- trying to
fend off the family's debt collectors, dungeon-running, training to
become a junior officer in the Silva Academy... If she found out I
was doing this on the side to recruit for the Stormbrands..."
He hesitated, frowning deeply... "It would cause her a lot of...

worry that she doesn't need."
She sounded like a most-diligent young lady. Tycondrius

wondered how much of the footman's words were true. His
methodologies would change, depending on Athena's
hardworking demeanor.
"Is that Tanamar?"A female voice rang out, high and clear, like a
soft bell.
The young lady's voice was a light contrast to the footman's gruff
voice, Zenon's smooth voice, and whatever voice Tycon had-- that
he was certain was very deep, and more attractive than that of his
two companions.
"Optio." Zenon leaned down with his hand cupped to whisper into
Tycon's ear, "That's Athena."
"I gathered," Tycon narrowed his eyes, observing the approaching

girl.
"Oh! It is Tanamar! Hey!" Upon Athena ensuring that the cart

driver was indeed her footman, she hurried her steps in
excitement.
She was young, a teenager, not yet an adult by human standards.

Her hair was an icy-pale shade of blue, hinting at Outsider blood,
like her brother, Maximus.
⟬ Athena Vanzano, Unranked Human Warrior. ⟭
The System rated her as... human, *unlike* Maximus. That wasn't
a pressing issue, as bloodline abilities could be unlocked as she
cultivated. Tycon honed in on the fact that her class was Warrior.
Outside of Hidden Sects, most humans did not begin cultivation at
younger ages. Thus, that she had a combat class at her age
meant her martial abilities held some promise.
The young lady wore a solid steel armor breastplate that covered
her torso. It looked inexpensive and... somewhat aged but its
condition showed careful treatment. Interestingly, her style of
armor was also unlike her brother's. Maximus' armor looked
similar to Tycon's-- in the style worn by the rank-and-file Decani
and Munifices of the Holy Country's military-proper. Athena's
armor was closer in design to the ponderous, heavy armor worn
by the Church-- like Zenon's armor.
Besides carrying a small sack of what appeared to be groceries,

Athena also wore a thin sword, hanging in a scabbard on her
waist. Tanamar mentioned the young lady was taking part in
Academy training. She looked every part a young Armor Knight's
squire or a Champion-to-be.
She also stood shorter than Tycon. That was nice. He found it
bothersome that everyone he tended to associate with was taller
than he was. He was the shortest male member of Sol Invictus,
save Pale.
Pale was 10.
...Or was he 11 now?
Athena smiled so wide that her eyes squinted into upturned

curves, "Tanamar, what are you doing in the market streets?"
Tanamar's eyes widened, his pupils shaking in his eyes, "Oh,

Athena... I was just, uh... talking to these adventurers about...
adventuring."
Tycon thought that sounded like a reasonable excuse. The young
footman could have instilled a bit more confidence in his speech,
though.
The blue-haired girl tilted her head, "Because it looked like you
were driving that cart, just now?"
Tycon frowned. The young lady was sharp. That was generally
good. For Tanamar's situation, it was not so.
"Oh, no... I was just... helping," Tanamar turned to Tycon, pleading

for assistance with his eyes.
Tycon sighed inwardly. He supposed that protecting the status

quo of the young footman's relationship was one of the many
facets his quest entailed.
"Good afternoon, young lady. My name is Tycon and this is

Centurion Zenon. Your man, Tanamar, has provided invaluable
assistance thus far."
Tycon hoped she wouldn't ask for a clarification. He didn't have

one prepared.
The young noblewoman saluted promptly, crisply and with

professional zeal, "My greetings to you, Sir Tycon. Centurion
Zenon."
Tycon rated her salute a 5 out of 5-- very promising, indeed.
"Ehehe..." She giggled, smiling shyly, "But Tanamar's not my

boyfriend."
"I'm sorry, what?" Tycon furrowed his brows in confusion, his lips
twisting to the side. The young woman's response was...
unexpected.
"Oh, he's not my boyfriend," Athena explained. "I mean, he's very
handsome-- but I'm not old enough to be dating anyone."
"I... I see," Tycon nodded, pretending to understand.

"What are *you* doing in the market streets, Athena?" Tanamar
asked.
Hm... The two were on a first name basis? Tanamar didn't refer to
Athena as 'Lady' or 'Mistress'. They seemed quite close... and
Tycon noted that their ages were not far apart. He had an inkling
that Athena's 'he's not my boyfriend' would be more accurate as
'he's not my boyfriend *yet*.'
...Dealing with the relationship tension between two parties was

very well outside of Tycon's expertise. He hoped the concept
wouldn't inevitably cause him issues.
Athena nodded, "The grocery stalls are closing up soon. I was

going to ask if they were going to throw any of their stale bread
out."
Her smile almost glowed in radiance, "We can have bread and
milk for dinner! One of the farmers gave me a free bottle of the
stuff as I was walking past."
She held up her grocery bag as redundant proof... revealing some

red-lined scratches on the back of her main hand.
"Oh, I have to go quickly! I spent a little bit playing with some

kittens abandoned in that alleyway..." She sighed, "I just wish we
could adopt them... but that would mean more mouths to feed."
And with that, Athena gave another respectful salute and hurried
away.
The trio of Tycon, Tanamar, and Zenon watched her back as she
departed.
"It's funny," Tanamar mused. "Athena likes animals, but... they

don't tend to like her, much."
"...Well, that was something." Zenon looked over, "What do you

think, Optio?"
The young lady radiated an interesting aura... one that touched
upon a base instinct, urging him to protect her innocence from
everything that wished to deal her harm.
Tycon took a deep breath, "I will restore House Vanzano's honor,
no matter how many Tyrions I have to kill."
Zenon looked down in disapproval.
Tycon pursed his lips, returning Zenon's gaze... "Is it too late to
clarify that I was speaking figuratively?"
"Centurion? Optio? And you guys are with the Church?" Tanamar
crossed his arms, frowning, "You didn't approach me just to join
the Stormbrands..."
"Astute observation," Tycon smiled weakly. "I would prefer

explaining only once. Let us meet at the Vanzano estate once you
finish your shift."
Chapter 302 Repent (Part One)
ycondrius of Sol Invictus neatly folded his hood and cloak,

T
placing it into his pack. His Decani swords too, he put away. Too
many weapons would weigh him down... and would look
ridiculous, besides.
He unwrapped his halberd blade, taking a rag to polish the metal

to a 'divine' gleam.
Tycon wore his sculpted Decanus breastplate made of Tyrion

steel-- no helmet, though. Besides carrying his halberd, he wore
an enchanted dagger on the small of his back. He also wore one
other enchanted item, a pair of thick-leather, steel-toed boots that
felt lighter than their materials would suggest.
The dagger and boots were spoils from a deceased Assassin

back in the Kingdom. He'd eschewed them during his stint with the
Rhodoks in order to better fit in. With the current situation, he and
Zenon would appear as unique special forces agents of the
Church.
They might even be mistaken as Avengers to the uninformed.
There were two ways Tycon figured to approach House Vanzano.

The first was to offer himself as a 'hero', as it were-- selfless and
oozing with patience and benevolence. With his 'heroic' help, the
noble House Vanzano would return to its former glories, utilizing
the power of friendship, trust, and hard work.
That would take far too long.
The second way was to act as he always did: as a tyrant. He

would not have his authority questioned. He would not have his
strength questioned. He would return House Vanzano to its former
glory, regardless of their wishes.
Tycon wound up his crossbow mechanism, locking the safety
mechanism. He specifically separated the poisoned bolts from the
not-so-poisonous ones, keeping the latter as his default.
He glanced over to his tall companion, "Centurion, are you nearly

finished with your preparations?"
"I was born prepared to fight against wickedness and heresy that
hides in the hearts of men," Zenon's voice resounded, echoing
from inside a full-helmet.
Zenon Skyreaper stood 6 and a half fulms tall, covered in

Centurion armor, metal greaves, and metal gauntlets. For this
operation, he also chose to wear a reinforced full-helmet that hid
his face. He looked nothing like the rank-and-file Rhodoks, whose
armor was essentially the same as that of the Tyrion military. The
militant arm of the Church of the Eternal Flame was the true force
behind the Holy Country's might.
Tycon mentally noted that if Optio Sixtus of the Rhodoks was

wearing the Church's Centurion armor, he would have been easily
able to contain the Manticore's attacks. Further, the Champion
would not have fallen in a mere two strikes while fighting against
Isidor.
Most intimidating about Zenon's armor were the tri-blade claws

attached to his forearms. They emitted a low hum and
occasionally sparked with bluish lightning mana.
Zenon was... a Librarian. Why did he have lightning claws? Tycon

thought that Librarians... took care of... a library... with books.
...Perhaps he was a protector of said libraries?
Who in the seven hells and eleven heavens would want to siege a
library so badly... that the Church armed their Librarians with
lightning claws?
A shiver ran down Tycon's spine. Were the Librarians tasked with
recovering overdue books? Did he have any overdue books?
...Bah. What useless thoughts. Zenon had a fearsome
appearance. Tycon would just be thankful for it.
"The wicked shall kneel before the righteous," Zenon's metallic

voice echoed within his helm.
Tycon smirked and added one of the Church's adages he was

familiar with, "By fire and steel, their souls shall be redeemed."
...
From afar, the Vanzano estate was no different from the others in
Silva's wealthy residential district. Upon approaching, Tycondrius
and Zenon were greeted by the sights of withered trees,
untrimmed bushes, and vines biting into the house's worked-
stone. The courtyard was filled with ugly grass, overgrown and
discolored, and had a small pond covered with a thin layer of filth.
Tycon did not look forward to seeing interior of the Vanzano

manor, proper.
He expected some sort of guard or door-man by the gates.

Instead, the duo found an unsavory dozen humans, the lot of
them armed. They did not appear to have an affiliation with the
noble house.
Trespassers, then? Or perhaps the debt collectors that Tanamar

mentioned?
"Centurion, it seems we dressed properly for the occasion," Tycon

mused.
"Their blood upon my boots will be my offering of prayer to the

Flame," Zenon responded.
Tycon's mouth twitched. It felt like Zenon putting on his helmet...

changed his personality. Or maybe Tycon had grown comfortable
with Zenon's 'personal-demeanor' and this was the gentleman's
'work-demeanor'?
Very professional. He approved.

Zenon stared down through his emotionless helmet, "Shall we
make *inquiries* to those adventurers about the reasons for their
visit?"
"Unnecessary," Tycon shook his head. "I'm certain they will be

forthcoming, even without."
He strode towards the armed group, halberd in hand. A sharply

dressed brunette eyed him with uncertainty. She wore a short
sword on her side at the center of their formation. An unfriendly
gaze observed him from the back of their group, an Iron-Rank
Ruffian who was the strongest amongst them.
Tycon was better armored and better geared than any of his
opponents. Further, they had no idea that he was a Gold-Ranker.
He could murder them all with his bare hands if he wished.
He wondered if his opponents would be... wise enough to watch

their words.
"Who in the Flame are you?" One of the Bronze-Rankers spoke in

an impolite voice.
Oh, good. Gooood. That one was not wise.
Tycon glanced up. He was holding a halberd. The halberd was

glowing with magical white light, an ⌈Emberglow⌋ spell cast by
Zenon. It wasn't functionally useful, as the sun was still out... but
Tycon was obviously backed by someone who used Divine magic.
Divine magic belonged to the Church of Eternal Flame.
The Bronze-Ranker... was questioning a man of the Church. He

wasn't wise, at all.
Zenon Skyreaper loomed over him from behind, a machine of war

cultivated by the Church of the Eternal Flame. Symbols of flames
were emblazoned onto his armor, sacred texts inscribed into the
metal. His armor literally glowed with sanctified enchantments.
Regardless of whoever these people's backers were, the Church
of the Eternal Flame stood above them. Though Tycon wore no
such imagery, the fact that Zenon stood by him was enough to
prove his association.
Tycon had the status to do as he pleased. It would be a waste not

to take advantage of it.
He placed both hands on his halberd. He pulled the haft back with
one hand and powered the blade downward with the other,
dropping his weight.
He channeled mana into the strike, too.
Why shouldn't he?
The lightning-fast strike bit deep into the Bronze-Rank's shoulder,

nearly severing it from his body. Tycon grinned, chuckling. The
man's throaty scream was like a wonderful song, pleasant to his
ears.
He reached forward with his offhand and grasped the man's neck,
halting the noise-- almost as if they had agreed upon the act
beforehand.
Tycon was so pleased, he decided to whisper a friendly

suggestion.
"Repent."
Chapter 303 Repent (Part Two)
ycondrius lifted the human up by the neck. The man clawed at

T
Tycon's grip with his good arm and he kicked at his feet, unable to
reach the ground.
The response was good... but it was... wrong.
An annoyed frown etched into Tycon's face. He was looking for a

specific response: Repentance.
Why was no one repenting? He had specifically requested it.
Perhaps the man hadn't heard him? A large amount of adrenaline

should be coursing through the gentleman's veins-- after all, his
useless arm was a sliver of bone away from falling off of his body.
Tycon hated repeating himself, but circumstance seemed to

demand it. He was used to shouting in hectic combat situations,
but he wished the notion hadn't annoyed him so.
"REPENT!!!" Tycon screamed into the man's face, "--or your

LIVES ARE FORFEIT!!!"
He changed his halberd grip, moving it up to just below the blade,

"⌈Legionbreaker.⌋"
With the sharpened mana sheathing his weapon's edge, he

released the man's neck with his offhand. For the briefest of
moments, relief washed over the ruffian's expression... Then
Tycon struck the top of the blade with his fist, fully severing the
man's arm from his body.
Blood spilled onto the ground in a gruesome fashion, spurting the

fellow's life force energetically along with his heartbeat.
Tycon grabbed the man's neck once more, slamming him into the
fencing surrounding the Vanzano estate.
All the fellow had to do was repent. From Tycon's memories, it

didn't seem so difficult. Was Tycon doing something wrong? Was
he not being taken seriously?
...Well, the fellow in his grasp was going to bleed to death. At least
that one could be an example to the others for not doing as they
were told.
Tycon stabbed his weapon into the pinned man's abdomen then
into his chest. Then, he tossed the useless corpse onto the floor.
He would have been nicer, had the fellow repented properly.
Glancing back to Zenon for assurance, the tall Librarian was

watching in silence, an unmoving, ever-judging observer.
He glanced back to the thugs surrounding him. They were no

markings of allegiance, not to the city of Silva, nor to any
particular adventurer's guild. They were unnamed trash.
Yet they had not yet knelt and begged for forgiveness?
It was odd. Had these people not experienced the tyranny of the
Church of the Eternal Flame? In Tycon's memories, it wouldn't be
an exaggeration to say it was a common occurrence.
Perhaps they were in shock? Tycon decided to continue on. He

had only killed one man. Before he changed his tactics, he'd kill a
second, just to be certain this approach was ineffective.
The same rule applied to long-range marksmanship. Shoot twice

before adjusting your aim for other factors, like the wind, and
misaligned crossbow sights.
Tycon regripped his halberd and swung it in a wide arc around his
head, chopping into another man's right side-- severing his arm at
the elbow. There was more screaming-- not from that fellow, that
fellow was dead. The man's companions were screaming, drawing
their weapons, their eyes rightfully shining with fear.
It took them so long to react, though... Were they not often

embroiled in such combat situations? They looked like a ragged
bunch of thieves. Were they stunned by Tycon's handsomeness?
Pah. This was why he often wore a hood or helmet.
"Wait!! Stop this madness!!" A woman yelled-- the sharp-eyed

one.
Still, it wasn't what Tycon was looking for.
He'd continue on.
Tycon swung his halberd, clanging against a thug's sword and

forcing their arm back. With the opening, he then shoved his
halberd's point into the man's throat.
Tearing the weapon to the left, Tycon stuck the blade's edge into
the side of a woman's neck-- deep into the jugular vein. She
released the sword in her hand and collapsed to the floor,
convulsing from the blood loss.
Switching grips once more, Tycon kept his offhand on his halberd
and reached for the dagger on his lower back.
⟬ Dynamic Weapon. Second-Circle Magical Short Sword.

Weapon's form can be changed to a bladed weapon of the
wielder's choice. Soulbound to host. ⟭
It was a lovely, multi-faceted weapon.
Tycon had a favorite weapon, which he used often, adventuring in

the Kingdom. It was a whip, one with sharpened razor blades at
its ends. It was particularly dangerous and peculiar in that it
needed many bells of practice to become proficient in its use. He
found it aesthetically pleasing.
Against stronger opponents, it was more useful as a whip, binding

limbs or providing a painful distraction. Against Bronze-Rankers
and below... it was quite cruel.
Tycon gripped the dagger's hilt, charging it with mana. Glowing a

radiant white, the weapon segmented, the metal stretched, and its
pieces clanged together, rebuilt magically as a short sword.
With a forward-flick of his wrist, the blade's segments loosened

once more. A pliable 'rope' of mana kept each section of edged-
metal shrapnel together. Functionally, the Dynamic Weapon was
his familiar whip, except unnecessarily stylish.
The segmented sword had wrapped around a human's neck.

Tycon pulled. The blades wrought havoc on the gentleman's flesh,
ripping into it... tearing, exposing the man's windpipe to open air
and spilling more fresh blood onto the street.
The woman-- the smart one, finally rushed forward, kneeling down
at Tycon's feet, "Please!! I'll tell you everything!!"
Everything? No, that wouldn't be good enough.
Tycon snapped his wrist to the side, his weapon reforming into its
original short sword form. He pressed the short sword's tip against
the side of the brunette's neck. He'd make it quick.
"Optio," Zenon's metallic voice resounded in his helmet.
Tycon froze his movements. No... Haha... His face still moved. He
wasn't aware of just when-- but he found that he was grinning.
Tycon steadily increased the pressure on his weapon. A rivulet of

blood dripped down from underneath her short brown hair, running
down her neck.
"Optio, that's enough," Zenon repeated himself. A boom of power

thrummed from where the Centurion stood, tossing up dust and
forcing the remaining humans to stagger a step back.
The woman quietly sobbed, the stones beneath her, wet with her
cowardice.
Tycon tilted her head up with the flat of his blade, "Do you
repent?"
Chapter 304 Repent (Part
Three)
"I... I repent, Lord..." The woman cried, "Please... have mercy."
She begged without looking up at him. Her hair was a mess and
miserable tears streamed down her face, ruining her dark
makeup.
Tycondrius pursed his lips. He couldn't believe that this woman

thought that only this level of sincerity would be enough. Where
was the gnashing of teeth? The dashing of her head against the
stones? She hadn't even torn out her hair in grief!
Humans, these suns...
"F-forgive me," The woman sobbed quietly. It didn't even sound

like she was talking to him, anymore. That was a step in the right
direction.
"Oh? For what, young lady?" Tycon prodded.
Yes. Apologize for your weakness. Apologize that your faith was
not strong enough to protect you. Apologize for the fates damning
you to be at this exact spot when two members of the gods-
damned Church of the Eternal Flame were trying to have a nice,
mid-afternoon stroll.
"We... we came to... to collect the money owed," The woman

sniffled.
She dared to look up.
The audacity aggravated him.

Tycon leaned his head forward, close enough to taste the
woman's delicious tears.
"Wrong answer," He whispered.
"Grrrrr... Let... GO OF HERRRR!!!" The Iron-Rank Ruffian yelled.
Tycon raised an eyebrow, glancing at the bellowing fool, rushing

heroically to his death.
Hm. He figured he could drop his sword and grab his crossbow
with his main hand... but no, cleaving the short sword through the
young woman's neck would be more efficient. Then, he'd be able
to face the oncoming Iron-Ranker without distractions.
"The HELLSWORN SKY is beholden to ME!!" Centurion

Skyreaper yelled, his voice booming and echoing like an angry
god, "It is by MY HAND that decides whether you live or DIE!!"
The armored Centurion held out his hand and the sprinting Iron-
Ranker stopped as if his neck was caught by an invisible force.
Winds swirled around the purple-faced man's form as he levitated
into the air, mortal hands desperately grasping at the blurred
mana wrapped around his throat. Suspended in the air, the man
rotated, faster and faster-- surrounded by a localized windstorm of
dust, trash, and road debris.
The man's scream was quick and concise. There hadn't seemed
to have been much air remaining in his lungs. However, in that
short breath, the fellow accurately conveyed to his allies just how
much pain he was experiencing in that sensational moment.
Masterfully done.
The man fell lifelessly back to the ground. The fellow's armor
looked like it was thrown off a rocky mountainside, twice or thrice.
The flesh on his face, his arms, his legs-- everything exposed was
torn to unrecognizable ribbons of marbled meat, exposing bits and
fragments of tooth and bone. Warm blood had splattered onto the
ground, droplets on everyone present, like a mischievous child
had pissed into the wind.
The Librarian's name was Skyreaper. Tycon found it fitting.
"Now, loyal citizens of my beloved Holy Country..." The Centurion

roared. "-- KNEEL!!!"
The remaining brigands quickly got to their knees.
"PRAISE THE ETERNAL FLAME!!" Skyreaper ordered.
The humans prostrated themselves against the bloodied road,

weeping, praying for mercy... begging with strained breaths for the
benevolence of the Flame.
The woman too, she wept, she begged for forgiveness,

apologizing for inane and unintelligible sins she had committed.
She even cracked her forehead against the stone.
Tycon stood up and crossed his arms. This was the response he
wanted! He'd thought he'd given it a good effort... He made a
mental note to ask his Centurion for tips, afterward.
"WHO SENT YOU?" Zenon Skyreaper demanded, his voice

echoing deep into the broken hearts and minds of his flock.
"H-house Galanis, Lord," The woman screamed. "We are

innocent!"
"Tsss," Tycon sneered, his teeth bared. He tapped the woman's

cheek with the flat of his blade, "Innocence proves *nothing*."
Tycon tilted his head up, his gaze meeting with those of the
various survivors, "The lot of you. Take your dead and leave.
Should House Galanis require reparations, know that they ask not
men, but the Holy Church of the Eternal Flame."
They hesitated. Of course, they would.
Tycon stabbed his sword into the woman's bicep. Twisting the
blade to drive the point home, the woman cried out in both agony
of the flesh and praise for her god.
Good. She would live.

"NNNNOW!!!" Tycon roared.
Quickly, the humans moved, taking the corpses and running faster
than they've ever run in their lives.
"And you, speak..." Tycon smirked at the woman clutching her

bleeding arm. "--but choose your words... carefully."
...
House Galanis was not a noble house, it seemed. It was a quiet,

underworld power. Should they send more, Tycondrius had no
issues paying them... a visit. He had no interest in making friends
'properly' in the Holy Country.
Tycon used a healing skill on the Galanis whore to prevent her

from going into shock or bleeding out. She would remember the
pain. She would remember her fear and helplessness. If she
sought to act against him, she would be wholly cognizant of the
risks in provoking him.
After the unsavory group had left, Zenon Skyreaper took off his
helmet, "Optio, by the Flame, what was that?"
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "What? Do agents of the Church not act

like that?"
"No, they..." Zenon hesitated. "They... they do. I just..."
"Yes, Centurion?"
"I figured you'd be more... reluctant to spark conflict, being in the

Holy Country." Zenon grimaced... "Say, Optio... have you worked
for the Church in the past?"
Tycon smiled politely in response. He did not-- not to memory, at

least. He acted with the proper arrogance that he expected of the
Church of the Eternal Flame. The Church was little more than
murderers sanctioned by their god, demanding absolute faith and
judging doubt as a heresy of one of the highest orders.
He was surprised that there was so much hesitation in the enemy
party.
...Oh. Tycon recalled that his memories of the various factions of

the Realm were decades old. Was it uncommon for agents of the
Church to act as he did? ...But Zenon asked if he was a former
agent?
Curious...
Tycon took out a cloth rag and began to wipe the blood from his
weapons, "Shall we seek to enter the manor?"
"Yeah." Zenon twisted his lips... "But I'd like to *talk* to the
manor's people before ending them."
Tycon chuckled to himself. He had no intention of making such a

promise.
Chapter 305 Circular Logic
ycondrius hefted his bag over his shoulder. The weight of it was
T
a unique comfort, as he would utilize most of the items inside,
hopefully within the next few bells. Tycon knocked the bottom end
of his halberd against the double doors of the Vanzano estate.
A young footman answered the door, a handsome, blonde fellow,

wearing the clean black attire of a uniformed servant. He wore no
armor or tabard, but the stylized Vanzano lightning bolt was sewn
into his clothing.
The young man bowed politely, "Good afternoon, sirs. I must

apologize. The Lord and Lady are not present, today. Please
return--"
Tycon shoved the man out of the way, knocking him to the floor,
"Don't care."
He strode into the spacious manor. It was worse than he had

expected.
Centurion Zenon followed close behind, first frowning at the fallen

footman, then at the state of the manor. Concerning the former,
the blonde fellow was a pathetic sight. He had a crippled right
hand that was not apparent upon first introduction. He cradled it,
curling his body up, his face scrunched up in sweat and agony. He
had likely struck it against the floor or wall when he lost his
balance.
For the manor... Zenon was used to looking at wealthy temple

decor: high and ornate architecture, stained glass windows, and
religious symbols. He would also have a mind for defensive
considerations like archer parapets, uneven stairwells, and
twisting halls that hindered right-handed attackers.
There were precious little fineries within the manor. The walls and
shelves were noticeably devoid of paintings and wealthy trinkets.
Faded rectangles and other-shapes upon empty mantles were
bereft of dust, hinting at their past existence. Windows were
cracked or broken, cobwebs settled at their highest corners. Linen
sheets covered sets of furniture, with scraps of paper lying upon
them that suggested their monetary value.
Worse for the Centurion... there wasn't a column in sight.
"What is going on in my house?" The hurrying of feet clomped

from another hallway. An older gentleman, his thin grey beard and
mustache neatly trimmed, entered the lobby with a look of shock
on his face.
"Lord Greer, w-we have intruders!" The footman shrieked, his

voice marred by pain.
The old man's face fell into an angry glare, "These are members
of the Church, Victorius! Show some respect!"
Tycon raised his eyebrows, his voice lilting up in amusement,

"You... you lied to me."
The footman had a good physique, save for his crippled right
hand. That would put him at a disadvantage if they were to fight
properly. A shame.
A wide smile crossed Tycon's face, his leather gloves stretching

as he tightened the grip on his halberd. Lying was a sin. Sin was
to be punished.
"Optio..." Zenon whispered quietly, glancing down to meet Tycon's

eyes.
Tycon nodded in return, relaxing his grip. The Centurion's gentle

reminder implied that the next course of action was to be
conversation, not murdering a liar.
Footman Victorius was safe, for now. Tycon would only murder the
members of House Vanzano after careful deliberation.
"Lord Greer, sit with us." Tycon grabbed the end of a linen cloth
and with a swift pull, removed it from a comfortable leather seat...
He then quickly and neatly folded the cloth and placed it to the
side, "We've a few questions."
...
Unfortunately, Greer was well-versed in the speech of nobles. The

thin elder with a thinner mustache was able to slyly deflect each of
Tycon's questions concerning the state of his businesses and
reputation.
"Our businesses are thriving!" Greer said. That meant nothing

without a reference point.
"The loyalty of our consumers is and always has been

unquestionable!" Also meant nothing.
Zenon's irritation grew more and more apparent as the

conversation went on. He was likely not used to dealing with
meaningless affectations, double-talk, and wordplay. Tycon took a
slightly sadistic satisfaction in that the Centurion was likely
regretting his request to allay their violent tendencies, in an
attempt to appear cordial.
The 'coffee' that Victorius served did nothing to restore the

Librarian's spirits. Tycon expected... honey cakes or something.
That was popular in the Holy Country's cuisine. The footman gave
them heated water-- no snacks. Rude.
With the round of questioning, Tycon... couldn't even discern what

exactly House Vanzano's businesses were. But what did become
painfully clear was that Lord Greer Vanzano was useless to him.
The man steered the conversation towards three particular

subjects:
1. Stories of Gian's victories in the Ezyrian arenas. Greer likely

had very little to do with that.
2. The promise his daughter, Athena, displayed at the Military
Academy in Silva. The man expressed more than once that he
and his wife (Marigold, apparently) were continuously surprised at
the girl's talent. From that, Tycon inferred that Greer had even less
to do with Athena's academic success than with Gian's combat
prowess.
And 3. How much he and his wife spent on the various mediocre
knick-knacks and souvenirs that still remained in the manor's
receiving room. The silver amount was in the thousands to several
thousands.
The fool man even insisted that because they were able to spend
coin on such lucrative items, that their businesses were absolutely
not in dire straits, as Centurion Zenon had somewhat rudely
suggested.
It was circular logic. How can a man be poor if they spent as if

they were not? Tycon could have cited the dozen debt collectors
he and Zenon chased off a bell prior, but Greer would likely have
a prepared response for that, as well.
Thankfully, at about that time, a figurative angel arrived. Her timing

was impeccable. Zenon was near about to utilize his wind-magic
to hurl Greer against a wall or ceiling.
"Sir Tycon?" Athena's crisp bell-like voice called out. She entered
the room from a different doorway than Greer had emerged,
wearing a simple tunic and cradling a sheathed sword in her arms.
Bits of her light blue hair was matted against her lightly perspiring
forehead-- perhaps she was training, just now?
Excellent work ethic.
Tycon nudged Zenon lightly, signalling for the taller man to stop
clenching his jaw and fists. He stood up and wore the politest
smile he could fake at a moment's notice.
"Good evening, Athena Vanzano. The Centurion and I are here for
you."
"For me?" Athena's eyes grew large and she clutched her sword
tighter to her chest, "By the Flame, am I being drafted? Oh, no, is
there a war? But I've yet to graduate from the academy?"
Tycon chuckled in his heart. There's always a war, always a

reason to have strong men and women willing to serve in their
nation's defense, whether it be against enemies of the state or
policing their own.
Greer turned to his daughter with an ugly scowl, "Fool girl! Listen
when a man speaks to you! Don't just run your mouth like a
thoughtless whore!!"
Chapter 306 Why Are You...
ycondrius felt his mouth twitch at the man's blatant disrespect.

T
Athena was the only good he had left willing to bear the Vanzano
name.
Archbishop Natalya Crucis' quest had two conditions: The name

of House Vanzano must be restored and Athena must be well
taken care of. Nowhere was it stated or even implied that Greer's
wellbeing was necessary. With the man's recent words, his
presence wasn't even welcome.
"SILENCE!!" Zenon stepped forward, his voice booming with

magic even without wearing his full helmet, "My name is Centurion
Zenon Skyreaper and by the decree of the Church, you are all
now under my command."
The bladed claws attached to his forearms sparked with electricity

as he nearly spat his words in contempt, "The only words on your
lips should be praise for the Eternal Flame."
"P-praise the Flame..." Greer whispered.
The footman, Victorius, stealthily escaped into a different hallway.

Was that a movement technique? That was promising.
Athena frowned, half-hiding behind one of the linen-covered

couches, "What... what does the Church want with me?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes, picking up his bag off the floor, "Let me
make it painfully obvious."
Zenon stood up and nodded, placing his full helmet back upon his
head, "Shall I retrieve the other things we require, Optio?"
"Please, Brother-Centurion..." Tycon grinned. "Athena and I will...
be awhile."
...
Tanamar jogged down the empty streets, hastening his return to

the Vanzano manor.
About a moon prior, House Galina came to collect their debts.

They were due for more harassment... and soon.
The last time, they made a mistake of trying to push their weight
while he wasn't working at his other job. Tanamar convinced them
to leave-- and the cost was him needing to break an arm and a
leg. When they'd send more collectors... and if the Galanis head
had any brains, there would be far more than just three or four of
the bastards.
Arriving at the gates of the manor, Tanamar was greeted with a

grisly sight...
Blood painted the road from slashes of a heavy blade. Blood had
pooled against the fencing, spilled onto the dirt as if a man was
restrained and bled. In one spot, there was... an unholy amount of
blood collected in a messy puddle, littered with metal armor bits
and what he suspected were fragments of bone.
Remnants of mana from a Circle spell still remained... and with

the amount still hanging in the air, the original spell had to have
been at least Second-Circle...
Seven hells... Maybe even Third.
Had House Galina recruited a Sanctified Psyker? Impossible.
Tanamar briefly closed his eyes, mentally activating one of his

skills.
« Aspect of the Celestial Hound. »
He breathed in the magic all around him, his senses not-quite-

magnified, but honed... He identified the auras he was familiar
with... tracking the blood. Whoever spilled the blood had moved to
inside the manor... And they were familiar to him... but who were
they?
Could they have taken Athena?
Tanamar clenched his teeth. She was the only existence of value
in the whole Flame-taken house. Even Tanamar's Flamescarred
brother knew better than to stay in this quickly-sinking hellhole.
Tancred joined the gods-damned circus at first opportunity,
painting himself as a clown and calling himself the second-coming
of Orcus.
He recalled that that was about the same time he abandoned his
own family name. Nothing good came of it.
Worthless traitor. Pathetic garbage.
He clenched his fists. Iron-Rank. He was just as pathetic.
Once he reached Gold, he'd show them not to mess with the
people he gave a shite about.
« Aspect of the Winged Seraphim. »
Tanamar leapt up, his adopted aspect boosting the height of his
jump and allowing him to traverse the fence with ease. Bounding
across the courtyard in gliding steps, he reached the door to the
servant's quarters and nearly smashed it off its hinges.
Victorius nearly jumped out of his clothes, smacking his head

against the top bunk of the bed he was sitting in. The former
Archer was rubbing ointment onto his crippled hand... He looked
like he was having a rough day.
He apologized in his heart, but there were more important things

at stake than his fellow footman's aching hand.
"Victorius," Tanamar growled.
Victorius pouted, "Wh-what's wrong, Tanamar?"

"Where is Athena?"
...
⟬ A bell prior. ⟭
"What's that stuff you're putting into the stove-pot, Sir Tycon?"
Athena asked, her eyes wide in wonder.
"Water," Tycon narrowed his eyes.
That was a ridiculous question. He set the water-filled pot onto the
stove flame, trying to make sense of it.
"Well, yeah! I know that!" The blue-haired girl pouted. "Come on.
What's that jelly looking stuff?"
Tycon's mouth twitched. He felt like he was in the wrong for

misunderstanding the young lady's question.
He opened the jar and held it towards the young lady to examine,
"The gelatin within is a reduced broth made by the sailors of the
Kingdom."
Why it was in a jar made of glass instead of a wood or paper

container that allowed it to better dry was beyond him. Along with
the jar of portable soup, there were fresh herbs and vegetables
within his grocery bag. It would at least be enough for the evening.
"Mmmm..." Athena smelled the contents of the jar, but then her
eyes shot open and she gasped dramatically, "From the Kingdom
of Alizeau? Is it made with magic?"
...The probability was high. The people of the Kingdom loved

using magic. Street lamps were powered by it. Children in the city
streets could cast Elementary spells for show or for mischief.
Noblewomen would use low-level Glamour spells in lieu of
makeup. In the Kingdom, shops that catered to beauty and
skincare sold magical reagents alongside mundane skin paints,
scented soaps, and lotions.
Tycon brought his focus back to Athena's question... "A broth is
heavily reduced, then laid out to dry further. Often, ingredients are
mixed into that to make the gelatinous substance even drier."
"Like, magic ingredients?" Athena asked.
"Flour, likely," Tycon responded simply. "Magic is unnecessary to

the process."
The cogs of thought turned in the young lady's brain as she stared
blankly. Then all at once, understanding seemed to dawn on her.
"Ohhhh. Got it," She said proudly. "And because it's all dried, it
doesn't spoil easily?"
"That's correct, young lady," Tycon allowed himself an

encouraging smile. It was nice to work with a young person-- no,
with any person who could think independently without his
direction.
"But why are you in my kitchen?" She asked.

Chapter 307 Yin Body
ycondrius pursed his lips. He was wearing a chef's apron and

T
had deposited his sack of cooking ingredients onto the nearby
table.
He thought it was quite obvious why he was in Athena's kitchen...
"I'm... cooking a meal."
Tycon removed the boiling pot of water from the heat and added
the broth-jelly. He frowned at the final set of ingredients: the bag
of discarded bread heels Athena had brought home. It offended
his senses as a cook that the young lady was planning to eat
them stale with only a bit of cow's milk to wash it down.
No, that wouldn't do. Tycon would make a proper meal out of it.
"Why are you acting like that?" Athena glared. "You know what I
mean."
Tycon furrowed his brows. He did not.
"Oh..." Athena's face fell to match his expression, "Oh! By the

Flame, do you not? I'm so sorry!"
The young lady's quick apology and slight panic only made Tycon
feel... lacking. He made a mental note to reinforce his study of
human questions and their implications. Perhaps Zenon would be
able to help in that... He seemed... well-adjusted.
Tycon forced a smile, "If you mean to ask why I'm cooking a meal
for you, young lady, would you be so kind as to grant me your
hypotheses on the matter?"
Tycon would guide the members of Sol Invictus with such leading
questions, particularly with Pale, often with Kimura Taree, and
even with Lone. He judged Athena to be honest, clever,
inquisitive, and confident... traits ideal in a student. He hoped she
would be receptive to this kind of conversation instead of finding it
beneath her.
Athena pouted, her brows crinkled up in thought, "You're a guy...

and you're cooking for a girl. Do you... have a crush on me?"
Tycon dipped his head and sighed deeply. Perhaps he'd been too
hasty in his judgments... "Incorrect... That is... not why I'm here,
young lady."
"Well, that's good." Athena sighed in relief, plopping down onto a

kitchen stool, "I already have someone that I like."
"Good for you."
"Well... you're from the Church... and you wear military armor..."
Athena placed her fingers on her chin, pushing her lips out in
thought, "That symbol's for a Decanus, right?"
"Correct," Tycon nodded, his voice lilting up in hopefulness.
"And Mister Zenon calls you Optio..."
Tycon averted his gaze. Why was he called 'Sir' and 'Centurion'
Zenon Skyreaper called 'Mister?' Athena was obviously familiar
with the rank structure if she could recognize the Decanus symbol
on his armor... Didn't she go to a military academy?
"What's really weird," Athena tapped her cheek. "--is that the
Church doesn't pay house visits like this..."
Her gaze drifted off as if she'd understood something.
"Speak your mind, Miss Athena," Tycon urged.
Her eyes narrowed sharply, "I can tell from the mana you're
emitting that you're really strong."
Tycon raised an eyebrow as he felt a sudden chill assault his
senses. Frost mana? Interesting. And judging by the steady
stream of power behind it, the young Athena commanded a
precise level of control...
No, it wasn't just a show of her ability... Stars and stones, the girl
was using her mana to emulate a different spell... a ⌈Detect Rank⌋
spell.
She was a young genius.
The implications of Athena's subtle magic manipulation were

manyfold.
First, of obvious note, was her ⌈Detect⌋-like ability.
Two combatants comparing their mana output was common

phenomena amongst classes of the same type: a Martialist
analyzing a Blood-Knight, a Cleric to an Invoker, a Firewalker to a
Necromancer. However, Tycon had originally thought that such
senses were only developed by Bronze-Ranks and higher... and
besides that, Athena was using an Arcane-based skill to measure
the mana of Tycon's Martial class.
Tycon's Arcane abilities were poor-- on the level of an Elementary

mage, or maybe even Unranked. He could probably light a candle,
but he'd need to concentrate for a half-bell on the endeavor
without the aid of a wand. Thus, if Athena was so impressed, she
must have glimpsed at his mana, not only as a caster, but of his
abilities as a whole.
Second was that Athena could expertly control her frost mana--
like an additional hand or arm. Such skill was almost specific to
single-element casters. Sea Witch Eilean, for example, could
both manipulate sea water into offensive lances and extend her
rudimentary senses through the water around her, allowing her to
'see', though her physical eyes could not.
Athena had shown promise in the military academy with her
martial prowess. Was she just as talented in martial ability as she
was with magic?
Third was the surprisingly pure frost mana that the young lady
commanded... especially interesting. Again, Athena had not yet
reached Bronze-Rank... her mana reserves would only grow
deeper, and its quality, more pure.
Perhaps she had a bloodline to support it? Yet... her brother had a
lightning-affinity. That would be illogical.
...Or was it possible that she was born with a Yin Body? Ugh. That
type of knowledge was out of his purview. He'd need to contact
one of the masters from the Hidden Sects to learn more... He'd
write two letters in the evening. One to Kimura Diago, Patriarch of
the White-Scale Sect, the other to High-Captain Lang Hai of the
Sea Wolf Sect.
With such a mastery of frost-type mana, Athena would develop

better not as a pure Martial Class, but an Arcane-Martial Hybrid
like Sol Invictus' Swordmage Dragan Ashlord or Hexblade Tarquin
Wroe... or Warmage Maximus of Ezyria.
With her multitude of talents... she was in no way inferior to her

brother.
However, Tycon could not allow the cold to continue on. With the
difference in level, if he allowed Athena to accurately gauge his
mana, she'd suffer a painful backlash. The young mistress being
bedridden for bells and fatigued for suns-after was *not* in Tycon's
agenda.
Also, it would affect his cooking.
Taking a pause from chopping up the bread heels, Tycon used his
kitchen knife to cleanly slice through Athena's invasive mana.
The young lady closed her eyes, quietly reorganizing and

retracting her mana. She put her hands on her cheeks as she
twisted her lips in frustration, opening her eyes to interrogative
slits, "So what are you? Bronze-Rank? No-- Iron? Bronze! At least
Bronze for sure."
"I believe that's irrelevant to the conversation, young lady," Tycon

smirked.
He figured it better to hide the fact that he could murder everyone

in her estate without breaking a sweat.
"Then..." Athena pouted, pressing the tips of her fingers together,

"I think you guys are here on behalf of my brother."
The young lady's expression fell... her earlier perkiness, sapped

away.
Chapter 308 Assembled
It was more or less true. Tycondrius and Zenon were here on
behalf of Maximus of Ezyria, Archbishop Crucis' wishes aside.
The young Athena Vanzano had happened upon the truth, on her
own... However, she seemed to be on the verge of tears, because
of it.
As this was not a training-environment, Tycon immediately began

to panic, "Is uh... there an issue? Young lady?"
"It's fine," Athena wiped the corner of her eyes with her wrists.
"We received the news a few suns back, that... that Maximus fell
in battle... But it's fine, really."
She said it twice. From her expression and the quavering in her
voice, Tycon judged that she may not have been entirely truthful.
"Ever since Maximus left... and then Tancred left... and then the
company losing its backers... and then dad's spending habits got
worse... and then mom's drinking problem..."
The young lady's volume steadily softened, its pitch raised-- with
sporadic sniffling sprinkled throughout. It was most certainly not
fine.
Athena held out her hand towards Tycon.
...The action implied a response. But... what?
Tycon gingerly took hold of the young lady's hand. She continued
to cry quietly, not sharing words, merely sharing Tycon's company.
He hoped he had chosen correctly...

It seemed that everything went to shite as soon as Maximus left
Ezyria-- something Tycon doubted the dovahkiin knew. With
Maximus' generally upright and somewhat predictable nature, the
man would have sped back on his stupid-looking blue wings to be
the hero that Athena needed most.
Unfortunately, Maximus was dead. And his Church wouldn't

bother resurrecting him, even though that would likely fix this poor
child's issues.
...All 'what-if' thoughts of Maximus were useless, of course. Tycon

didn't know why he bothered.
It took a few minutes for the young lady's sobs to subside. Tycon
remained patient. He wasn't in a hurry... His preparations had
already reached the 'in-the-oven' stage.
"If you're just here on behalf of the Church..." Athena whispered,

her voice still cracked from crying, "--you can go back. House
Vanzano doesn't need your pity."
Tycon chuckled to himself. What a selfless young lady, "Not so.

The Church has deigned to assign you a champion, so to speak.
Further, I worked closely with your brother in the Kingdom."
Athena tilted her head up, showing her wide eyes and tear-
covered cheeks, "R-really?"
...Yes.
Tycon continued, "I will be overseeing your martial training for the
time being... and I know a very capable woman that could serve
as an advisor for your family's financial troubles."
"Wait, really?" Athena's eyes widened, larger than he'd observed

thus far.
Why did she keep asking that? Tycon did not reply. He would
assume the questions were rhetorical, in order to avoid the
embarrassment of a snarky response.
"No, really? You would do that?" Athena asked.
Oh, it was a real question.
Tycon smiled politely... "Yes."
It was very difficult talking to this woman.
...
"By the Flaaaaame, this is sooooo goood!!" Athena gushed. "I

want to stuff it all in my mouth and have it live there forever."
Zenon had removed his armor and was utilizing table manners
proper for a young military officer, eating from his plate of broth-
soaked bread and vegetables.
Tycon nodded in approval, carving a piece for him from a large

roast chicken. Zenon had gone out to purchase it while he used
the kitchen. After providing for the Centurion, Tycon placed a
meaty chicken breast, freshly cooked and succulent, onto
Athena's plate. She was a growing young lady and he wanted to
ensure she had enough protein in her diet.
Zenon narrowed his eyes at the door to the servant's quarters.

Tycon felt it, as well. He positioned his body to guard the roast
chicken from whatever attack was imminent.
The door burst open, nearly breaking its hinges. Silvery mana
flaring wildly from Tanamar's person, his white hair flowed as if
wind was flowing upward. He stepped forward, dust and
fragments of tile levitating around him. Clenched tightly in his right
hand was a... Tyrion pilum, save it was formed entirely of
concentrated silvery mana.
"ATHENAAAAA!!" Tanamar yelled dramatically.
The young lady stopped abruptly, a half-bitten piece of chicken in

her hands. She placed the meat down and politely brushed the
sides of her mouth with a napkin, "T-tanamar. Hey! Welcome
back! Have you had dinner yet?"
Tycon pursed his lips, looking over his shoulder at Tanamar's

confused state. The footman looked like he was ready for a fight
of some sort.
Thankfully, he and Zenon were more than ready for it. Tycon had
physically interposed himself between the Holy Lancer and their
roast chicken. The Centurion had applied a magical wind barrier
to protect the table of food from dust and debris.
The mana pilum that Tanamar held explained why he traveled

unarmed. Apparently, Holy Lancer was a mana-shaping class-- a
unique type of spellcaster that formed weaponry with their magic.
Other mana-shapers included mages that cast Polymorph-type
spells onto parts of their body, transmogrifying them into weapons.
Creation-type spells like Tanamar used were less mana efficient,
but more versatile.
The white-haired footman waved his hand, his aura-glow

diminishing and his weapon dissipating into a rainbow of dust. He
gingerly took a seat at the dinner table, his expression solemn.
The fellow with the crippled hand, Victorius, entered the room
shortly after, a trace of worry still in his eyes. Tycon surmised that
that fellow had something to do with Tanamar's furious entry.
"What's this?" Tanamar asked, looking at his plate.
"Sir Tycon called it dressing! It's sOooooOo good," Athena

explained, speaking quickly and mashing her words together in
excitement. "I helped!"
She did.
Tycon gave Tanamar a chicken wing. Everyone liked chicken

wings.
Athena cleared the confusion by explaining to Tanamar and

Victorius that the two representatives of the Church would be
staying with them for a period of time.
In retrospect, Tycon should have explained that in the first place...

but he thought it paramount to garner Athena's reaction to it,
before continuing. Tycon had no compunctions against taking over
House Vanzano tyrannically, but he sought to achieve his specific
target's blessing.
Or perhaps he was treating her kindly, merely because she was

Maximus' sister.
Tycon looked over his new crew, assembled before him.
Zenon was a sanctified spellcaster with electrified claws, righteous

and just.
⟬ Zenon Skyreaper, Iron-Rank Human Librarian. ⟭
Athena expertly wielded frost mana and he was fairly certain had
a physique valued by the Hidden Sects.
Tanamar was a young, slightly temperamental fellow with a high-

tier class.
⟬ Tanamar, Iron-Rank Human Holy Lancer. ⟭
And then that fellow Victorius looked like... he could be trained.
⟬ Victorius, Bronze-Rank Human Archer. ⟭
Three out of four were promising.

Chapter 309 Tested (Part One)
he largest advantage of making connections was the concept of

T
specialization.
Tycondrius was very good at several things. He was not the best
at any of them, but he was acceptably talented at waging war,
training, and... gathering a half-dozen or so relatively useless fools
and forcing them into doing something... useful.
For balancing books, Tycon could have attempted to fix it all

himself... but a far more efficient and effective solution was to call
in a specialist. Through the Courier's Guild, he sent out a few
letters, including a discrete letter to Sorina Capulet, the Bronze-
Rank Calculator that was Sol Invictus' Chief Financial Officer.
Barring any fantastical incidents, she would make her way to the
Holy Country's city of Silva as soon as possible.
The formation of a proper plan to revitalize House Vanzano's

businesses would hinge on Sorina's arrival. Until then, Tycon
would correct any glaringly poor business practices he came
across-- but otherwise would focus on the training of the young
Athena Vanzano.
...By extension, he'd train her two footmen, as well. It's not like
those two were doing anything important.
Wisely, Centurion Zenon Skyreaper asked Tycon of his plans,

which they discussed over a warm bottle of Tyrion wine. Zenon
agreed. He had no idea how businesses worked, either. Why
would he?
Training, however? Both Tycon and Zenon lived, breathed,

loathed, and loved training. The two wrote out a basic regimen to
subject Athena to... starting with a daily morning run.
The beaches were breathtaking, the crystalline green waters, had
visible coral and non-aggressive sea life clear to see. The waves
lapped against the fine, vibrant sand. And of course, three young
persons were struggling to both breathe while continuing to run at
an accelerated pace.
Zenon ran alongside Tycon, the only exception to the young-

persons failing miserably. As tall as he was, each of his strides
were two, nearly three of Tycon's own. Tycon was sweating lightly.
The Centurion could carry full conversations.
"You know, Optio... You're pretty good at running," Zenon

admitted.
Tycon grimaced. He did not, in-fact, consider himself good at

running. Including Zenon, he was still the slowest runner amongst
the combat classes of Sol Invictus.
He took a deep breath in order to respond without pause, "Why do

you think that?"
"Well, you're running in full armor, while I'm just carrying this pack.
That's gotta count for something," Zenon smiled amicably. "What's
in this thing, anyroad?"
"Just training gear. Practice swords and such," Tycon smiled with
chagrin.
He chose not to tell the Centurion that he wore magic boots that
made his armor feel as light as linen. He wore his armor to
psychologically pressure Athena and the two footmen.
Concerning endurance training, Athena looked the best of the

three. The pace Tycon set for her pushed her abilities, but
obviously she was no stranger to running along the sands. Her
near-shoulder-length, light-blue hair was tied into a ponytail, and
she wore a comfortable tunic, rhythmically breathing in twice, out
twice.
Tanamar was performing the worst... his silvery hair matted

against his forehead and face. He should have bound his own
hair, as well, but for whatever reason, he did not.
However, Tycon found an interesting phenomenon. When the

silver-haired footman fell behind. Tycon would slow his pace to jog
beside Athena. The Holy Lancer's pace would then mysteriously
increase... in order to run between Athena and himself. From
there, Tycon would increase his speed to run in the lead alongside
Zenon.
He had tested this three times, attaining the same result each
time.
It was not a coincidence. The implications of the young man's

actions were something Tycon could take advantage of.
The short-haired, blonde footman, Victorius, initially complained

that his crippled hand ached terribly. That the fellow's injury was
debilitating was reasonable; his hand was twisted and gnarled as
if crushed by a heavy stone. Tycon offered the footman bandage-
wrap to reduce the swelling, or perhaps to be used as a sling to
prevent his arm being jostled as he ran.
Victorius refused.
He explained that before his injury, he was the best archer

amongst House Vanzano's personal forces, and his training was
top-notch.
...Why he mentioned that was beyond Tycon's understanding. It...

didn't seem to relate to anything, at all. Such an admission only
made him expect more of the fellow. He was still young, after all.
Such an injury, the footman would need to train around, but it did
not make him worthless.
Tycon surmised that Victorius' injury made the fellow doubt his
own usefulness. Like Tanamar, his loyalty was reliable, since
neither footman had abandoned the house even in its state of
reduced wealth and prestige. Rebuilding Victorius' confidence
would mean one additional ally for the young Athena.
Tycon raised an arm above his head, his fingers and thumb
pointed up, "Here will do."
The group of five slowed to a walk, cooling down from their run.
Zenon led the group in a few stretches. It reminded Tycon of his
time with the Sea Wolves, performing stretches and exercises
mandated by the Kingdom's Navy.
"Athena!" Tycon called out.
"Yessir!!" The young lady screamed, standing up quickly from her

seated stretch. Sand shot up everywhere and she spent a few
seconds spitting it out of her mouth before recovering in a Tyrion
salute.
...There were plenty of things Tycon could have said. He decided

not to call attention to the young lady's clumsiness on account of
her eagerness... "Young lady, I would like to test your
swordsmanship. From what I understand, you're training to be a
Knight-Champion."
"A P-paladin, Sir Tycon!" Athena pouted.
...A Papaladin? ...No, Tycon was just going to assume she said
Paladin... Apparently there was a difference between Paladins
and Knight-Champions. Tycon had no idea what that could be,
though.
"Considering your station, I'll give you the option of being tested
now... or in private, when we return," Tycon made a show of
eyeing the other two footmen. Did she trust her footmen to reveal
the extent of her abilities to them?
"I'd like to be tested now, Sir. I have nothing to hide from

Tanamar," She smiled cheerfully.
Tycon pursed his lips. What about the other one? There were two
footmen... "Miss Athena, please retrieve a wooden sword from
Centurion Zenon."
Chapter 310 Tested (Part Two)
ycondrius' sword swings would be deflected by the young Athena

T
Vanzano. After such, she would counterattack, aiming at a
vulnerable point. When not deflected, the young lady would also
dodge, weaving her body acrobatically, keeping her balance well.
After such, she would... counterattack.
It was quite skillful. Tycon was only able to trivialize the fight
because of his superior vision, his rank, and that he was very, very
skilled at swordplay. In fact, he'd have forgotten that the young
lady was Unranked, if not for the fact that her attacks and
movement lacked mana acceleration.
"Very good, Miss Athena," Tycon smirked, flourishing his wooden

practice sword. "You've exemplified the basics of the Tyrion
rapier."
The young lady pursed her lips and allowed her practice rapier to
rest, pointed low, "Why doesn't that sound like praise, Sir Tycon?"
A deep frown etched into Tycon's face, "It was meant to be

praise."
Athena tilted her head, "Oh. Thank you?"
"Optio Tycon has a somewhat sarcastic voice," Zenon offered

from the sidelines.
"I have a sarcastic voice?" Tycon furrowed his brows.
"See? There it is," Zenon pointed.
"Ohhhhh," Athena nodded.

Athena's swordsmanship was good. She utilized a light sword
style, which emphasized keeping her body tilted to the side to
reduce her profile, and leaning back and forth to strike precisely
and accurately. Her footwork was good, too, endless drilling
obvious-- she performed excellently, as fatigued from the beach
run as she was.
Tycon split up swordsmanship-- (most contests, really) to four

stages of skill. In the beginner stage, combatants don't know what
they're doing. They utilize their base strengths: their weight, their
reflexes, maybe a lesson or two in form for effective strikes, in
order to strike a successful point. Victory would be attained by...
not performing as poorly as the opponent.
In the intermediate stage, combatants understood basic

swordplay. Identifying mistakes becomes paramount in this stage,
as well as understanding the flow of movement. Every swing,
every step uses or risks balance-- perhaps opening up a
vulnerability. A win is attained by capitalizing on the opponent's
mistakes.
This was the level of Athena's swordplay.
Tycon sighed, "Anyroad... Miss Athena, I will increase the speed

and vary the tactics. Are you prepared?"
"Wait, you'll what?" The young lady widened her eyes. "But you're
so fast already?"
Tycon groaned inwardly. He had been moving at a slowed speed--

painfully slow. He wasn't even boosting it with mana, in respect for
Athena's Unranked level. It frustrated him slightly that his efforts
weren't noticed.
Again, concerning the stages of skill... somewhere during the mid-

to-late intermediate stage, each combatant no longer made
mistakes in the short term. Matches were high-focus contests
where a single blunder can determine the end of a match.
Beyond intermediate was the expert stage. In this stage, experts

well-versed in their arts would seek to break the static nature of
the fight.
The simplest way was to utilize the environment. Swordsmen

tended to focus on their sword and not everything around them.
Tycon tossed a ball of fine sand at Athena's face, aiming for her
mouth. The cool, calm, collected Athena turned into a sputtering
mess.
Attacking from wholly unexpected directions was also useful.

Tycon slipped a wide rapier swing, ducking and swaying out of
Athena's immediate vision. Ending up nearly behind the girl, he
shoved her forward with his offhand.
Then there were unorthodox tactics. Tycon grasped the center of

the practice blade in his offhand and loosely held the hilt with his
mainhand. When Athena composed herself and attacked, Tycon
deflected the swing with the hilt side of the sword, as he stopped
the sword's wooden point before it bruised the area between her
collarbones.
It was a movement he recalled from a Tyrion swordplay manual...

and as Athena studied in a military academy, she might have seen
such a movement, even if she hadn't the skill to utilize it in high-
speed combat.
"Environment. Directionals. The entire body is a weapon.

Unorthodox tactics," Tycon summarized. "Your basics are sound,
miss Athena. From here, a wider array of experience will be best
for your cultivation."
"What-- but... No... You?" Athena began to babble in confusion.
"Arrrrgh!!" She stomped her foot on the sand, upset.
"Oh?" Tycon raised an eyebrow. "Would you like a second

chance? I daresay your fatigue is mounting, young lady."
Athena glared, twisting her lips in resentment but she kept quiet.
Shortly after, she clapped her palms against her face and sighed
deeply. Her frown fading, she wore a bright smile, "Thank you for
your guidance, Sir Tycon. Sorry, I got a little competitive."
Huh. Tycon nodded and smiled in response. Well, that was rather
nice.
"Did you want to give it a go, Centurion Zenon?" Tycon clapped a

hand onto the seated Centurion's shoulder.
Empty night, was he tall, for a human.
"What? Against you, Optio?" Zenon shook his head. "No, thanks."
Tycon glared, "I meant against Tanamar or Victorius."
"Oh! Hahaha!" Zenon chuckled. "I think those two's specialties are
close-combat. I'm more practiced at a longer range, so I'll let you
keep going."
Seriously? Zenon's uniform armor had two claws installed on his

forearms-- and they sparked with lightning. Were those just for
show?
Fine.
"Tanamar," Tycon called.
"Eh..." The young gentleman stood up, but he wore a look of

hesitation. "Can we do this in private?"
...Odd. But why? Athena had displayed her skill willingly. Did
Tanamar have something to hide?
"Maybe he's a bit fatigued from the run?" Zenon stood up and
offered his thoughts in a low voice, "That should be fine, right?"
No... Tycon doubted that was it.
He frowned at the young Tanamar, "I'd like a reason."
The silver-haired gentleman smirked arrogantly, "I don't have a

bow. I'm an archer."
Of all the... Tycon had clearly seen the young man dash into the
dining area the other evening with a spear made of literal mana in
his hands. Why would he need a bow?
And he was Iron-Rank. No, the boy's excuse was absurd.
"I'd prefer not attacking you unawares, young man," Tycon glared.
It was a thinly veiled threat.
Tanamar let out a deep sigh, "Do we have to?"
Really, what was this human's problem? Tycon pointed his

wooden sword forward, "I'm attacking."
Tanamar shrugged, "Very well."
Zenon reached his hand out, "Hold on, Optio. Tanamar hasn't
chosen a weapon yet?"
Tss. Why would he care about giving the boy a weapon?
Tycon dashed forward, leaping up with an overhead swing.

Decently fast. Very straightforward. Aimed at Tanamar's head of
silver hair.
He found himself grinning. What are you going to do, boy? I know
you're strong.
Show me.
Chapter 311 Tested (Part
Three)
ycondrius' blade plummeted down towards the Vanzano

T
footman's head at the relatively slow speed of gravity.
With an almost insulting level of nonchalance, Tanamar stepped to

the side and reached his forearm out. He blocked Tycon's swing
at the wrist, deflecting its force to the side.
Naturally recovering his momentum, Tycon swung his sword

again-- horizontally at the boy's temple. The silver-haired youth
responded with a tilt of his head, lowering his body...
simultaneously shoving Tycon in the chest.
Slightly disappointed, Tycon allowed himself to stagger backward.

He could have used mana to force his position... but the Holy
Lancer had yet to use even a sliver of his own.
Admittedly, the two-strike exchange was technically impressive. It

shook Tycon's ego, but that was permissible, considering the
circumstances.
He glanced back to Athena and the others.
The young woman looked rather aggrieved, "Really, Sir Tycon?

Why the hells aren't you trying?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes. Miss Athena Vanzano was not a...
subtle woman.
Returning his gaze to Tanamar, he flourished his sword.
The reason he wanted to duel Athena and her men was to gauge
their skill levels, using the data to better appropriate their training
regimens. As Tanamar had yet to reveal the extent of his
abilities... logically, it was permissible for Tycon to increase his
pressure.
Yes... it wasn't a stronger, older, more-handsome gentleman

brutalizing a teenage boy for being rude... it was a teacher asking
for the best from his student.
Tacitly. And with violence.
...And spite.
Tycon pointed his sword forward.
This would hurt.
He moved forward, leaning his body weight into the strike.

Tanamar tried to deflect with his hands, but the momentum wasn't
enough. Tycon's sword found his mark, striking deep the
footman's abdomen.
The young man keeled over and dropped to a knee, dry heaving
with an amusing musicality. It didn't look like he was used to
taking damage.
A shame.
Tycon raised his sword up, ready to inflict his next lesson.
"Tanamar, watch out!!" Athena yelled.
Yes, Tanamar. Watch out. Tycon scoffed as he swung his arm

downward, expecting the bloody crack of wood against a human
skull.
A brilliant flash of silver birthed a glowing rod in Tanamar's hands--

a spear, or a... holy lance, as his class suggested. The kneeling
man raised his arms, blocking the attack and deflecting the blow
to the side. In a solid counterattack, Tanamar whipped the side of
his spear across Tycon's chest, forcing him back.
Just as quickly, the weapon dissipated back into mana. The action
was quick enough that Tycon doubted Athena and Victorius
witnessed what exactly had transpired.
Tycon rubbed his chest, "Good hit."
It was more of a push-blow than an impactful one, suitable for

training. But as revenge for Tycon's earlier strike, it was woefully
lacking.
Tanamar returned to the standing position, still slightly hunched

over from the strike he'd taken earlier. He frowned as if disgusted,
"What weapon would you like me to choose?"
Tycon raised an eyebrow in surprise before adopting an arrogant

grin.
The Holy Lancer implied he had options available to him...

Interesting.
Tycon kept his voice low... just loud enough for the young man to
hear, "Choose a weapon that can prevent me from embarrassing
you in front of your little girlfriend."
Tanamar furrowed his brows and his lips curved upward. The
strange smile didn't reach his eyes, "Oh, so is that how it's gonna
be?"
Tycon grimaced, confused. Was that a real question?
"Yes?"
"So be it," Tanamar chuckled. The footman then began to walk

counter-clockwise, remaining alert for the next attack.
He was subtly creating distance. Very interesting... What was his

purpose? ...He did say he was an Archer... was he most
comfortable at that distance?
Tanamar reached out a hand to his side, wrapping it with a silvery

charge of mana, "Luckily for you, there's a good hospital nearby."
The young man was a thoughtful individual.
Tycon did not hate that, "Noted."
The Holy Lancer's mana coalesced into a large stylistic pilum, the
shape reminiscent of a ballista's arrow. He threw it forward, aimed
at Tycon's chest.
It was quite fast... but its speed was only at the level of an Iron-
Rank.
Tycon sighed inwardly. An Iron-Rank wouldn't be able to block or

counter-- only dodge the speedy attack. He properly leapt out of
the way, rolling onto the beach sands and back to his feet.
Its power and distance was impressive. Tycon pursed his lips as
he watched the thrown mana spear rocket past, forming waves of
power as it tore over the ocean waters.
As he was distracted, Tycon noticed another object moving in his

peripheral vision. Tanamar had hurled a second, more compact
spear.
That one, he didn't need to dodge. Tycon channeled mana into his
practice sword, protecting it from damage. He casually swiped at
the attack.
The holy lance shattered... and too easily.
Oh, that wasn't good.
In a brief instant, a dozen shards of mana surrounded him, then

began to unerringly fall upon his body in brilliant flashes of energy.
He was blinded, disoriented-- not hurt, but severely annoyed.
What in the seven hells was going on? Who makes a stupid
illusory spear attack? Tycon felt a mana arrow strike him in the
stomach... hard.
There it was.... that was the revenge hit... He doubled over and
held his gut, blinking repeatedly and willing his vision to return.
Two more blunted mana spears struck him in the face and chest,
staggering him backward. Errrrgh...
Tycon was growing more and more irritated. He slammed a mana-

charged fist into the sand, dispelling the miasma of power in the
air, then sprinted forward towards his opponent-- who was bracing
a Holy Lance, waiting patiently for him to blindly rush in.
Shite. Tycon again sighed inwardly. He could have used mana to

forcibly redirect his momentum... but that's not something a
normal Iron-Ranker would be able to do. He took yet another blow
to the abdomen.
Ow.
Tycon swiped his sword at Tanamar's head, plonking him properly

in the temple.
Hah. Serves you right.

Chapter 312 Tested (Part Four)
ycondrius stabbed at the retreating Tanamar, only for his sword

T
to be deflected downward and his wrist grabbed. The Holy Lancer
directed a powerful knee at his face, which Tycon managed to
soften by blocking with his offhand palm. He used the momentum
of the blow to throw himself back, simultaneously twisting his wrist
to escape Tanamar's grasp.
A 'Holy Lance' jabbed at his face-- forcing Tycon to dodge and slip
the series of attacks. He deflected the fourth thrust... a noticeably
shallow strike.
Tycon was... not a combat class. In a normal combat situation, he

often relied on his allies, his skills, his bloodline abilities, and even
alternate weaponry. In terms of pure skill... he was being slightly
outclassed by the Holy Lancer.
Tanamar smashed the side of his mana spear against a point

between Tycon's neck and collar. A normal person would have
been knocked out by such a strike.
He believed it was called... the jugular vein, a particularly blood-

filled tube important for delivering valuable oxygen from the heart
to the head-- or was it vice versa?
(Within milliseconds of thought, he asked his System for

clarification. It was the other way.)
Striking the vein with a blunt object or applying force to it in a

chokehold would cause a brief bout of unconsciousness in a
human. It was far faster and more reliable than strangulation.
Hm.
Tycon struck Tanamar in the jugular vein. The Holy Lancer
dropped like a sack of cabbages from a cart.
The mana spear in Tanamar's hands hadn't yet dissipated, but it

was fading...
"Hah, seriously..." Tycon chuckled. "I hope you don't think you can
protect Athena with just that level of skill... And you don't need to
answer because I'm assuming you're unconscious."
With a silver surge of mana, the mana spear solidified. He was

still awake. Tycon had miscalculated.
Tycon felt his legs kick up. Tanamar's sweeping spear had struck
the back of his heels. Experiencing the sense of weightlessness,
he took a deep, annoyed breath as he fell with his back towards
the sand.
He supposed that was enough.
"Zenon," Tycon muttered.
A barrier of blurry, swirling mana formed around Tycon.
The sound of shattering glass reverberated throughout the mana

barrier. With a wicked shriek of metal scraping against metal, the
tip of a mana spear was stopped less than an ilm in front of
Tycon's face. If not for Centurion Skyreaper's protective skill,
Tanamar's follow-up attack would have impaled him through the
eye.
Standing over him, Tanamar looked furious. The youth was nearly
frothing at the mouth, his eyes full of hatred and violence.
"I take it back. Your skill level is sufficiently high." Tycon felt like he
owed the young man an apology, "It could always be better, of
course-- but that's true of all things."
Tanamar pounded the top haft of his weapon downward, the spear
tip piercing the sand. Tycon, of course, had moved his head to
avoid injury.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I was being sincere, arse."
"You have a really sarcastic voice, Optio!" Zenon called out. The
Librarian probably assumed he was being helpful.
"Oh. My bad," Tanamar twisted his lips and released his grip. The
mana spear dissipated, turning into silvery dust caught by the
wind.
Tanamar grasped Tycon's wrist and assisted him in standing.
"Thank you for your assistance, Zenon," Tycon lightly inclined his
head.
"No problem, Optio. That's what friends are for," Zenon beamed.
"But I'd like to insist that I do not, in fact, have a sarcastic voice,"
He frowned.
Zenon's smile fell-- very slightly, "Th... there it is again."
Bah. Why did he even try?
He turned to Tanamar, "I've no truly negative comments on your

form... Though be advised that you do have a temper."
Tanamar pursed his lips in thought, "Makes sense."
"Nonetheless, well done." Tycon gave Tanamar a cursory

observation, finding no major injuries. That was good. Tycon did
not wish to reveal his healing ability if it wasn't necessary, "Are
you self-taught?"
The Holy Lancer paused for a moment in thought, "Yeah... Yeah, I

am."
"Then you're a natural." Tycon was slightly surprised, but nodded

in approval, "Even without formal training, all combatants seek to
strike faster, strike accurately, retain their balance, and eliminate
unnecessary movement."
Tycon placed his hand to his chest... a salute used amongst the
members of Sol Invictus, "I applaud your efforts, Holy Lancer
Tanamar. You must have come a long way."
Tanamar nodded quietly and crossed his arms. Something

seemed to be on his mind. Tycon hoped that he'd learned
something of himself. Self-introspection leading to a cultivation
breakthrough would benefit their force's overall power.
Quietly returning to Athena's side, the young lady began to

animatedly praise his efforts.
"Great job, Tanamar!!!!" She shouted, nearly into his ear.

"Wowwww! I didn't know you were that strong!! You did great! Way
better than I did!"
Did she really think that?
"Of course, Sir Tycon didn't throw Flame-taken sand into your
mouth. Might've been different, if he did!"
Athena shot an obvious glare back at Tycon.
...So she was still upset about that.
Empty night, he was *trying* to teach her something.
Tycon glanced over to the final Vanzano.
⟬ Victorius, Bronze-Rank Human Archer. ⟭
That his class was still an Archer was a minor obstacle. He would
need to be retrained to a Warrior or a Scout... However, Victorius
still had his reflexes and having received formal training, he would
reasonably have retained a basic mastery of swordplay. He'd have
to use his offhand, but still, the skills were ingrained into his
combat instincts.
No real damage had been incurred by his and Tanamar's duel.

They could start immediately.
"Victorius, you're up next."

The blonde man stood up, nursing his injured hand, "Sir Optio, I'd
like to pass on this."
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Pass? Mister Victorius, you may not
have realized this, but unlike Lady Athena, I did not give you such
an option."
"I'm... I'm an Archer, Sir," Victorius tried to argue. With his tone of
voice, it sounded like he was well-aware his complaints would fall
on deaf ears.
Tycon frowned, "Well, unless you'd like to painstakingly specialize

in crossbows you can load and fire in a single hand, I suggest you
pick up swordsmanship."
The young man's gaze hardened, "I can't fight, Sir."

Chapter 313 Tested (Part Five)
ycondrius placed his hand on his chin, examining the young

T
Archer. Victorius had taken no injuries on the run. He stood with
his chest out, full of vigor in his heart and a courageous fire in his
eyes.
He would have been impressed... that is, if the boy wasn't so

vehemently insisting upon his cowardice.
Tycon took a deep breath, trying not to let irritation mark his
voice... "Just as I asked Tanamar before you... I'd like a reason."
His gaze sharpened, "A. proper. reason."
Victorius grimaced briefly.
"I'm injured, Sir," He admitted without shame.
"Seven flame-f*cked hells, are you being serious?" Tycon took a

step forward, gritting his teeth and trying not to strangle the boy.
"Victorius of House Vanzano, I've seen you run. If it doesn't hurt
terribly to move, you can swing a wooden stick just. as. well."
"This is an exhibition, not a life-or-death duel!" Tycon raised his

voice, gesturing to the others. "You have options available! You
can fight the Librarian! Or you can fight your fellow footman,
Tanamar!"
"Emptyyyyy NIGHT," Tycon groaned, half-clenching shaking fists,

"If you'd like, I'll bind an arm behind my back-- I'll even allow you
the first three strikes! I'll bind BOTH arms if I need to!!"
Still, the blonde footman's face remained impassive.

"Come on, then?!!" Tycon's frustration crescendoed his voice to
shouting. "The purpose of this exercise is to measure your
reflexes and combat sense! Is there any part of this that's
unreasonable? Tell me!"
Tycon looked back to Athena and Tanamar. They offered nothing.
Centurion Zenon responded by tossing the remaining practice

sword. Directed through the air by an unseen hand, it sunk into
the sand beside Victorius. The footman only had to reach forward
and grasp its hilt.
Tycon felt the muscles in his eyes spasming from anger. He had
to divert his willpower in keeping his gaze undimmed, so he didn't
inflict a Third-Circle poisonous affliction upon all his companions.
"It comes down to beliefs, then..." Tycon scowled, gnashing his

teeth, "You believe you shouldn't fight. I believe that you... you
MUST... have something worth fighting for...
"On the field, men and women fight and die for their beliefs. Some
on the behalf of their deity. Some for love... some for honor. Many
fight for something even more base... food to stave off dying of
starvation or a place to sleep, safe from the elements."
Tycon glared, "--or perhaps to gain a f*cking modicum of self-

respect."
Anger welled in Tycon's heart. He lifted his gaze towards

Victorius, trying to gauge the fellow's reaction... but it only made
his killing intent surge more violently, threatening to spill blood.
There was something. There was always something that a person

held dear to them, human or not... The only reason to live was if
there was something-- thrice-damned anything that was worth
fighting for.
If he could find that for the Archer... he had the potential to be their
strongest ally.
"What. the f*ck. do you believe in, Victorius?"

The Archer narrowed his eyes, "I won't fight."
Tycon had enough.
He didn't have his previous memories... but he recalled... an

emotion. He held a deep, nostalgic feeling... of what it was like to
face uncertain death. It wasn't split-second, adrenaline-pumping
life-or-death he recalled. It was the intimate feeling of struggling
for suns and moons and years and epochs... with the only reward
being survival.
For him, surviving for minutes or bells more... was a cause worth
fighting for.
Athena was juggling her academy studies and her shite family...
and she still remained hardworking and honest. Tanamar had
taken a second-job to assist her-- even though that job was far
beneath his station.
Tycon's efforts were going towards strengthening Athena and

House Vanzano... They knew this. He had explained his plans
beforehand. There was no mystery behind his goals.
Victorius had the opportunity to repay that faith, both his and
Athena's. All he had to do was train.
He refused.
That was... unacceptable.
"In my world..." Tycon snarled, "If you do not fight, you die."
He gathered all of his rage, the wild and tumultuous mana... and
he condensed it. The concentration of power coursed through his
form. The refined mana was pure, its intent was clear, and its
capability lethal.
Tycon willed his body forward. He felt his legs kick off of the sand,
faster than an Iron-Rank could possibly move. A giant wave of
sand kicked up behind him in his wake.
Tycon raised his sword. The swing was slow. The attack was
telegraphed. The speed and force of it was more than enough to
crack Victorius' human skull, dislodge his spine, and spread a
cloud of pink mist into the air as congratulations.
Wind and sand swirled around the two as Tycon stopped his
weapon, ilms away from contact.
The wood of the practice blade began to crack.
In order to stop his movement, Tycon had to channel a large burst

of mana into his weapon to counter the force. Expectedly, the
wooden sword broke apart, dissipating into golden flecks of sand
that fell onto the beach.
Victorius had fallen on his arse, shielding his face with both of his
hands. Tears had pooled at the corners of his eyes.
A welt was reddening on the side of his head from a weapon that
hadn't even struck him.
Tycon clenched his right hand, crumbling the rest of his sword into
mana dust.
He turned back to the others, "We're returning to the manor."
Without another word, Tycon increased his pace, jogging back

towards the Vanzano estate.
...
Zenon watched his Optio depart. He was pissed... and for good
reason. In the Church, 'Failure to Train' got you executed. The real
world operated differently... not at all like in the military.
Athena was on her feet, stretching, getting ready for the run back.
Tanamar was still staring at Victorius. The other footman sat
alone, his unfocused gaze looking out over the ocean waters.
...No. Tanamar was still staring at the place in the sand where
Tycon was once standing.
Zenon wondered what was going through his mind.
He stood up, "Let's get going, everyone."
Whatever thoughts he had, Tanamar shook his head, discarding it,

"Yeah... Let's go."
Chapter 314 FitFO
he first morning of Tycon's and Zenon's training yielded decent

T
results for two, while simultaneously outing Victorius as a
worthless coward.
Subsequent days progressed as expected. Ever diligent, the

Invictus duo ventured to the Military Academy in Silva to work with
Athena's combat instructors. Tycon was particularly skilled with
the Holy Country's longsword techniques and was asked to host a
short lecture.
He liked to teach... and the small bit of coin the Academy gave
him was worth the time spent.
Even still, Tycon was running low on funds.
The coin went towards a balanced diet for his three trainees... and
the ever-variable cost of training equipment, bandages, wooden
swords, and the like.
He couldn't ask for money from the Vanzano Patriarch, Lord

Greer. Tycon had rarely seen him in the manor... not that he cared
to keep track of him.
He wasn't willing to use a lesser grade of proteins or herbs.

Besides feeding the children, his cooking fed himself and Zenon.
Professionals have standards.
A small part of him wished he could subsist on simpler

pleasures... like Sol Invictus members Dragan and Lone. To
improve their morale, they just needed a whore or two.
...Tycon made a mental note that they could probably share a

whore between them. Even if he or she charged a bit more, it
wouldn't be so much as double... If he cut their pay slightly, he
could set aside guild funds for their whoring. He doubted the fools
would mind, as long as they got their 'Whore Bonus.'
Within the week, he figured he'd have to visit the Banking Guild.
There, he'd withdraw coin on his credit as a guild leader and
owner of the East Charm Trading Company. Hopefully, whatever
enemies were searching for him wouldn't dare tread into the Holy
Country. After all, the nation had agents of the Church hidden
behind every column, poised to smite anything suspicious into
oblivion.
Tycon was a very handsome fellow. Handsome fellows were

above suspicion.
"Don't look now, Optio," Zenon lowered his head. "There's

trouble."
Tycon crossed his arms as Zenon slowed their group to a halt.

Athena, Tanamar, and Victorius had finished a morning of light
training and were still in good spirits, thus were only slightly
curious about the delay.
Though Tycon's eyesight was superior to his Centurion's, Zenon's

vision was... elevated. With that particular advantage, he was
often first to spot threats to the party.
Tycon did not envy the man. Zenon would also be the first to be
noticed and shot by enemy snipers.
"If I'm not to look, now..." He glanced up at the Centurion, "When...

would it be permissible?"
Zenon twisted his lips, struggling for an answer... "It was a figure
of speech."
Tycon narrowed his eyes. What did it mean, then?
...He chose to wholly ignore it. He moved forward to peek past the
side of the wall Zenon had glanced over. Over two dozen armed
men and women were loitering in front of the Vanzano estate.
"Those bastards... what could they want?" Zenon grumbled.
Tycon scoffed inwardly. This was an opportunity. If he could

murder those people, he could rob them all... Even better, if he
could track down their leader, he could extort that person for coin!
This was a wonderful development.
He began to chuckle quietly as he counted the coins in his

possession. Taking a few, he handed his wallet to Tanamar.
The white-haired footman warily took the bag, "What's this for?"
"Consider it a well-deserved break from training." Tycon smiled

politely, "Take the young lady someplace nice. Return to the
manor after two bells."
Tanamar furrowed his brows, "Tycon, I... I can't take your money."
"Good, I'd prefer it that way," Tycon shrugged. "Use your own. But
keep the extra coin for purchases related to training."
Athena pouted, "Is it okay? If it's okay, I'd like... some new athletic
clothes."
"Permission granted," Tycon nodded. It was not uncommon for

articles of clothing to be ruined during combat training.
Tanamar moved closer to whisper, "I'm not leaving, Tycon. You

guys need my help."
Odd. The young man hadn't looked over the wall to see the threat
they faced. However, instant willingness to assist his allies in a
physical altercation was an admirable trait. Tycon approved.
"Incorrect, we do not-- but thank you for volunteering." Tycon

gestured up at Zenon, "Understand that the Centurion and I are
able to handle this sort of situation because of our stations."
"Won't that get you guys in trouble?" Tanamar asked.
The young footman's worries were reasonable.

"If we act in a particular way we are..." Tycon smirked, "--above
the law. Any questions?"
"Y-yeah," Tanamar's face fell. "What... what am I supposed to do

with her?"
Tycon glanced past the Holy Lancer, seeing a radiantly smiling

Athena. She was barely able to keep still, clutching Tycon's wallet
in anticipation.
"Go." He narrowed his eyes at Tanamar, "I have faith you'll...

figure it out."
As a general teaching strategy, Tycon loathed the 'figure it out'

instruction. If a student asks a question, it should be answered in
order to facilitate their growth.
However, concerning Tanamar's specific situation... he did not

need guidance. He got along well enough with Athena that
whatever they did would foster their mutual relationship.
The white-haired footman left obediently, Athena dragging him

along back the way they came. This would be his and Zenon's
fight, not theirs.
"As for you..." Tycon turned to Victorius, "Here's three gold coins.
Ensure dinner is served at the manor in two bells."
"V-very well, Sir." The crippled-hand footman took the coins, but
couldn't meet Tycon's gaze.
Tycon found it frustrating. The young Victorius dutifully completed

his mundane training along with his mistress and fellow footman...
but that was the extent of his faith. The former Archer still shied
away from anything related to combat.
...With Victorius still completing his training, Tycon did not have
enough reason to beat the fellow to death.
In the meantime, Victorius remained a loyal servant of House

Vanzano. As annoyed with the young man as he was, he had no
compunctions in assigning him reasonable duties.
He handed him a piece of paper, "And since you're going out, buy
some groceries."
"Sir?" Victorius asked with uncertainty.
...What could it be? Tycon hoped it wasn't going to be similar to

Tanamar's asinine, 'but wHaaT do I doOooO?'
"I... I can't read," Victorius admitted.
Tycon squeezed his eyes into a focused glare, "What?"
"I... I can't read, Sir."
Tycon was shocked, "Empty night, what do you mean you can't
read? You are a *footman* of a *noble* house. You're not a filth-
ridden commoner?"
"I uh... I joined late," Victorius stared at his feet.
Tycon rolled his eyes, turning to Zenon, "Centurion, am I wrong?

Am I the 'bad guy' here?"
Zenon grimaced, revealing his teeth, "Well... most citizens can

count but not read, Optio. Only merchants really need reading
comprehension."
Tycon sighed, "Victorius... give the list to the grocer. They should
be able to fill the order for you."
The Archer nodded, "Oh. Right."
"Why are you still here?" Tycon glared.
"Sir, I don't think three coin will be enough," Victorius squeaked.
Tycon took a deep breath, "Just... just go. Figure it out."

Chapter 315 Reap The
Whirlwind (Part One)
anctum Librarius Zenon Skyreaper placed the enchanted

S
Centurion helmet upon his head. Unlike mundane equipment, its
metal remained cool, his vision remained uncompromised and his
voice projected through its molded scowl.
He did not wear it often. While wearing it, he felt... detached when
dealing with others. However, the situation called for his utmost
professionalism.
He narrowed his eyes, not that anyone would be able to see it,
"How many, Optio?"
"Over twenty at first glance, Centurion," The green-haired

Decanus looked behind the wall, "They're peaceable enough--
though it looks like our villains have gained... a plaything."
Zenon felt hatred grip his heart as he stepped out from the wall,
"While the enemies of the Flame still draw breath, there can be no
peace."
"Of course. How could I forget?" Tycon shrugged as Zenon

walked past, "Do as you will. I shall cover you."
Zenon nodded, his back turned to his Optio. That he had Brother-
Tycon covering his back warmed his heart with pride and
strengthened his will to do battle.
He was sworn to protect House Vanzano against any would-be

attackers.
It was an oath he did not take lightly.

A tiny kitten cowered within the circle of sinners. Its orange fur
was mangy, bitten by insects. It was thin... malnourished. Grown
men spat at her, kicking, laughing. It made Zenon feel ashamed to
be human.
Zenon crossed his forearms, allowing his bladed claws to touch.

The satisfying spark got their attention, a precursor to a one-sided
beating. He ran forward, the sanctified Tyrion steel of his metal
boots smashing into the road, flinging up rocks. Several hundred
librae of righteous fury sped towards those who dared disregard
the sanctity of life.
Wisely, the thugs took several steps back, drawing their weapons.
Zenon scooped the kitten up in his metal arms.
"Are you unhurt, child?" His voice echoed.
Zenon would rather have been saving a human, but a cat was
fine, too. The tiny creature shivered in his large metal palms, but it
was safe.
He kept his voice calm and low, warm and sincere, trying to calm
the young kitten's nerves. He had no wish to intimidate the
creature. The thugs around that he and Brother-Tycon would be
facing were a different matter.
Zenon placed the kitten within a pouch on his waist, where it fit
wonderfully. Focusing his mana, he allowed a silver glow to emit
from the eyes of his helmet, "How many are you?"
"Huhuhu..." One of the thugs chuckled, a dangerous-looking

rogue with dark, sunken eyes.
There were far too many of them and surrounding him in a half-
circle... Zenon couldn't keep track of them all. How could so many
sinners challenge the Church? Tyrion was united in its faith! He
found the situation inconceivable.
"You're gonna find out, 'oh so holy one~'" The dark-eyed man
mocked, his voice raspy and old. He raised a hand to his mouth,
releasing a loud, piercing whistle.
Zenon heard movement from all around him... but even through
his full-helmet, the wind brought clarity to his ears. He smirked,
"Thirty-one."
The number brought a twitch to the dark-eyed man's mouth and

his thugs grimaced in uncertainty. The dark-clothed forces of
House Galanis were all around them... swordsmen emerging from
alleyways, archers skulking about on rooftops opposite the
Vanzano estate.
"So the altar-boy can count. Big deal." The dark-eyed man
laughed, "You're outnumbered. Might as well give up, th' both o'
ya."
"Indeed. The observation period is over," Zenon nodded. "Swing

your sword, Brother-Tycon."
Zenon shoved his arms out to the left and right, one set of claws
piercing a man's head, the other gutting a man and electrocuting
his insides with a violent rush of mana. Tearing the bloodied
blades out of the flesh of sinners, he crossed his arms and formed
a series of gestures with his hands.
With that spell, his Optio would be protected. Once he sensed

Tycon's sword, he could cast an enchantment on that, as well, to
increase the speed and fury of his strikes.
"If you stay in the sphere, you'll be safe," He spoke aloud, flashing
the most confident smile he could.
Oh, wait. He was still wearing his helmet. 'By the Flame, my
people-skills suck.'
...
⟬ Several seconds earlier. ⟭
Tycondrius delayed the release of his ⌈Shadowfang Strike⌋ skill.

With its movement-effect duration not-yet-expired, he had a few
short seconds of magical stealth before he needed to appear.
The Centurion's judgment of thirty-one was... slightly off. There
were thirty thugs, archers, warriors in dark clothing... but the one
was different. Within the group, hidden by the crowd... was a
single member of the Church.
⟬ Bronze-Rank Human Inquisitor. ⟭
He even had a Church-specific class.
The middle-aged fellow wore a tall buckled hat and a dark

expression. It was likely the Inquisitor was not informed that a
Centurion and his Optio were working with House Vanzano.
It was possibly a precarious situation, but Tycon had a mind to

ensure the gentleman's survival. He doubted the Church would
care if he and Zenon slaughtered a hundred Tyrion citizens. A
single Inqusitor, though, would be worth at least an eye-raise.
Tycon felt Zenon's ⌈Wind Barrier⌋ cover his form. It was an odd
spell, sheathing his body in spinning winds that protected him
from damage. Still, it was nice of him.
He hadn't brought his halberd, but he had his two Decani swords
and the dagger on his back... What could he use that was
particularly eye-catching? By his actions, he wished to
immediately dissuade the Inquisitor from acting against them.
The noise of the ⌈Wind Barrier⌋'s speed, whirling about his form
made it difficult to think.
...Oh. That would do nicely.
Tycon emerged from his stealth, grasping the neck of the thug
closest to the old man. The wind barrier swirled about, bits of
debris cutting into human flesh, sanding off the features of the
man's face like a broad stroke of coarse sandpaper.
It was... more effective than Tycon had hoped, blood streaming

down both his face and armor and that of his target's. He'd need a
bath afterward.
"Good afternoon, Inquisitor," He spoke aloud, tossing a dead man
aside.
Chapter 316 Reap The
Whirlwind (Part Two)
ycondrius gave a cursory nod to the Inquisitor. Though blood had

T
splashed upon the older man's clothing, the Church uniform
seemed designed for it-- dark leathers and red cloth.
The Inquisitor narrowed his eyes, growling low, "Good afternoon,

Decanus."
"I would offer to shake your hand, Sir, but..." Tycon pointed the
four fingers of his left hand forward and thrust it through one of the
thugs' chests. The ⌈Wind Barrier⌋ allowed him to easily pierce the
man's heart.
"Tch, circumstances dictate the cordiality *inappropriate*." The

Inquisitor scoffed with annoyance, "Carry on, as you were."
"My RAGE BURNNNNNS as Eternal as the FLAAAAME!!!"
Zenon's echoing voice sounded like he was breathing flames.

Tycon thought it sounded quite impressive.
A short distance away, Centurion Zenon was hurling spheres of

condensed mana at various dark-clothed ruffians. Archers from
the far rooftops fell, heads and sections of body missing as the
cruel, spinning orbs found their targets. Zenon's spells rent
through flesh and bone just as easily as Tycon's wind-sheathed
arms.
Tycon batted one such orb away from the Inquisitor. The wind-to-
wind contact rebuffed the attack wonderfully, the errant sphere
obliterating a woman's leg below the knee. Tycon dashed to the
fallen and pounded a fist into the back of her skull, the wind
enchantment tearing out her hair and the flesh from the back of
her neck.
"With respect, Inquisitor..." Tycon stood and smiled politely, "What

is your association with these people?"
"House Galanis? Pah," The old man glared, his face curled up in
disgust. "Mind your tongue, Decanus. I have no 'association' with
these filthy creatures."
Before Tycon could argue, the Inquisitor pulled a crossbow from

his side and shot a quarrel into the side of a man's skull. The old
veteran ratched back the weapon's mechanism and reloaded it
with practiced skill.
Tycon allowed himself a smirk, "You must forgive me, Inquisitor.

Then it was a mere coincidence that you stood amongst their
number."
"Very well..." The Inquisitor shot a few more bolts in the crowd
before speaking again. His voice remained a surly mix of
displeasure and annoyance, "I shall forgive your insolence,
Decanus..."
He narrowed his eyes, speaking through clenched teeth, "--but I

assure you, you were mistaken."
...
Thirty men and women, dead. And apparently, the Centurion had
rescued a cat.
"You've outdone yourself, Centurion," Tycon congratulated.
Zenon took off his helmet, showing a cheesy smile, "Not so bad,
yourself, Optio."
The taller man tilted his body to look behind Tycon. Tycon couldn't
fathom why. The elevated Zenon could look past him without the
exaggerated movement, "Who's that? An Inquisitor?"
"A gentleman caught in the wrong place at the time," Tycon
assured his Centurion.
The Inquisitor nodded at the armored Zenon, "Librarian."
"Inquisitor," Zenon returned the nod, before frowning at the

surrounding massacre. "Very well. Hm... I shall see to cleaning the
blood and bodies."
The Inquisitor raised an eyebrow, "May I suggest hanging them

from your walls. It would be a more effective deterrent against...
unreasonable solicitors."
Admittedly, that was good advice. Unfortunately, there were

difficulties to that. Blood tended to be... a detractor of a business'
value, at least when displayed so openly. Until Sorina Capulet
arrived, Tycon did not want to worsen House Vanzano's
reputation. It would be better to hide the bodies and have Zenon
use his magic or mopping skill to keep recent events to rumors, as
opposed to facts.
Further, Tycon worried that with Athena's demeanor, she might not
look kindly upon the wanton slaughter he and Zenon had
committed in her House's name.
...Anyroad, when he and Zenon left blood, bone bits, and a

severed arm in front of the estate several suns prior, it elicited the
rage of one footman Tanamar. It was better to clean up the mess,
in order to at least avoid that fellow's whining.
"No, Brother-Inquisitor," Tycon shook his head. "That would go

against the Centurion and my goals with House Vanzano."
"Oh?" The Inquisitor frowned. "Then I suppose House Vanzano is

your jurisdiction, then?"
The tall Centurion loomed over the two of them, "Is there an issue,
Brother-Decanus?"
"There is not, Brother-Librarian." Tycon narrowed his eyes,

"Brother-Inquisitor, I believe you and I should speak in private."
The old man glanced up at Zenon before grimacing to Tycon,
"Indeed..."
...
Tycon and the Inquisitor stepped several fulms away, allowing

Zenon to begin cleaning the damage with his magic. It was a
simple spell, cleaning blood from the stones as if with pressurized
blasts from wind or water. In the Kingdom, such spells were far
more common... but magic for mundane tasks seemed somewhat
frowned upon in the Holy Country.
The Inquisitor had access to an Elementary magic spell called

⌈Message⌋, which allowed him and Tycon to speak privately
without risking the Librarian and his Wind-Affinity hearing them.
For added privacy, they used the Holy Country's Old Language.
The old veteran Inquisitor was naturally fluent in it... and as
Tycon's family originated from the Holy Country, the memories
held within his bloodline made him just as fluent.
"(I must insist once more, Inquisitor,)" Tycon stated. "(House

Vanzano belongs to the jurisdiction of myself and Centurion
Skyreaper.)"
The old man rolled his eyes, his decorum diminishing as his
patience did, "(A shame, Decanus. It's quite frustrating, you see.)"
Tycon chuckled to himself. He felt just as annoyed as the

Inquisitor with the development of general events-- unrelated to
the older gentleman's issues, he was sure, "(Might you speak your
mind, Brother-Inquisitor? I have none to spill your secrets to.)"
The old man sighed in annoyance, "(Indeed. I was growing quite

partial... to the young Athena. She's the only reason I was in this
Flame-taken city. Do you know how difficult it is to find a
'breakable' young noblewoman, in recent years?)"
Tycon let out an unintentional scoff, "(Hah. Oh, I cannot relate, Sir.
However, I advise you to mind your tongue around my Centurion. I
believe he would not take kindly to your honesty.)"
"(Just my luck,)" The Inquisitor spat against the stones, "(We are
of different factions, then, Decanus?)"
Chapter 317 Class Unknown,
Rank Unknown
" (Different, yes.)" Tycondrius mulled over the thought, "(--but I

believe my 'faction' is one neutral to yours.)"
Sol Invictus was a faction to itself. It wasn't one known to the

Snake Cult, but in implying he had a backer, Tycon would retain
his social importance in the conversation.
"(Neutral?)" The Inquisitor scoffed and shook his head, "(Is there
truly such a thing? Hah.)"
Tycon shrugged, "(I believe it the most appropriate term.)"
"Fair..."
The old man paused, placing a hand upon his chin and
scrutinizing Tycon's armored and blood-covered form... "(I sense a
kinship in you, Decanus. Why is that?)"
"(I believe because we are both practical gentlemen,)" Tycon

smiled politely.
"Hmph, indeed," The Inquisitor narrowed his eyes, "And will you
be visiting House Galanis after this?"
"Likely," Tycon nodded.
He wasn't afraid of retribution from the house of thieves. He

wanted to kill the lot of them and take their coin.
"('Tis a shame...)" The old man released a heavy sigh, "(I had a
few... toys cultivated there. There was an elf, you see...)"
"(--Inquisitor, I must apologize,)" Tycon interrupted, smiling with
chagrin, "(With my current circumstances-- notably my
Centurion... I doubt I will be able to recover your... items.)"
There would be no substantial gain, financial or social, in

recovering the man's slaves... assuming that's what he was
referring to. And if there was, Tycon would be hard-pressed to do
so, on account of his morality. The concept of unjust slavery did
not sit well with him.
"(How unfortunate..." The veteran frowned, "Well... do as you

must. You will not be seeing of me again, Decanus.)"
"Oh, before you go..." Tycon held out an open palm.
He wanted something of the Inquisitor. He wasn't certain what

he'd be receiving... but as he had implicitly saved the old
degenerate's life, he was certain he'd get something of worth.
"Right," The old man groaned. From a small pouch, the Inquisitor
produced a stylized silver coin and placed it into Tycon's hand.
Emblazoned onto the metal was a snake skull on a backdrop of

flames. It was a favor of the Snake Cult.
"(You do know what that is?)" The old man raised an eyebrow.
Tycon could feel killing intent practically oozing from the old man.
But just that much? He didn't even flinch.
To ensure the Inquisitor's trust, Tycon spoke his response in

Parseltongue, the language of serpents, Yuan-Ti, and Medusae, "
[(Be well on your travels,] Inquisitor.)"
"(Be well on my travels, indeed. Not something I hear often.)" The

old man scoffed, turning on his heel, "Fair travels to you, as well,
Decanus."
...
With the Centurion still cleaning, Tycon sat down next to the
injured cat. He removed a half-ration of jerky he had been saving
and chewed on it absentmindedly.
"(Mind if I... have some of that?)" The cat meowed. "(I'm dyin',
here.)"
Tycon glanced over. The orange-furred cat seemed not long for
life, dragging its hind legs as it clawed forward.
It didn't look like it ate much. He tore off a (small) piece of his jerky
and held it towards the dying creature, "Sure thing."
"(Holy shite, you can understand me?)" The cat looked up, the
pain in its eyes turning to surprise.
⟬ Dying Cat, Unknown Rank, Unknown Class. ⟭
In asking his System for the cat's information, he sensed an eerily

familiar message... Interesting.
"Indeed," Tycon nodded. "I've found it's a somewhat rare ability."
"(Yeah, if you could just... hold that there,)" The cat nibbled at the
meat Tycon held. "(Oh, hey-- this is pretty good.)"
"My thanks," Tycon smirked. That the cat enjoyed his spiced jerky
meant the creature's taste buds were... not as cat-like as he
appeared, "What's your story, young one?"
"(Eh, you wouldn't believe me if I told you,)" The cat yawned-- or

was it a sigh? ("Ugh. Those bastards did a number on me. Worst
day of my life, man.)"
"What does my status say?" Tycon asked casually.
"(Class Unknown, Level Unknown?)" The cat crinkled its nose

before covering its eyes with its paws, "(Aughhh. My System is
useless. You know, it even talks back to--)"
The cat paused, its mouth open wide.

Tycon decided to continue the conversation in... cat. He did not
want to leak unnecessary information to his Centurion, "(All of our
Systems are different, it seems. Mine does not seem to have a
personality.)"
The cat yowled angrily, "(Grahhh... Then you're lucky! So you're a

transmigrator too? Who are you? Where are you from?)"
Tycon pursed his lips, "(In this Realm, it's considered polite to offer
your own information first.)"
The cat narrowed its eyes, glaring, "(You first. I've got nothin' to
lose.)"
"(I gave you some meat. I'd like some reciprocation.)"
"(Eh...)" The cat hesitated, "(Fine. My name is Kanbrai and I'm

originally from a planet called Evocar-Five. I woke up in whatever-
world-this is... about a week ago."
"(Hm. Never heard of it,)" Tycon lamented, "(Tycon, nice to meet

you. I transmigrated into this world a year or so ago.)
Kanbrai laid its muzzle upon the stones, "(For the record, this
backwater planet sucks. I hate it. I got a System, though-- so I got
that goin' for me.)"
The cat tried to move, but grimaced in pain from its injuries, "(Yep,
nevermind. Not rolling over... How many of us are there?)"
"(I've no idea,)" Tycon shook his head. "(I'm aware of four...

including myself. Each of us came from different worlds, it
seems.)"
"(Must be nice to transmigrate into your situation...)" The cat

complained.
"(Indeed. Though I did not gain this body's memories, I've

memories from this world-- or a world similar. And I believe my
bloodline has granted me memories, as well. Adjusting has not
been difficult.)"
"(Psh. My bloodline memories are useless. I just know how to
pounce on mice and be terrified of snakes.)" Kanbrai rolled his
eyes.
Tycon noted that the young cat had very poor instincts.
"(Anyway,)" The cat hissed, "(--I was referring to the fact that
you're a humanoid.)"
"(To be honest, I'm not.)" Tycon chuckled, "(I just have a humanoid
form.)"
"(Oh, transformation ability? Niiiiice.)" The cat yowled excitedly, "(I

guess I can ask my System if I can unlock that ability, too.)"
"(At least neither of us reincarnated into a stick,)" Tycon offered.
"(Yeah... Though that would be... interesting?)"

Chapter 318 Sweetest Ialtrae
(Part One)
ycondrius and Kanbrai watched Centurion Zenon Skyreaper

T
work systematically. He used a combination of mundane mopping
and mana-fueled pressure-washing to clean the blood from the
roadstones.
"(He's pretty good at that,)" Kanbrai remarked.
"(He is...)" Tycon mused... "(Your plans from here, Mister

Kanbrai?)"
The cat licked at his paw and brushed his face, "(I guess I'll level
up by killing rats or somethin'.)"
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "(The Centurion and I are staying as

guests of House Vanzano. Perhaps I can introduce our hosts to
you as our companion?)"
The cat shook its head, "(I appreciate it, Tycon. But I'm a solo
sort'a guy.)"
Tycon smirked, "(I commend your bravery, Mister Kanbrai.)"
"(Please don't.)" The cat mashed its face upon the stone, "(I put
my points into a bunch of solo passives, 'cuz I didn't think I'd be
able to find a team. I practically get reduced XP in a group.)"
Points? What could that possibly refer to?
Tycon was silently thankful that his System had no resemblance

to Kanbrai's. He didn't quite understand the cat's System-specific
diction... but that his cultivation was impaired in a group? Tycon
would struggle to adapt with such a limitation.
"(Say, Tycon...)" Kanbrai lifted his head, "(Are there healing tanks
in this world? Or consumables that heal injuries? According to my
System, it'll take me a few days to get back to full hit-points.)"
"Hmm..." Tycon pursed his lips, "(I'll restore your injuries with one
of my skills. If we cross paths again, you owe me a favor.)"
"(Fair enough,)" Kanbrai agreed.
...
Tycon wished Kanbrai well, watching the cat slink off down an
opposite alley. From what he had learned, he was fairly certain
that Tanamar of Vanzano had transmigrated from another world,
much like himself, Kanbrai, and Aurala.
...Though that did nothing to change his perceptions or his

situation.
If anything, Tycon hoped that the young man would have an edge
over his peers. He had the unique ability to think unlike the natural
denizens of the Realm.
"Centurion," He called.
"What's up, Optio?" The diligent Centurion had a healthy gleam of

sweat on his brow from his hard work.
"Mister Kanbrai, your feline friend, has appreciated your

assistance. He's excused himself, as he has another appointment
to deal with."
"O-oh..." The Centurion smiled, not entirely certain about what to

do with that information, "He... he did, did he?"
"Further, I'll be paying a visit to House Galanis." Tycon opened his

pack, retrieving his dark cloak and hood, "I expect to return late in
the evening. Leave a window open, if you would."
"How about I just leave the door unlocked?"

"No, I prefer it this way." Tycon smirked, "When I return, Victorius
might soil himself if I appear at his bedside in full armor."
"Hm, alright." The Centurion crossed his arms, "Want any help?"
"No, but I appreciate the offer. I will be traveling with stealth."
"Very well." Zenon nodded, "You are pretty good at that. Take care
of yourself, Optio. I will see to Athena's evening studies."
...
**Content Warning: Explicit torture and death**
"Don't cry, Little Doe," Ialtrae cooed, her Elven voice musical and
soothing.
Doe wiped her face, wet with tears. She hated her situation and
the humiliation she was forced to endure. She wanted nothing
more than to scream-- maybe it would make her feel better?
She couldn't yell at Ialtrae, though... She was far too sweet... far
too kind. She didn't deserve this.
Doe hated her for that.
...It wasn't a real hate. She wasn't that petty... but Doe envied her,
nonetheless. She couldn't understand how the Elven girl could
stay so brave... still appear so strong. Ialtrae had been in captivity
far longer than any of them had. They had tried to break her again
and again... but she still somehow kept a bit of dignity.
Doe wanted someone to blame... the Eternal Flame for not

answering her prayers, her parents for being poor, House Galanis
for their tyranny...
If she couldn't blame anyone, she could only blame herself.
She'd spent most of her life doing that.
She was tired of it.

House Galanis' headquarters were deep within the sewer system
below Silva... far enough that the city guard just decided it wasn't
worth the trouble, poking around. Flame take the lot of them... it
was their fault that Galanis' corruption ran so deep.
Somewhere in that shite-smelling underground maze was a dark

cell with two iron cages suspended from the ceiling. Within those
cages were five women, naked and starving.., and a sixth woman,
naked and dead.
Doe shared her cage with Seta. Seta was a noisy bitch... not that
she could be blamed for it. The sounds of buzzing insects and the
squirming of maggots in her eyes kept Doe wary. She feared that
the maggots would burrow into her ears or feast on her still-living
flesh.
No matter how exhausted she was, that fear kept Doe awake.
Ialtrae said it was dysentery. Fancy name or not, Seta soiled

herself to death. It was not a dignified death... Was it possible to
die *with* dignity? Doe absolutely did not want to die like Seta...
not that she had a choice in the matter.
Her and Seta's cage was better than Ialtrae's. Hers filled to
capacity, holding three women, mashed together... At least Doe
could stretch half her body at a time.
The cages weren't built for comfort.
Why would they be?
As a plus, Doe had the option of throwing her humanity away and
filling her belly on Seta's rotting flesh. It's not like Seta was using
it, anyroad...
Haha... She'd never be able to do that.
Before this, Doe had always considered herself a practical

woman. When House Galanis offered her a job in exchange for a
few sexual favors, it only took her a few minutes to accept the
offer. When her companions were dying in front of the Vanzano
estate, she was the first to throw away her shame and beg the
golden-eyed Decanus for mercy. After her failure, when she was
stripped naked and lashed within ilms of death, she was more-or-
less okay with it.
Currently, Doe was nude, suspended from a metal cage, and

crying because she was forced to soil herself in the near-
darkness. She was malms away from safety, clean clothing,
unspoiled food, and clean water.
She had no idea when exactly she stopped being okay with...
anything.
Again, tears began to well up at the corner of her eyes. Whenever

she thought she had cried herself dry... she found that she had
infinite tears.
It was like she had the Realm's worst superpower.
She'd only stop when Ialtrae's gentle voice whispered small

comforts...
Doe ran her fingers over the scar tissue on her bicep. How many
suns had it been since meeting the golden-eyed Decanus?
"I should have just begged for death, then..." She whispered to
herself.
Chapter 319 Sweetest Ialtrae
(Part Two)
**Content Warning: Continuation of explicit torture and death**
Light slowly creeped into the room from beneath the heavy door.
Doe's captors were returning. Maybe it wasn't too late to beg for
death?
The wood-rotted door creaked open on rusty hinges, the

oppressive light of a bullseye lantern spilling through. It hurt her
eyes terribly. It had been so long that she hadn't been able to see.
...It had been so long without the warmth of a flame.
Seta had grown fat and bloated, her eyeless sockets staring in
silent sadness at the two who entered.
An elderly man wearing tattered robes dragged his limping body

into the room. Underneath white, unkempt hair, he wrinkled his
large, crooked nose and blinked with eyes, clouded white. He
lifted up his lantern, inspecting the caged women on display.
The old man didn't have a name... or if he did, Doe was never
important enough to know it. He didn't deal with the lower
echelons of House Galanis, and everyone with half-a-brain
avoided him like the plague he stank of. He was referred to as the
Ancient... or The Warlock.
It wasn't terribly creative, but those that called him anything but
ended up in the Herd.
A younger man followed close beside him... a tiny-pricked, less-

than-human bastard named Linos.
Linos focused the light of his own lantern at Doe's face.
It burnt so badly...
She struggled to shield her eyes with her hand. It had been too
many suns without food and water... It tired her so... enough that
she stopped her struggles, glowering into the burning light,
helplessly accepting the pain.
"You ready to give in, Doe?" Linos smirked, "Being a part of the
Herd isn't so bad."
Doe clenched her teeth. A few moments ago, she was fully intent
on begging for death. Seeing Linos' pockmarked face and hearing
his ugly, high-pitched voice, she wanted nothing more than to claw
his eyes out.
She, along with Ialtrae and the others, were being prepared to join
the Herd... through of House Galanis' weird, cult-y rituals. They
said they'd be better sacrifices, the more torment they were put
through.
Why couldn't she join a criminal organization that volunteered at

soup kitchens or picked up trash on the beach? As a reward for
years of faithful service to House Galanis, all Doe received was
the special 'privilege' of learning about the Herd.
It was a fate worse than death.
Every man and woman who took part in the ritual would inevitably
change. Sometimes, it took a few suns-- once, she'd seen it take a
whole Flame-taken week.
Slowly, she'd start losing her memories... What she ate for
breakfast. What she was doing and where she was... Where she
grew up and who she grew up with. What her name was.
In that fear and panic, she'd become more suggestible... holding

onto anyone that offered direction. Sleep with me. Take this drug.
Sleep with a few of my friends. They'll protect you. I'll protect you.
They were the sweetest lies... Admittedly, they had worked on
Doe even without mind-altering dark magic.
Eventually, she'd lose the ability to think for herself, her mind an
empty slate. Her only use then would be suffering physical and
sexual abuse without complaint. She wouldn't even be able to
take care of herself... needing to be spoon-fed like a child and
washed down like a beast.
A part of her didn't think it sounded so bad. The Herd lied around
all day, violated and beaten by sadistic and cruel men and
women. They were fed and bathed regularly.
But their eyes never changed. They held stared in sadness... they
shook with fear. There was... clarity in those eyes.
Doe wasn't afraid of death. She was afraid of living each day
unable to control herself... watching like a ghost... knowing that
she couldn't even act to kill herself.
She should have left the organization, then. She should have left it
a long time ago. She was stupid. She fell for the lies. She even
lied to herself, laughing it off... saying it would never happen to
her.
No one expects the worst to happen to them... until it does.
She opened her parched mouth to speak, willing sounds to come

out... to form the words that would tell Linos how she truly felt.
"Ffff..."
"What's that, my love?" Linos raised an eyebrow. "Free you?"
"Fff....ffff...uck... yyyou...."
Yasss... She did it.
Doe closed her eyes... As dry as her lips and mouth were, she
was smiling. The coppery taste of blood at the corner of her lips
was her reward for her tiny victory... but even that made her tired.
Hopefully, they'd kill her for her disrespect.
An iron clang resounded through the room from a cage being

struck. Three weakened women yelped in surprise to the tune of
the low clatter of metal.
"WhaaAAt... the f*CK issss thisss???" The Ancient demanded, his

words thick with phlegm and the gravelly crackle of age.
"What? The shite and piss on the floors?" Linos asked in

contempt, "Or my relationship with the whore I was just talking
to?"
Doe grit her teeth. She wanted to argue back... maybe insult his
sexual ability or... ask if the bastard had ever loved her... But she
was just so tired... She didn't even want to open her eyes.
The agonized screaming of three caged women gave Doe

strength she didn't know she had. She opened her eyes. She
shook her cage, "What? ...No ....S-stop it..."
The Warlock was holding out a twisted hand, a heretical swirl of

green magic swirling around it. The room was illuminated as
green flames engulfed a woman in the other cage.
Ialtrae... poor sweet Ialtrae... even as she burned alive, she was
beautiful. Her eyes were twisted in pain as she sang... a mournful
song of grief and unending suffering. The other two that shared
her cage struggled, unable to escape-- they would share sweet
Ialtrae's fate.
The sweet smell of burning flesh mixed in with the shite and rot.
Doe's body was wracked with a body-convulsing pain as she dry
heaved. There was nothing in her stomach left to vomit.
"Flame take you, Pyraxis," Linos frowned. "What is the meaning of

this?"
"OhhHHHh, sod offffff, Linos..." The Warlock doubled over,

coughing, only rising after spitting a thick glob of green upon the
floor, "I willll notttt.... ssssuffer an elf to LIVE before me....."
Linos rolled his eyes, "Blasted old man! Elves are worth far more
than normal men and women. You're wasting Mister Galanis'
money."
"Annnd YOUUUU!!" The old man pointed a bony finger tipped with
a rotten nail at Linos' throat, "have WaAAAsted my TIIIIME."
The old man pointed his gnarled hand at the immolated elf. The
unholy green flames spilled from their cage and onto the filth of
the cell's floor like it was a clump of bread dough. Obediently
following the Warlock's direction, the flames wrapped tenderly
around Linos in an immolating embrace.
The other women cried, continuing Ialtrae's song. Sweet Ialtrae

remained quiet, listening in her infinite patience... just as poor,
bloated, maggoty Seta held her peace.
Linos screamed... a half-step less musical than Ialtrae's, but

somehow... comforting. Doe closed her eyes... She felt like she'd
finally be able to sleep, listening to the lullaby of her ex-boyfriend
burning alive.
She was so very tired.

Chapter 320 Acceptable
alanis wore three layers of clothing and a pair of gloves. It was

G
his own Flame-taken fault, for needing to. He'd chosen the coldest
room in the labyrinth below Silva. He'd tried putting in a furnace
once, but the ventilation was shite and it somehow brought in the
stink from rest of the sewers.
He'd heard somewhere it was a good strategy, keeping it cold as it

was. Anyone coming to deal with him would be real
uncomfortable-- and that'd give him an edge. Galanis was a smart
guy. He'd take every advantage he could get. That's how a guy
survived for so long, doing what he did.
It just didn't occur to him at the time that the higher up the ladder
he got, the less time he had to deal with the rabble. The less time
dealing with the rabble, the more stupid he felt for having to live in
the Flamescarred cold.
If he wanted a second office, he should have got one five years

back-- back before everyone knew that he was the wealthiest
sack of shite in Silva.
Galanis didn't keep much in the way of personal belongings. He

had a desk, he had a metal safe, he had a fake houseplant. He
had a few portraits on the wall-- of himself, of course. He wasn't
the handsomest guy-- maybe average, maybe a little less. The
painters tried to pretty him up. It didn't matter. The paintings were
a status thing.
Something that would really tie the room together, though? A rug.
And it'd probably make the room a little warmer too. It wouldn't be
warm to keep people comfy, but just a little bit would go a long
way. And it'd look good. Maybe a nice bold red? A powerful color
for a powerful guy.
"How in the hells do the whores not freeze to death, down 'ere?"
He asked aloud, rubbing his leather gloves together.
As if to respond, a dim green candle-flame began to burn in the

room's center. The normal-colored lanterns began to dim at the
same time.
Galanis rolled his eyes. There was a reason he never got a rug. It
was that guy.
The flames expanded into a fat, green bonfire... and just as sure
as dragons don't exist, a hunchbacked, triple-thief, piece a' shite
Warlock hobbled out of it. He probably thought he looked real
impressive, too, scowling with a black toothed grin like he'd just
eaten a libra of shite.
"Pyraxis..." Galanis groaned, "What in the seven hells d'you

want?"
He looked over to where the flames had gone out. The fire was
gone, but it left an ugly black spot of soot on the stone. Seven
hells... he'd probably need to mop it himself. None of his goons
were good at mopping, save maybe Linos.
Or if he had a Flamescarred rug, he'd be able to put that over it.
Galanis was the head of a criminal organization. Apparently, that

meant he didn't rate nice things.
The old Warlock, Pyraxis reached his leathery hand out, pointing
with a knobbed finger, "I have broughttt... DEATHHH... to one of
your... beLOOOVED whOOores..."
He did? Well, that was the worst news he'd received since he'd
heard Inquisitor Titos was seen skipping town.
"A shame," Galanis shrugged, "I'll get Linos to clean up the mess.
Funny. I didn't know your eh... yer Magic Stick still worked, you old
thief."
"LINOSSSS!!!!! IS!!!!!! DEAAAAADDDDD!!!" The Warlock
screamed, devolving into a coughing fit. He sounded like a cat
hacking up a hairball.
Wait, Linos was dead?
"You Flame-taken criminal!" Galanis yelled, slapping his desk with

his palms, "Linos was my best guy! Did he deserve it? The seven
hells did 'e do?"
Pyraxis wiped his chin free of blood and snot with his sleeve,
"Heeee..... hid... an ELF.... from me..."
Galanis slumped back into his desk chair, "Flame take that
mushroom-brain... Ya'd think if a guy's name was Pyraxis Elf-
slayer, then he's got a special thing fer slayin' elves."
The Warlock loomed over the desk. Galanis thought he could hear
all of the old bastard's bones creak.
"Youuuu innnSSSULLT ME, GALANISSSS????"
"Sod off, old man." Galanis glared back, "I was f*cking agreein'
wiv you."
The Ancient's eyes glowed a weird, heretical lime-green,

"Elvesss... are a BLIGHT upon this LAAAAAND... Nottttt to be
trusted!! Not to be... ssssufferrrred to LIVVVVE.... I have burnt.....
VILLAGES.... CITIES.... razed to the ground... to proteccct.... my
country..... ARE YOU LISTENNING?!??!"
Galanis raised an eyebrow. He wasn't-- not really. He'd heard the

Warlock's xenophobic drivel before, and it didn't have shite to do
with him, "Yeah, yeah, f*ck elves. Whatever. The hells are you
here for, old man?"
The Old Warlock wouldn't have come to him just to tell him that
his smartest lieutenant was dead. Pyraxis glowered, his eyes
flaring with burning green mana.
"THE ARTIFAAAACT!!!!" He demanded, smacking his wooden
staff noisily against the dungeon stones, "It mussssst be
RECOVERRRED!! For the GLOOORRY of the SNEK CULLLLT!!!"
Galanis stared blankly.
Pyraxis continued, slamming his geriatric fist upon Galanis' desk,

"Only then... must we JOURNEY..... to the Icingdeath
Mountainsss..... We will RECLAIMMMM.... The Sixth.... Eye."
Galanis stared at the old man's hand, wondering how the old freak
hadn't fractured anything. When Pyraxis lifted his fingers, it left
burning embers smoldering on the wood.
...His desk?! F*ck a Flamescarred rug. Apparently, Galanis didn't

rate a nice desk, either.
Annoyed to shite, Galanis swept the embers away with a quick

blast of his own eldritch energy.
The old bastard had taught him at least that much.
"Listen up, old man... and I say that partick-ulary not outta
disrespect, but 'cos yer hard of hearing..." Galanis leaned forward,
"Yer not in charge, 'ere."
"Youuuu.... You DAAAARE?"
Galanis stuck out his chin, "Try me, ya ol' bastard. F*ckin' try me.
You know I'm the only Flame-taken thief in this Flame-f*cked city
criminal enough to do your dirty work."
The old man grumbled, but that was all. The mana that was
collecting around him began to dissipate.
"...Whhhyy?????" The Warlock demanded with a disgusting

gargle, "--is the artifacCCCT.... Not. YET. Recoverrrrred?"
"Because it's a Flame-taken process," Galanis firmly reminded.

"Listen, guy-- I sent like... thirty guys down to Greer's place. If they
can't get our Snake artifact, then we'll just burn it down. How 'bout
that?"
Pyraxis narrowed his eyes... "Acceptable..."
"You're gods-damned right it's acceptable."

Chapter 321 A Visit
ycondrius had two goals in mind when he decided to pay House

T
Galanis a visit.
The first goal was simply restoring his spirits. He was in a poor
mood.
The second goal was to kill as many humans as he could, taking

their coin and any items of value.
He had no doubts that the first goal could be solved by splendidly

completing the second.
Tycon was frustrated. He had come across... issues, during his

and Zenon's training of Athena and her lackeys.
As indignant as Athena Vanzano was, at times, she remained

diligent in her training.
However, she had reached a threshold between Unranked and

Bronze. With her mastery over frost-type mana and her martial
abilities, her growth more closely resembled a Cultivator than a
pure Mage. Because of this, Tycon was uncertain how to proceed.
He'd sent letters to the two Hidden Sect Leaders he knew... but
had yet to receive replies.
Her mundane training level had been increased-- her endurance,

her physical strength, her reflexes and agility, all tested to their
limits. She grew ever closer to Bronze-Rank... but there was
something inexplicably missing...
She needed... some sort of catalyst.
He knew of two ways cultivators eased their breakthroughs.

The first was body purification-- he recalled an ally from a
previous life named Zing Lee insisted on hazardous herb-
concoctions towards that goal. He did not have the recipes for
such things, nor the ingredients, nor a Hidden Sect's Alchemist or
Pill Master capable of crafting such items.
The second was mana absorption. Martialists used their Hidden

Sect techniques to absorb power from 'spirit stones' or 'beast
cores'... fancy names for mana rocks cultivated from magical
beasts. Depending on the rock's source, such rocks had low
affinity rates with a caster, therefore also had pathetic rock-to-
absorption ratios.
It would be different if Tycon had a supply of hundreds of Ice

Golems and Frost Elementals. Or perhaps a several-hundred-
year-old Ice Lizard? Ethics and morality aside, he did not.
Athena had to reach a breakthrough on her own.
...It was fine. The Realm had always worked in such a way, as far
as he knew. As an instructor, however, Tycon wished to give his
students every advantage he could manage.
Tanamar was a different creature entirely. The young man was

hiding something. Tycon had seen glimpses of the young man's
power. He sensed it on the evening Tanamar burst into the dining
area wielding a holy lance, killing intent flooding from every pore
of his body.
Again, he sensed it when Tanamar nearly pierced his skull

through the eye with that same lance.
After that? Never again.
The training was harsh... Admittedly, there were times where it

bordered on unfair... Tycon wanted to push the young man... to
find those limits. But each time Tanamar was pushed to the edge,
he would eke out just a tiny bit more effort... and succeed.
...Or he'd fail spectacularly. There was a hospital nearby, so

mundane and Elementary healing were available at reasonable
cost.
Eventually, Tycon and Tanamar's practice bouts grew to become

back-and-forths of skill and form, utilizing various weaponry. It was
simple... but strengthening core skills in martial training was
always beneficial. Tycon's weapon skills were sharpened.
Tanamar's too. But still, Tycon would have liked to see the
strength of a Holy Lancer.
Then there was Victorius... The man performed the bare minimum
during training. And still, he refused to pick up a sword.
Tycon was going to plan the footman's death or dismissal... if he

couldn't find a reason to outright murder him. He didn't know how
he'd do it... but it was on his to-do list.
Useless bastard.
Anyroad, if Tycon couldn't lift his spirits doing as he pleased... he'd

search for an evening street stall. He'd grab some hot snacks and
a jug of wine and he'd share them with Zenon or whoever was
awake.
The bigger an organization was, the easier it was to find their

whereabouts. Tycon successively dragged a pickpocket, two con-
men, and a street whore into an alleyway. Upon them, he used a
combination of polite questioning, the threat of violence, and
violence proper. Tycon was able to cross-reference his findings to
locate the entrance to their hideout, an oft-used sewer grate.
He was mentally prepared to explore the labyrinthine

understructure of the city and explore for a bell or three.
What hive of scum and villainy would he find below the streets of
Silva?
...And were they wealthy enough to have a spatial bag?
...
"By the Flame, what's wrong?"

A panicked human's lantern had caught sight of one of his fallen
companions. The man scurried forward down the hallway,
kneeling down over the corpse.
Tycon's snake-belly gripped the dungeon stones above the two,

peering down the hall the second human came. No one else.
There really didn't seem to be many people down in the sewers.
He dropped his weight down onto the kneeling human... and he

felt like he'd probably fractured one of the fellow's legs with his
quarter-tonze, 8-yalm-long snake body.
...Oops.
The man screamed, in a state of excruciating pain, and likely

horrified that a large reptilian predator had fallen upon him from
the low ceiling.
Tycon lifted his snake head... easily the size of the human's. He
was illuminated in the fallen lantern flames, which undoubtedly
made him look far more intimidating, "You're being rather loud,
sir."
The man's shrieks strained at his vocal cords, rising in pitch--

sounding quite unpleasant.
Well... Tycon had killed the earlier gentleman via constriction. He'd
do something different for this one. He leaned forward and sank
his dagger-sized fangs into the man's neck and upper chest.
Venom pumped through his teeth, into the man's bloodstream.
It was a strange sensation.
Releasing his victim, Tycon allowed the convulsing human to fall

beside his companion.
While it was an interesting kill, he didn't quite like it. It seemed

rather intimate... and slightly unhygienic.
« System, cancel Snake-Form. »

Tycon felt his body shape and twist, once more taking the shape
of a cloaked and armored human. He took his waterskin from his
side, swished water in his mouth, and spat it out.
In a wonderful and fortunate coincidence, he had earlier flavored

his water with cucumber slices and mint leaves.
Ah. Better.
It was quite cold in the sewers. He took an extra cloak off of the
poisoned-to-death fellow and threw it over his person.
Much better.
After a cursory inspection of the two corpses, Tycon ventured

deeper into the Galanis hideout.
How would he kill his next victims?

Chapter 322 Venomous
Shadow
"They're coming! The adventurers are coming!!"
"How the hells did they get past the traps!!"
"Flame take you, man, how the hells would I know that? The traps
were useless!!"
"Hey, help me move this bench! We have to barricade the doors!!"
Tycondrius had dropped down into the room from one of the many
ventilation pipes. Assuming his human form, he sat patiently on a
chair in the corner, watching. There were... eight men and women
panicking, barricading their only reasonable path to escape.
What was their plan? What if the barricade worked and he actually
was on the other side of the door. They'd have to leave,
eventually.
A larger gentleman approached him, "Hey you! Blood-cloak guy!

Don't just sit there! We're under attack!!"
"Yes," Tycon smiled politely. He unsheathed his sword and drew a

neat line across the man's eyes, "By me."
The fellow screamed, holding his face. Blood spilled out through
the man's fingers, lightly splattering blood onto Tycon's over-cloak.
He didn't mind. It wasn't his.
"By the Flame, he's HEEERE!"

"Whose Flame-taken idea was it to barricade the
DOOOORRR?!??!"
"Flame take you all, someone SHOOT HIM!!"
As intelligent as the 'shoot him' advice was, the various thugs of

House Galanis approached Tycon with sword and an assortment
of melee weaponry.
The first came with a hatchet raised. Tycon quickly stepped

forward and slashed the tendons of the man's wrist. Then, he
kicked him in the chest, whereupon the human collided with
another Galanis tool. Two of eight.
A gaunt gentleman with a wispy beard swung a longsword... wide.

Tycon grasped the man's attacking wrist, then entrapped the
man's arm with his own. He stabbed his short blade into the man's
gut, then grabbed the heavier sword out of the dying man's
entrapped hand. Three.
Another large man screamed with crazed fervor as he brought

down a heavy sword overhead. Tycon lifted his sword, hilt up, flat
to the side, allowing the blade to glance off. Then he swung his
own blade in a wide arc.
CLANG.
The man managed to brace his weapon, blocking the heavy

strike-- the man's arms shook from the blow. Not bad. Tycon
pushed his sword forward and it slipped easily into the man's
neck. Four.
Once more relinquishing his sword, Tycon grabbed the larger

man's weapon. He ducked a sword swing from a female Warrior.
With his hand choked two-thirds up his blade, he thrust his latest
stolen sword's tip into the woman's neck like a spear. Five.
Another fellow swung his sword sideways, which Tycon was able
to block with a vertical blade. He grabbed onto the other weapon's
sword, and with his boot, smashed the side of the man's knee.
He was aiming for the back of the knee, which would have forced
the man to kneel.
...He missed.
Tycon's mana-powered kick broke the man's leg, just below the
knee. The man whimpered in pain, falling to the floor, gnashing his
teeth and clenching his fists... Five... and a half.
Tycon hefted his sword up and threw it at the next fellow. It

speared the human in the chest, a mortal injury.
And for the eighth, he'd use Vexing... Oh, the eighth was running.
Tycon quickly glanced around the room-- that was the last of
them.
« System, activate ⌈Venomous Shadow⌋. »
⟬ Activating... ⌈Venomous Shadow⌋. Reaction ability. A shadowy

doppelganger appears behind the target, performing a single
weapon attack. ⟭
In Tycon's off-time, he chose to develop two new skills... ones

more focused on offense than his others. He could have chosen a
low-level Fighter or Martialist skill... Rationally, he'd be able to
develop something from a Martial class that he'd have a Minor or
Middle Completion with.
⌈Venomous Shadow⌋ was marked as... a class skill. It had an

unnaturally high Completion Rating... even though it didn't sound
at all like a Warlord skill. It sounded like something used by an
Illusionist or a Puppeteer... perhaps a specialist Rogue.
It might have been granted by his bloodline. It did have the word
'venomous' in its name.
The skill... behaved oddly. It didn't fail... and it was still effective. It
was just... odd.
The eighth human stopped abruptly, facing a dark-cloaked

shadow, golden spheres glowing in the darkness beneath its
hood. The shadowy doppelganger had Tycon's cloak and
something that resembled his eyes. However, it lacked other
major features. It had no hands... nor legs. Its arms and torso
ended in wisping trails of dark smoke.
It did look intimidating, though.
The System's description of one of his two new skills specifically

stated that the shadow would form 'behind' his target... Even if it
formed in a blind spot, that would have been permissible, as the
summoned doppelganger would be able to attack from surprise.
This shadow appeared... in front of the eighth human. Clear to

see. And it blocked the human's only avenue of escape... so
they'd have to do something about it.
Tycon was fairly certain the shadow could be defeated in one

strike... so its behavior irked him.
The human took a fearful step backward. With his courage quickly
fading, he managed to unsheathe his sword, pointing it with shaky
hands, "S-stay away!! Monster!!"
The doppelganger swiped its shadowy hand, knocking the

human's sword away with impunity.
Tycon grimaced. His shadowy doppelganger was an arsehole.
It was quite helpful, though... Tycon raised his arm... easily

catching the human's sword. He began to slice the throats of the
humans too stupid to pretend they were dead.
There were other issues with the shadow, as well. His System
stated that it would make a weapon attack... but it didn't form with
a weapon? And during all of Tycon's solo testing of the skill, he
could never find out why it was called a 'venomous' shadow?
"By the Flame!! Please!! Please no!!!" The human shouted.
The human's shrieks turned into... gargling... and sizzling?

Tycon pursed his lips. Should he look? He really didn't want to...
but he felt like he had an obligation to do so.
Glancing up, he observed his shadowy doppelganger. From within

the darkness underneath its hood, it was spewing what appeared
to be a stream of... greenish liquid upon the human's face, notably
their eyes, mouth, and nostrils. Steam misted off of the fellow's
reddened face and it appeared... that their eyebrows and facial
hair were... melting off?
...The torrent of acidic vomit continued for several seconds, the

man begging for mercy, choking and sputtering.
It was... disturbing.
"That's uh... that's quite enough!" Tycon called out, "Thank you?"
Obediently, the venomous doppelganger stopped. It released the

human in its grip and dissipated back into the shadows.
Tycon pursed his lips. Odd... but again, useful.

Chapter 323 Scarred Guardian
ycondrius came across... a heavier-looking door, hoping that it

T
belonged to the Galanis 'boss.' However, upon a cursory
examination, he sensed that the room beyond... smelled of
excrement and burnt, rotten meat.
He'd be terribly disappointed if the 'boss' of such a moderately

sized (though mediocrely armed) organization lived in such
squalor.
...This was, of course, discounting the fact that they were based in
Silva's underground sewer system.
Tycon considered himself a proper adventurer. As such, he felt

obligated... within reason, to search each room he came across
for spoils.
He had made excellent time thus far, slaughtering the members of

House Galanis with sword, fang, and acid-spewing shadow. The
task remained simple, as he'd only encountered Bronze-Rankers
and below. He surmised a majority of House Galanis' Iron-
Rankers had died by the front gates of the Vanzano estate.
From merchant social circles to noble ones, House Vanzano's

name was... not well respected, bordering on bad luck to speak of.
Further, they were financially indebted to multiple factions,
including House Galanis and the Banker's Guild.
The attack wasn't for reputation... nor was it for coin. Such a
powerful force of Iron and Bronze-Rankers could topple the city
guard... as well as threaten any noble house, save the precious
few with a Gold-Rank in their employ.
What was House Galanis' real reason for their interest in House
Vanzano?
Tycon fiddled with the door's heavy latch and swung the rotten
door wide open, allowing dim light to spill into the otherwise
blackened room.
He narrowed his eyes at what he saw inside... suspended cages

containing nude women, most of them deceased. A few bells
earlier, a Church Inquisitor mentioned he had... toys in cultivation.
He had wrongly assumed the old degenerate was referring to

drugs and depraved sex acts. The captives held within the cages
were starved, physically tortured, and killed as if they were simple
beasts.
What was the point? With the former, a human could derive
physical pleasure. For the latter... it just seemed wasteful.
With his sharpened vision, Tycon saw movement from a brunette

and a blonde, both within the first of two cages. The brunette's
hand twitched. She was alive, if barely. The movement of the
blonde was from the undulating flesh of one of her cheeks--
maggots, likely. Bloated body, thrumming skin, flies buzzing
about... Tycon hoped that one was dead.
Walking into the room, Tycon struck the second cage with the flat
of a stolen longsword. Even with the loud, sudden clang, there
was no movement.
"Well, no point tarrying here," Tycon shrugged, turning back

towards the door.
"W... wait..." A weakened voice whispered.
Tycon hesitated. The voice sounded... familiar. Odd. He was fairly

certain he hadn't made any 'friends' in Silva.
He approached the first cage, "Good evening. You appear to still

be alive-- for now. Congratulations."
"Are..... rescue?" The girl mumbled.

Tycon had been trying to improve his ability to understand implied
questions. Logically, the caged girl was asking if she was being
rescued.
Scrutinizing the malnourished, dehydrated, and shivering girl's

form, Tycon recognized her. It was the young woman he had
stabbed in the bicep a week or so prior-- the smart one. Scar
tissue from her healed injury still remained.
It was but one of the many signs of abuse on the woman's naked
body... lashes upon her back and breasts, self-inflicted cuts on her
inner forearms, a vertical line across her entire abdomen. He
recalled back then, she was sharply dressed in long-sleeves and
trousers... the better to hide her scars.
With her condition, Tycon judged she wouldn't live much longer...
not unless her deity provided her with some sort of miracle.
Hah. A shame.
"No. I'm not here to rescue you, young lady." Tycon smiled politely,
"But if it makes you feel any better, I'm technically... avenging
you? I hope that's alright."
A small, relieved smile appeared on the woman's lips... then her

eyes closed, never to open again.
Tycon took a deep breath and nodded. That worked out. He spun
on his heel to leave once more, proud to have sent off the young
woman in peace.
...The girl's pathetic coughing halted his movement.
She wasn't dead.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, grimacing. He was staring at a keyring

on the wall adjacent to the door. Security-wise, it was a very poor
place to put the cage keys.
It annoyed him. He wanted nothing to do with the girl. There was

no benefit to it... But it would cost him minimal effort and only
several seconds to do so.
Taking the keys, he opened the cage. Utilizing his upper body
strength, he removed the weakened woman, holding her in a
princess-carry. At least she would die free.
The woman pressed her forehead against Tycon's shoulder, the

scent of her unwashed shoulder-length hair slightly unpleasant.
"K... kill me..." She begged.
Tycon slightly wished she'd asked that before he'd spent the
several seconds in recovering her It would have taken less time to
stab her in the eye.
"Alright, just... give me a moment...." As weak as the woman

was... if Tycon just dropped her, she'd probably die with her
head's impact upon the stones. He began to scan the floor below,
searching for a particularly jagged rock.
"Those eyes.... It's... you." She whispered, reaching a frail hand

out to brush against his cheek. "I've... I've repented..... All this
time... I've repented....."
"Oh..." Tycon hesitated. Her pitiable words made his chest tighten,
"Well... good for you."
"Your... your name..... ss...savior?..."
"Hah. Forgive me. I'm not going to tell you." Tycon smirked,
"You're going to die soon and people could be listening."
She coughed weakly into the fabric of his bloodied cloak. Tycon
decided not to mind it. It wasn't his.
"My name... is.... Doe."
Tycon chuckled, "Like a deer? A female deer?"
The woman had enough liveliness to pout at Tycon's teasing, "It's

short..... for Medousa..."
...Oh, was it?
"Medousa, then... as in 'Guardian' or 'Protector' in the Ancient

Tongue?" Tycon pursed his lips... "Hm. It's a beautiful name."
The woman remained silent. Did she die?
Tycon placed the woman down gently outside of the prison cell,
closing the heavy door to somewhat allay the stench. He checked
the woman's pulse. She lived.
Doe was a resilient young lady.
Tycon removed his thick, (stolen) cloak and placed it upon the
shivering woman. It amused him slightly that the thin layer of
blood would provide additional guard from the dank, chilly
environment. He tilted her head back and poured a sliver of water
from his canteen down her throat. She awoke, choking and
coughing.
"Wh... what.... the hells...." Doe complained. She blinked tears out
of her eyes, adapting from utter darkness to dim torchlight.
"Tss..." Tycon scoffed, grinning, "I've decided to grant you a

miracle. Make your choice. Do you truly wish to die here?"
« Go ahead. »
⟬ Inspirational Surge..... Activating. ⟭
...
Tycon left his canteen and a bit of jerky with the young woman. He
instructed her to only take small sips and to suckle on the rations.
Victims with her condition had to slow their intake dramatically, in
order to avoid vomiting.
He found another door-- this one, different from all the others. A
metal sculpture of a snake was built into the door at about eye
level. It was probably designed to be intimidating. Tycon thought it
looked... cute.
His System informed him the door had a mechanical trap... That
was interesting. When he stood adjacent to the door, the metal
snake began to hiss, emitting a translucent gas.
First-Circle Poison.
Tycon took a deep breath, appreciating the thought and

engineering expertise of the device. It was a very handsome
snake, too. It made him want to hire a sculptor to capture his
likeness... not that he had any permanent home where he could
display it... nor was he willing to spend such coin on the frivolity.
The thought was nice, though.
He charged mana into his leg and kicked at the door near its lever
mechanism. It broke off its hinges... which revealed that the door
wasn't as impressive as he'd initially thought. Maybe it wasn't the
'boss' room?
"Good evening!" Tycon strode into the room. He smiled, making

eye contact with the single fellow inside. He approached him,
lazily flipping his short sword, "I'm looking for the head of House
Galanis! Would you happen to know where he or she is?"
"That'd be me, tough guy."
A sharp-eyed human stood with his two hands splayed onto his
desk. The bandit leader had short, dark, curly hair, a bit of white
sprinkled throughout. His clothes were... passable as a noble,
though his hair was oily and his weak chin was rough and
unshaven.
⟬ Bronze-Rank Human Warlock. ⟭
There was a surprising lack of fear on his face. It was likely he

couldn't sense the rank difference between them.
...Or maybe he had a bit of self-respect?

Tycon approached the table, standing eye to eye with the
gentleman.
"Let's cut a deal, guy," A sleazy grin was plastered across the
Warlock's face. He spoke, gesturing with one hand, "I know what
you're 'ere for --and I'm sure we's can come to some kinda
arrangement."
Did he mean that? No... Tycon doubted it. Every human lies.
Chapter 324 Blessed By The
Snake God
"Ahhhh..." Tycondrius nodded, "Of course, that--"
Abruptly, he grabbed Galanis by the hair on his scalp. He

slammed the man's head against the desk, dazing him.
The human mind loves logic. It seeks it. It makes sense of noises,
put together into words, into meanings, into complete rational
concepts. Interrupting that logical flow... is unexpected. In
mundane situations, the interruption leads to annoyance and
irritation. In the current situation, the approximate half-second of
the cogs turning in Galanis' brain would ultimately lead to Tycon's
overbearing advantage.
Tycon hacked his short sword against the desk's surface. It

claimed three of the man's fingers. Warlocks needed those, in
order to cast their spells. The fellow was likely right-handed-- it
was the hand he used to gesture with.
Grabbing the quill pen that had spilled onto the desk... Tycon lifted
Galanis' head and stabbed both of his eyes in quick succession.
Warlocks needed their eyes to see the targets of their spells. It
was likely he only had two. Some Warlocks had more. Snake
Cultists did not seem to have such a trait.
Green flames began to emanate from the man's left hand. Tycon,
again, slammed the man's head against the desk and shoved him
to the floor.
The Galanis fellow curled up in pain, clutching his bleeding hand.

He sobbed quietly, shivering on the cold dungeon stones.
...Perhaps he hadn't as much self-respect as Tycon had earlier
assumed.
He walked over to the fallen bandit leader, prodding at the man

with his boot, "I was curious about your interest in House
Vanzano."
Tycon's System politely informed him that the human's aggression

rating had gone from Hostile to Will-Not-Attack. He did not feel
apologetic, in the least.
As the blind man with three less fingers cried like a helpless child,
Tycon searched through his desk.
Within, he found... a BAG!
« SYSTEM! Identify! »
⟬ System response: Mundane wallet.⟭
All of Tycon's excitement drained from his body, leaving him

fatigued. He lied down on the surface of the desk and stretched
the length of his body. It was an ugly desk-- there was even an
unsightly scorch mark on it.
Seven hells. He felt like he'd never find another spatial bag.
"I wish you lot were a tad bit wealthier..." Tycon groaned, "I should
have expected as much, since you all literally live amongst
sewage."
While Tycon had not yet looted the bodies, he hastily inspected
each of the defeated for valuables. He estimated the coin alone
worth two or three weeks of groceries and basic expenses... In a
sun or two, he'd have a much more difficult battle, haggling over
prices in the Market Square.
The Galanis fellow continued to rudely sob to himself, not offering

any comment.
"Again, Mister Galanis... what is your interest in House Vanzano?"
Tycon frowned... "I'm planning on torturing you unless you answer
my questions."
The thought of it made Tycon chuckle to himself. Torture wasn't a

very effective way of gathering information. It would pass the time,
though... and that Galanis fellow didn't deserve an onze of pity.
"Donnn'ttttt.... BOTHERRRRR..." An ominous voice echoed in the

relative darkness of the room, deep and... as if gargling snot.
Tycon sat up, casually looking around for the voice's origin.
Embers of familiar-looking green flames began to smolder at

various points in the room. The dark magic was enough that the
lantern lights on the walls dimmed.
...It wasn't very impressive. Such an effect could be achieved by

children utilizing Elementary spells... which admittedly was a
common sight in the Kingdom but absent in the Holy Country.
At the same time, an unpleasant smell wafted into the room. If it

was the effect of a magical spell, that was certainly unique. Hm.
Or perhaps the heat of it, magnified the stench from elsewhere?
« System, inquiry: Besides myself, who else is in this room? »
⟬ System response: 2 results; Galanis, Bronze-Rank Human

Warlock; Elder, Iron-Rank Human Blightmancer Warlock. ⟭
Iron-Rank Warlock. High-Tier class. Could be dangerous--

probably wasn't. Tycon entwined his fingers behind his head and
lied back down, reasonably comfortable.
« Thank you, System. »
⟬ You're welcome. ⟭
The voice in the darkness began to cough-- disgusting, phlegm-

filled hacks, decrepit and pestilent... "Youuu.... have offended....
the SSSSNAAAAKE CULLLTTT."
"Yes, I... I gathered that." Still resting on his other hand, Tycon
gestured a hand towards the room's entrance, "You know that
there was a likeness of a snake on that door I broke over there.
Only your Snake Cult uses that kind of imagery."
"UHUHUHU.... Soooo... ARROGANT.... Let us sssseee.... how

confident..... you are.... innnn..... DAARKNESSSSS!!!!"
The mundane lights in the room extinguished, all at once.

However, with the green embers remaining, Tycon had no issues
with visibility.
He sat up and smiled with chagrin, "I somewhat regret informing

you... that I can see in the dark."
The Warlock grew silent... He was a hunched-over, unwashed, old

human. Even if Tycon couldn't see in the dark, he could accurately
target the man from the smell of piss and human age.
⟬ Iron-Rank Human Warlock. Warning. Fourth-Circle Poison

detected. ⟭
Hoh. Really?
« System, bring up the information on that fellow's poison. »
Tycon took a moment to review the information. It was slightly

depressing. The old man had been incrementally poisoned for
several years and his life force was pathetic, because of it.
He turned his body towards the motionless old man.
The old man responded by lowering his body, his old joints
cracking as he did so.
"I can still see you... and I can literally hear your knees pop."
"WELL!!! NO MATTTERRR!!!!" The Warlock waved his hands

frantically, "You shall ssssstill PERISH!! By the MIGHT of the
SSSSNAKE CULLLLLT!!!!"
Tycon highly doubted that.

The Warlock pointed a hand of gnarled fingers threateningly,
"⌈Sssssserpents of Nypaaaacia⌋!!!! Come forth!! Ssssssend this
fool to the DEPTHS OF THE SSSSEVEN HELLLLS!!!"
Tycon grimaced. He was familiar with the attack. A different

Warlock used it on him while he was gallivanting in the Kingdom
with the Imperial Navy. Mana-formed ghostly snakes appeared
from the dungeon floor and began to bite at him. Their ethereal
fangs pierced his armor and channeled a weak poison... that in
other circumstances, would wreak havoc upon his internal mana.
The Warlock's expression turned into an ugly grimace.
Tycon smiled politely...
The Warlock again threw his hands up, "SsssSSSERPENTS OF

NY--"
"Hold," Tycon held a palm up.
The old man's spell fizzled out into sad, green sparks, "What?!?!"
"It worked the first time," Tycon assured. "I'm... immune to

poisons."
"Youuu.... have the BLESSINGS... of the SNAAAAKE GOD???"

The Warlock spat, incredulous.
Tycon pursed his lips. He'd met the avatar of the snake god once.
From that exchange... he probably did.
"Yes," Tycon replied... "I'm fairly certain I do, anyroad."
"Oh," The old Warlock stood uncomfortably, shifting his weight

from a creaking knee to his other popping and cracking one. He
seemed to be at a loss for words.
Tycon was beginning to feel guilty that he was rebuffing the poor
old fool so completely, "Would you like me to get you a chair?"
The old man scowled, "Ssssilence!!! Nonbeliever!!! I won't be

played for a FOOOOL by a MERE HUMAN!!!"
"I'm... not a human."
Tycon somewhat regretted his automatic response. The old man's

mouth hung open, unable to continue his monologuing. It seemed
that once again, he'd forced the Warlock into speechlessness.
"Are... are you an elf?" The Warlock asked gingerly.
"What? No." Tycon glared, "How dare you."
"J-just checking..." The warlock coughed and spat, "My vision isn't
what it used to be. Elves. Filthy creatures."
"I'm assuming you mean that... figuratively."
The old man doddered over to a chair, finally able to relax slightly,
"What? No! I mean...? Uh... Huh..."
If the Warlock was working purely off of prejudice, it seemed

Tycon's words had given him cause for introspection. The
battlefield was... admittedly a wonderful place to rid oneself of
negative stereotyping.
"I have little love for the elves," Tycon explained. "However, as a
whole, they are a very... clean people. They reuse their tools and
clothes more than they discard them... and their cultural foods
promote a vegetarian diet."
"Bah. Sssssalads. Nothingggg... ever good came from

saladsssss...."
"Ah, I wholeheartedly agree," Tycon nodded. "I've had a craving,

recently, for a proper steak and some ale."
"Indeeeed... I was raisssed... on Tyrion wine. But ale... ale is

good." The Warlock twisted his lips in frustration, "Are there...
any.... eateries..... still open at this time?"
"I was hoping there'd be at least one," Tycon mused. "It's not
*terribly* late in the evening, is it?"
"Would you like to--"

"No," Tycon rejected the man immediately. He had no wish to
associate with this fellow-- not unless he took a bath and dressed
in clean clothing.
"You DAAARE?!? I am PYRAXISSSS ELFSLAAAYERRRR!!

Slayer of maaaaany elvvessss!! WarloCKKK of the SNAAAAKE
CULLLT!!!" The old man yelled, comfortable in his seat.
"Good evening. My name is Tycondrius. Uh... Blessed... of the

snakes..."
Warlock Pyraxis gasped, clutching at his heart. Oh, was he dying?
The old man began to struggle out of his chair, "The.... the IVORY
PRINNNNCE.... I.... I... FORGIVE ME!!!"
Tycon raised an eyebrow... "What?"

Chapter 325 Bloodline
Memories
"You uh... know of me?" Tycondrius asked.
The aged human warlock stood from his chair and lowered his
body to get to his knees... Somewhat expectedly, he lost his
balance and fell painfully upon the dungeon stone.
Tycon pursed his lips. Should... should he help? He stood up and

approached. He felt like he should help.
Pyraxis took the opportunity to grasp and grovel at Tycon's feet,

"Sssssnaaake blood.... courses through this old man's veins.... my
bloodline memories... they know you are who you claimmmm to
be...."
Bloodline memories. Of course. Concerning mundane creatures, a

snake is born knowing how to hunt. They are born understanding
they must seek shelter from the cold and to fear predators like
hawks and owls. Humans have an instinctual fear of heights and a
love of clear, reflective surfaces that resemble clean drinking
water.
For magical beasts like flood dragons, medusae, nymphs,

unicorns, the knowledge is greater. A nymph is born
understanding she will die if she leaves her tree. Without trial-and-
error, a unicorn understands how to utilize their innate magic to
impart healing miracles upon their allies. Medusae and elves can
speak in their bloodline tongues without needing to be taught... as
well as sharing an inexplicable hatred for creatures resembling
dragons.
If the old Warlock had bloodline memories, the serpentine blood
within him was quite strong... It was also possible that that was
the poison that was killing him.
Tycon grimaced, turning up his nose, "Please... get up. It's

unpleasant having an old, unattractive human trying to win my
favor."
"The Ssssnake god has sent an EXARCH... to RECLAIM the

artifact that BELONGS TO USSSS!!" The Warlock praised,
running his tongue along Tycon's boots.
That was enough. Tycon grabbed the blade of his sword and
started jabbing at the Warlock's wrinkled face with the pommel,
"Wonderful. What-portent-could-be-greater? Release-me-at-
once."
"P-please, Ivory Princccce!!! Recover.... the ssssnake skulllll....

from Houssse Vanzano..."
"Fine. Just... let go."
"And please take me AS YOUR SSSTUDENNNT!!!"
"No. Absolutely not."
The old man sobbed loudly, hugging Tycon's calf, "But whyyyyyy
notttt?! I have been faithfullll ALL THESE YEARRRSSSS!!! I have
killed.... SO MANY ELVESSSSS!!"
Tycon covered his face with his palm, "I... that... that has nothing
to do with me... or with the Snake Cult, for that matter. The last
time I met with your god, he had no issues with the elven
peoples."
"Wh-wh... what?" Pyraxis looked up pitifully, tears running down

the age-lines on his cheeks, snot and... blood running down his
nose and over his mouth.
Tycon crossed his arms and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath
while trying not to directly smell the old man. Once again, his
careless words had inflicted psychological damage upon the
fellow.
"No... that.... that cannot be...." Pyraxis stared in shock with

quivering lips.
Ignorance was bliss and Tycon had been unintentionally cruel with
his truths.
No! The old man was clearly a villain! A murderer! Tycon was
pretending to be a hero of the Church! He should have no
compunction in violently purging this man along with his great
sins!
This... mewling... whimpering... defenseless, old human, sobbing

pitifully to himself... he'd wasted his life on a crusade he
mistakenly believed would please his cruel deity.....
"Hey... it's... it's not so bad," Tycon prodded the old man with his
sword pommel... reassuredly. "The snake god... he... he loves
cruelty? I'm sure you inflicted more than enough... pain...
regardless of the peoples you inflicted them upon..."
"I could... I could have tortured so many more... humans... There's

so many humans! So... so fewwww elvessss...." Pyraxis cried.
Tycon grimaced... "Well... yes, this is true."
"I have... sssssooo much to learn..." The Warlock sputtered, again

devolving into a coughing fit. "Please.... Ivory Prince.... Acccccept
me.... as your faithfullll disciple...."
"What? Come on, now." Tycon scoffed, "Tss. What use would you
be as a disciple? You're going to die soon, especially considering
you've been poisoned for the last several years of your life."
"I what?"
Oh. Oooooh. He didn't know, "No. Nevermind. Let's arrange a

contest of a sort. If you win, you can become my disciple."
Pyraxis wore a look of terror in his milky-white eyes, "Wait, what...
what was that.... about... me..... being poisoned?"
Tycon took several steps back, creating distance between him

and the unpleasantly smelling Warlock, "Martial contest. Disciple-
hood. How about it?"
The old man struggled to his feet, wringing his hands nervously,
"Y-yess... Please go easy... on me... Teacher"
What a ridiculous request. Tycon was not planning on honoring it.
Mana glowed in Pyraxis' hands, culminating in roiling green

flames. He was a proper Iron-Rank Warlock, well versed in his
craft, "Princcce.... I shallll make the firsssst move...."
Tycon felt his mouth twitch, "R-right. Go ahead."
The ancient Warlock took a deep, snot-addled breath,

"⌈Eldritttch..... BLAAAAAST!!!⌋"
Placing his wrists together, Pyraxis pushed the unnatural mana

forward, allowing fiery tendrils to surge towards Tycon... While the
spell's speed was lacking, the mana concentration was focused--
domineering in power.
Tycon lowered his sword. Sheathing only his hand in mana, he

slapped the sphere of dark energies away. The eldritch orb
crashed into a wall, bursting into violent green flames as the
Warlock watched, white-eyes shocked at his failure.
Tycon closed the fingers of his steaming hand. He had grown far
stronger since he'd last fought a Warlock. He'd end this farce of a
fight quickly. Besides ⌈Venomous Shadow⌋, Tycon had also
developed a second offensive move... one he'd chosen
specifically to counter spellcasters.
"⌈Shadowfang Strike,⌋" Tycon whispered. He dashed forward,

utilizing his movement technique to appear from nigh-invisibility
behind Pyraxis.
He poised his sword to strike down the warlock's raised arm.
« System, activate ⌈Echo Seal⌋. »
⟬ Echo Seal. Offensive ability. Target takes severe weapon

damage and is magically inhibited from repeating skills or abilities
used within the last 100 seconds. ⟭
⟬ Activating. ⟭
Magical runes floated above the surface of his stolen short sword,
signifying the skill's effect. Quickly and precisely, Tycon pierced
his blade through the Warlock's right bicep. The runes flashed
white, disappearing and reappearing in bloody black script upon
the Warlock's forehead.
Chapter 326 Incentive
xcellent, the seal was successful. Now, the Warlock wouldn't be

E
able to cast ⌈Eldritch Blast⌋ for--
Pyraxis collapsed and fell onto the cold, hard dungeon stone.
Tycon pursed his lips, still wary for deception. It appeared he had
killed his opponent outright.
"...I should have brought the Librarian," Tycon lamented aloud...

"Stars and stones, maybe I should have brought the cat."
"IVORY PRINNNNCE!!!" The Warlock reared up, standing on his

knees.
"Aaah!" Tycon stabbed the man in the chest.
Die already, you useless old man!!
The Warlock sat on his knees, head down, sword in his chest. He
coughed more blood and phlegm, allowing his crimson life-force to
drip down his chin.
"I... I was young... once..." He muttered between sobs, "Sssso...

full of hope...."
Quietly, Tycon began to sneak away... He... he needed to leave. A

half-dead, naked woman was still waiting for him to return.
Ugh... He briefly considered going straight home, instead.
"Are you listening... s...sweet prinnnnccce?" Pyraxis choked...

"It's... it's sssso dark... and c-c-coooold."
Tycon sighed.
« System, activate ⌈Venomous Shadow⌋. »
The cloaked shadow appeared... beside Tycon, which he noted

was nowhere near Pyraxis. Golden spheres of mana glowed
beneath its hood, staring emotionlessly. Tycon mentally
commanded his ghostly ally, pursing his lips and pointing to the
Warlock.
Obeying his wishes, the shadow floated over to Pyraxis.
The Warlock grasped at the material of the shadow's cloak,

"Prinnnnce.... my story began.... in the tenth century...."
The shadow peered up, looking to Tycon for confirmation.
'Just... stay there,' Tycon mouthed.
The shadow returned its gaze to the Warlock. Then it grabbed

onto the old man's head with its shadowy hands and began to
vomit its green venom onto the fellow's face.
The man screamed in pain as his flesh sizzled. He choked and

sputtered and spat. The fellow was blessed of the snake god,
though... he should have a rudimentary resistance to poison.
However... it looked as if Tycon's doppelganger was trying to
drown the fellow.
Tycon shut the door quietly behind him.
He'd had his fill of this place.
...
There was a hospital conveniently nearby. Tycon utilized their

services more than once, accompanying Tanamar after
particularly treacherous bouts of training. He woke the attending
physician with a polite knock and informed her and her staff that
the woman he carried was rescued from a poor environment and
had been starved for several suns.
Admittedly, it was incredibly suspicious. The staff knew Tycon was
a member of the Church, so did not ask questions.
He couldn't decide if he was thankful for that or disgusted by its

implications.
Tycon woefully offered some coin for their troubles... but was
pleasantly surprised when the physician refused, saying it was her
duty to restore the ill to health, especially a victim of abuse.
Still, bandages and care were not cheap. Tycon placed a gold
coin in one of the hospital's donation boxes. Just one.
He left immediately after.
According to Pyraxis, there was an artifact valued by the Snake

Cult within the possession of House Vanzano. Tycon intended to
recover it for his own purposes.
...
The following sun, Tycon woke up late. Zenon had already taken
the others out for training-- which was fine. He put on his training
clothes, warmed his body, stretched, and went off after them.
Expectedly, he found them on training on the beach. Unexpected,

they were carrying large rocks for distance... rocks far weightier
than Tycon thought reasonable and for distances almost
humorous.
Because of Victorius' condition, he carried two rocks tied by a

rope that hung across his shoulders. With the weight evenly
distributed on his body, he should have been doing better than the
other two.
The coarse, ragged rope had cut and chafed the back of his neck
raw.
...How long had they been doing this?
Zenon greeted him with ominous words: "Can you believe these
guys don't like Olea Garden, Optio?"
At Tycon's order, the physical training session was cut short. With
the time remaining, he requested a different course.
As of recent, Tycon had run into repeated issues of being

unfamiliar with Tyrion colloquialisms... as well as situations where
he was caught unaware of the social context. He wished he could
summarize what exactly he wanted to learn...
Athena volunteered to lead a discussion on morality and ethics.

She brought the group to a pier overlooking the crystal waters
around Silva. All the while, she explained that she always had
good marks in the subject at the academy.
It wasn't quite what Tycon wanted, but it seemed relevant enough.
He looked forward to watching Athena teach-- communicating

concepts to a crowd was an important leadership ability. Further,
though Tycon and Zenon were instructors in combat, they had no
issues being students in another discipline. Learning at any level
was just as important as being able to teach.
During the lesson, one particular instance stood out...
"Let's say you had a classroom of seven children..." Athena

explained, "But you only have five chairs. What would you do? Sir
Tycon?"
That wasn't too bad. Tycon nodded, "I would use the chairs as an
incentive. Perform well, and the students could sit down properly. I
would also vary the contests and include effort and growth as part
of sitting criteria, in order to encourage the students' diligence."
"Oh!" Athena smiled, "That's a wonderful idea, Sir Tycon! What

was your answer, Mister Zenon?"
The Centurion smiled with chagrin, "Kill two kids."
Athena glared, "You mean... dismiss two children."
"Y-yeah," Zenon looked away, his expression dark.

Tycon felt sympathy for the Centurion. Zenon was raised as a
sanctified spellcaster in the Church and it showed.
"How about you, Tanamar!" Athena pointed aggressively.
Tanamar also averted his gaze, "I... had the same answer."
"The same answer as Sir Tycon? That's great!" Athena recovered

her mood, smiling radiantly.
"Y-yeah. As Tycon. Right," Tanamar assured her.
The discussion lasted a good half-bell. He learned quite a bit... for

several hypothetical situations. Would you save one ally, risking
the lives of nine others? Would you disobey orders if a superior
officer sentenced civilians to death? Was it permissible to lie in
order to avoid a close friend from receiving a harsh infraction?
According to Athena, Tycon's ethics were not terrible... though the

reasoning he provided was peculiar at best.
That was satisfactory.
She also lamented that Zenon and Tanamar would have failed the
ethics course at the Academy.
It was then that Tycon realized that perhaps he was not so bad at
being human, after all.
Chapter 327 Magic Key
ycondrius checked his pocket watch. With the time displayed,

T
Athena Vanzano should have returned from her classes at the
Academy. While there was still over a bell before evening training,
he wished to discuss something with the young lady in private.
He casually strolled through the manor, still somewhat annoyed by

the lack of decorations. From the way dust and discoloration had
gathered, the manor was... cluttered in the past. With those items
removed, what was left was an irksome sense of emptiness.
The large waiting room contained a single gaudy couch, an end

table, and multiple bare shelves.
It offended his aesthetics.
The couch could be pushed against the wall. All the shelves but
one could be removed. A simple rug could tie the room together--
a dark red, perhaps... a powerful color. Arranged well, the room
would still be spartan, but it would appear open. Simple, but
purposeful.
A clay pot with a green plant wouldn't cost too much...
The walls could be painted a lighter color... then the dark-wooden

floors could be replaced by a lighter complementing color. A low,
flat table on the central rug would be sensible... Then that wall
didn't appear to be load-bearing-- it could be knocked down to
create more open space...
No... Tycon took a deep sigh. He would not spend his own money
on the manor. When he restored House Vanzano to glory, he
would advise Athena to hire an interior decorator that could work
with a low budget. An elf... or a human capable of achieving an
elven style would be ideal. Similar to training and cooking,
simplicity was more than capable of bringing about the most
wonderful results.
Tycon arrived at Athena's door, gently rapping upon the wood with
his knuckles.
"Come in~" Athena sang.
Tycon had come to associate the young woman's bell-like voice

with hard work and honesty. She was indignant at times, in
particular when she was treated roughly during training. It was a
cheap trick Tycon used. Such provocation motivated her.
Admittedly, such encouragement was usually unnecessary. The
young lady was hard on herself, even harder when she felt that
she was lacking.
Athena strove to succeed in all that she did. In Tycon's current life,
she was his second-most-diligent student.
"Good afternoon, young lady." Tycon opened the door, "I have
something to..."
A white flash of movement crossed the room. Tanamar of House

Vanzano was standing in a corner... not hiding, but back-straight,
perfectly still.
Tycon's first thought was that he interrupted something. Intimacy,

perhaps. But Athena had so readily invited him in?
Strange...
The blue-haired noble girl was sitting on her bed. She smiled
brilliantly, unabashed, and radiating... purity. It almost hurt Tycon's
eyes.
"What's up, Sir Tycon? It's not time for training, yet, is it?" She
tilted her head, "Are we going someplace farther than the
beaches?"
Athena didn't seem surprised by either Tycon's appearance or...

Tanamar's reaction for that matter.
Very strange...
Athena had a simple room, mostly devoid of... things, much like
the rest of the manor. She had a bed, a desk and chair, a dresser,
and an insultingly small mirror. Her only decorations were a rug
and a mount for her armor and gear.
To compare Athena to another member of Sol Invictus... Tycon

expected the ever-serious, sharp-eyed Seldin Korr to have this
level of no-nonsense room. Korr liked stuffed dolls and whimsical
art.
...Then again, Korr was not lacking in coin.
"Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat. "Anyroad, I'm glad it's only the
two of you... I wanted to ask you--"
Tanamar was slowly lowering his body down to the floor. As

steady as he was, Tycon's eyes kept catching the movement. It
was distracting.
"Young man, could you please stop. Perhaps you can sit down
like a normal human being?"
"Yeah, why are you standing all the way over there?"Athena
patted the space beside her, "Come sit down next to me!"
The young footman pursed his lips and obediently walked to the
bed. He sat an entire fulm away from his mistress... but was still
within arm's reach.
Athena grabbed his hand. Tanamar tried to shake her off. She did
not relinquish her grasp.
...Tycon decided he was not going to try and decipher the

situation, "Athena, is there a snake skull somewhere in the
manor? A magical one?"
It was probably cursed, too. The 'Snake Cult' was an organization

that dealt with the dangerous and unknown rather than the
structured and well-researched.
Athena idly swung her legs back and forth. She happily held
Tanamar's hand, softly humming to herself, "Ummm... No. I don't
think so?"
Tanamar frowned, "Athena..."
"Oh, maybe!" Athena hopped up, finally releasing her grip on her
unwilling servant. "My brother, Maximus-- he brought back things
to the house, sometimes."
She walked over to her dresser, rummaged through the bottom

drawer, and produced a brass key, "Want me to show you?"
Tycon raised his eyebrows. He was used to asking things of his

own guild members and receiving nothing but irritation for his
troubles. Sometimes, he felt like they purposely acted like fools to
irk him.
That the young lady was so intelligent and so helpful often

surprised him.
His gaze softened and he nodded in approval, "Yes. Please lead

the way, young lady."
...
Athena waved Maximus' key in front of an empty bookcase in a

just-as-empty study. The bookcase and wall turned transparent
before fading away, unveiling a stone stairwell that led down.
Tycon frowned. Spatial magic... it must have been. The solid wall
had entirely disappeared... and he found no signs of a mundane
mechanism. He doubted he'd have been able to find the Snake
Cult artifact without Athena's help.
"Ehehe," Athena giggled. "Magic key!"
Tycon lightly applauded, causing Athena to curtsy like a proper

noblewoman.
Well played, Maximus of Ezyria. You've hid your secrets well.

What else have you left behind besides a dying family name and a
loving sister that you don't deserve?
Holding a lantern, Tanamar led the way down the stairs with
Athena close behind.
Chapter 328 Jewelry Box
ycondrius followed Athena and Tanamar leisurely. The stonework

T
was solid and he was well aware of his surroundings even in the
dim light. The temperature gradually dropped the further they
descended... which was worrying-- but he decided to shrug it off
as an anomaly.
Athena turned over her shoulder to speak, "We've sold most of

Maximus' things... but there's a few still left? Maybe what you're
looking for is still there?"
Tycon didn't hold high hopes. If the Snake Cult artifact was gone,
he wasn't going to bother searching for it. If he did get ahold of it,
there was a greater chance it would merely prove troublesome--
not being useful, at all.
He decided to change the subject, "Miss Athena... I was curious

as to why you refer to your brother as Maximus. I had thought his
birth name was Gian?"
He was also curious as to why she continually referred to Zenon

as 'Mister' instead of 'Centurion.'
"Well, Sir Tycon..." She replied softly, "To me, my brother has
always been Maximus."
She took a deep sigh, shaking her head, "I don't really remember
why, but I think I must have gave him that name? We... played
Gladiator a lot? Ehehe... He always let me win, too. Can you
believe that? Maximus of Ezyria! It's... it's a really gladiator-y
name, isn't it?"
...It was.
The way Athena's voice began to crack as she spoke of her
brother was troublesome. Tycon chose not to respond. With her
personality, if he tried to address it, he also risked worsening her
mood.
"I... I made up Tanamar's name too!" Athena forced energy into

her voice, turning back at Tycon to reveal her forced smile.
She was a very polite young lady. As hurt as she sounded from
recalling memories of her deceased brother, she still expressed
honest worry about her allies.
It was a strange conundrum. Athena was born to be a combatant.

Such naivete could prove to be her undoing. But to remove that
weakness would challenge her positive and pure outlook. There
was a certain innocence existent in the young lady that was sorely
missing in combat veterans like himself.
"Um... Is that weird, Sir Tycon?" Athena asked. "I'm sorry."
"No apologies are necessary, young lady," Tycon smiled politely...

"All names are made up."
"Well, yeah... but... yeah, you're right," Athena nodded to herself,

again focusing her attention on Tanamar's back.
As the trio silently continued to descend into the darkness,

Tycon's mind drifted off in thought.
Compared to Athena, even Zenon was somewhat cynical and

jaded. Over the suns of travel with him, Tycon judged the
Centurion's open display of optimism to be somewhat forced.
Zenon trusted because he wished for that trust to be returned.
Athena was different. She was competitive. She gave her best
effort without being told. She spoke her mind. She trusted as if
she'd never been betrayed.
Further, she had the benefit of a champion who defended her...

Tanamar of House Vanzano, the silver-haired footman who rebuffs
her advances. He encourages her when she appears weak. He
seeks to shoulder her burdens. The few cases of him disagreeing
with Tycon's judgment would never be on his own half... but would
revolve around Athena's physical or emotional wellbeing.
Thus far, Athena's and Tanamar's relationship only positively

influenced the other. However, Otherworlder or not, the both of
them were young and relationships... were tenuous. Tycon
thought well of them both and sincerely hoped that his worries
were unfounded.
"T-tanamar," Athena prodded. "Tell him the story!"
Tycon saw Tanamar's head dip, the young man sighing deeply, "I
don't think Sir Tycon is interested in that."
"No, he is! Tell the story!" Athena insisted. She turned back to
glare at Tycon expectantly.
Tycon smiled politely. How could he refuse? "I would like to hear
of it... A short summary will suffice."
The group took a few careful steps down the stone stairs quietly,
before Tanamar began, "My birth name is Athanasius Mors."
"See? It's kinda like my name?" Athena gleefully added.
"Athena and I were introduced when we were kids... and our--err...

my instructor may have given my name to Lord Greer incorrectly."
Tycon honed in on that piece of information, "Your instructor, you

say?"
Several days prior, Tanamar had stated that he was self-taught,

yet now he spoke of an instructor. Was it a combat instructor or
something else?
"Forgive me, Sir Tycon. He and I are no longer on speaking

terms."
With the sharpness of Tanamar's speech, Tycon doubted he'd get

more information. If the Holy Lancer's combat skill was any
indication, his instructor was quite skilled.
When the trio reached the bottom of the basement, Tanamar hung
up the lantern on the wall to illuminate the room. Tycon lamented
that the pitiful flame did nothing to allay the cold temperature. His
cloak was upstairs and he wore thin tunic only suitable for training.
He hadn't expected to descend into the depths of an icebox.
There was precious little in the basement, though empty shelves

and weapon racks hinted at the majesty it once held.
Tycon was miserable. Tanamar looked uncomfortable. Athena

was wholly unbothered.
Yin body. Of course, she'd be fine.
"I have a feeling that what you're looking for... is in that," Athena
pointed.
At a table in the center of the room was a small, wooden chest,

reinforced with gold and about the size of a severed human head.
If it was cleaned and polished, it wouldn't look out of place in a
young woman's room-- perhaps used to contain jewelry.
"I wouldn't touch that thing," Tanamar politely offered as he rubbed

his arms.
Tycon approached the chest warily, "Thank you, young man. Your
counsel is wise."
"Sir Tycon has a sarcastic voice," Athena reminded her footman.
Tycon glared back at the two, "I do not."
He examined the chest by sight. A supernatural cold radiated out

of the chest, yet did not mark it with frost or damage the wood.
« System, inquiry: Is this box-- or whatever is within the source of

the cold? »
⟬ Affirmative. ⟭
That question eliminated an outside source for whatever
phenomenon he was experiencing.
« System, analysis: Basic information on the box and its contents.

»
Tycon shut his eyes and reviewed the information his System
provided. The box's contents were cursed. The box, itself, was
not. He took it, turned it upside down, and emptied its contents.
Chapter 329 Cursed Sentience
pilling out of the mundane box and dumped onto the table was a
S
heavy blue crystal, about the size and shape of a human heart.
Within it, the outline of a fractured snake skull glowed whitish-
blue.
Though it appeared like the sealed skull had some significance-- it

was a visual illusion created and powered by the stone, itself.
Ultimately, Maximus' treasure was a mana rock... one that
radiated high-purity frost mana.
"Eep!" Athena jumped up, wide-eyed in wonder, "H-how did you

open that?! W-we never found a key for it!"
Tycon grimaced, "It wasn't locked."
"O... oh," Athena sat down on the floor quietly, her face glowing a
deep shade of red.
Tanamar dared to scowl at Tycon as if the young lady's

embarrassment was his fault.
Tycon shut his eyes and briefly consulted his System. The stone
was cursed. No surprise. It had minor sentience, as well.
Without the box as a subtle limiter, the crystal pulsed its mana
outward, chilling the immediate area and causing Tycon's teeth to
chatter. He stepped away, wary for an attack and... annoyed.
As the fates had decided that Tycon was always to encounter

things he did not like, the stone's frost mana enveloped him... and
only him. It made logical sense. He was the most handsome
person in the room, after all.
...Also, he had the strongest passive mana signature.

Errant thoughts invaded his mind. Suddenly inspired, Tycon had
the most wonderful idea to murder his allies on behalf of that
useless snake god.
He'd start with Victorius. He immediately conceived a feasible

plan-- more for efficiency than for enjoyment.
Which one would be next? Greer, perhaps? And his extravagant

strumpet of a wife, as well. Sol Invictus does not discriminate
based on gender, among other things.
That's probably where the killing would stop, though. Everyone

else remained useful.
⟬ The Host has successfully resisted a Third-Circle Domination

effect. ⟭
...Oh. Was that the attack?
Tycon frowned, crossing his arms.
« System, inquiry: Did... ⌈Mark of Pride⌋ activate? »
⟬ ⌈Mark of Pride⌋. Demonic Seal. Prevents domination-effects from

Fourth-Circle spells and lower. Strongly increases resistance
against energy drain through bodily fluids. Inscribed by Lucifer of
Pride. ⟭
⟬ Negative. System response: The Host resisted the effect before

⌈Mark of Pride⌋'s activation. ⟭
Tycon glanced back to the others. Tanamar had faithfully stepped

in front of the sitting Athena, his shoulders visibly relaxing after the
danger had passed.
"Move your butt, Tanamar!" The curious young lady was still sitting
on the floor, peeking out from beside her footman.
There was nothing left to see, save a cool blue miasma still
hanging in the air. Tycon dispelled it with a casual swipe of his
hand.
The frost mana spread out to the corners of the room... though a
thick cloud of it drifted towards Athena. Though Tycon was certain
it was bereft of sentience, it doggedly sought her out, like a tiny
droplet of water reaching out to join with a larger bead.
The mana flowed into the young lady... naturally and harmlessly.
« System, inquiry: What is the affinity between this relic's mana

and Athena? »
⟬ System response: 88%. ⟭
Tycon raised an eyebrow in amusement. He had a theory to

explain Athena's high affinity, but he wanted to verify... "Athena,
what is the story behind this box?"
The seated Athena frowned, remaining silent.
"You can tell him, Athena," Tanamar helped her to stand. "We can
trust him."
"Y-yeah, I know..." The girl sniffed, pouting her lips, "It's still... I
just... I still miss him, so much."
...
The young lady told a tearful story. Tycon had to gather all the
information and reorganize it to make sense of it. He had
deciphered worse, so he did not mind.
It was several years prior. Athena was still a child and Maximus
had only recently joined the Church's special forces. The box was
a spoil from one of the Warmage's first missions and he intended
it sealed in the underground vault, never to be opened.
Years later, Maximus returned-- over a year prior to the current

date. He had changed. Little was left of the kind, soft-spoken elder
brother in Athena's memory. Though the young lady's faith was
shaken, her love for her brother could not be diminished-- though
not for lack of trying on his part.
Sanctum Parmularius Maximus' team was massacred down to
one. Maximus himself was so grievously injured, he fell in rank.
He was listless, paranoid... temperamental. He left the manor
soon after... but he left very insistent instructions.
The box was to never leave the manor.
He didn't say anything about not using it... or even opening it --just
that it must neither be sold nor given away. And most certainly, it
was not allowed to fall into the hands of heretics.
As Tanamar gently consoled the sniveling mess that was Athena,

Tycon quietly reviewed the information.
He was both annoyed, yet awed by what had transpired. It was no

coincidence that Athena had developed an affinity to frost mana.
Maximus had purposely left a powerful, high-mana Frost Stone
within the manor with Athena's well-being in mind.
Likely, Athena always had a high affinity to frost mana. In such

close proximity, the Frost Stone's residual high-purity mana was
absorbed by the young lady over several years. This explained
her unnaturally large mana pool and her ability to control it with
precision.
It was not an exaggeration to say every breath she took was

infused with high-purity mana.
Still, Tycon would not carelessly expose Athena to the Frost

Crystal directly. A Third-Circle Domination magic was not
something she would be able to easily resist.
However... he could draw a formation-- engineer a ritual that

bypassed the relic's sentience. He didn't even need outside help.
He could use the stone, itself, as the ritual's power source.
As Athena's affinity with the relic was incredibly high, she would
have no issue circulating the stone's power through her mana
circuits. He needed only to create a way to control its flow in order
to avoid mana overload.
Tycon ran a few simulations in his head with the System's help... It
was possible.
But would she agree to it?

Chapter 330 Formation
ycondrius wore the most sincere smile he could fake, politely

T
addressing the young Vanzano.
"Miss Athena, I'd like to use your brother's relic to speed your
development to Bronze-Rank."
"Um, isn't it cursed?" Athena stuck out her lips, pursing them
together like a tiny duck bill.
"Yes," Tycon nodded. "Grant that I will first nullify the curse, in
order to ensure your safety."
"It's literally a snake skull." She complained, "It looks gross!"
"Does it?" Tycon glanced back at the table. He thought it looked

impressive and powerful, "No matter. The purity of the Frost
Stone's mana should be enough to catalyze your breakthrough."
Holy Lancer Tanamar of Vanzano stepped forward, his expression

grim and determined.
"It's too dangerous," He insisted.
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Seven hells, young man. Take a look at the
crystal's affinity rating with your charge."
Tanamar raised his eyebrows, his pupils dilating in surprise.

Shortly after, his eyes narrowed to slits. It looked like he
understood.
"What are you guys talking about?" Athena asked.
"What's the percentage?" Tycon asked in a lowered voice,

grinning mischievously.
Tanamar scowled back, "What do you mean 'percentage'?"
"Is it 88?" Tycon whispered, just loud enough for Tanamar to hear.
"I'm certain you're aware of the implications."
"You..." Tanamar shut his eyes, "Tch... No wonder you don't act
like an NPC."
Tycon did not know what that meant, but he decided to 1. treat it
as unfamiliar transmigrator diction and 2. take it as a compliment.
After a moment he grimaced... but nodded, "Yeah... we won't get

this kind of chance, again."
Tycon smiled as he turned to Athena, "Tanamar and I are just

using some esoteric terms to describe the 'Frost Stone.'
Ultimately, I believe I've convinced him that the plan is
worthwhile."
Athena puffed up her cheeks, "I dunno... I kinda wanted to get

stronger like a normal person. Isn't this kinda like cheating?"
Tycon reared his head back in surprise. He found the notion

absurd, though the reasoning was... heartwarming. Athena had
talent and an artificially-made Yin Body. Those were advantages
to be seized and cultivated, not ignored.
"Young lady, this opportunity is a gift from your brother. Perhaps

he meant for you to use it to protect yourself."
"Maximus... for me?" Athena's eyes shone like snow globes.

Soon, more tears would flow and Tanamar's problems would be
renewed.
Tycon chuckled in amusement, "I'll need to perform some tests.

Lend me the basement key and return to Zenon and Victorius for
evening training."
...
It took Tycon three suns to create Athena's ritual formation. His

goal was to bypass the Frost Stone's curse and to tap into its
power source. Simple enough.
The testing was not without its dangers. Working with the stone so
intimately, Tycon had the chance to observe its effects.
The Frost Stone's curse had a rudimentary sentience. Tycon

likened it to a... priority flowchart. First, it would try to overload his
senses. While he was distracted, it would then try to forcibly
change his settings-- effectively adding third-party... desires. The
instilled whims were inane... enslaving villages to ritually sacrifice,
violently betraying those closest to him, and actively avoiding
hand-washing after relieving himself.
If the curse took hold of him entirely, he'd awaken as a gentleman

of a largely different set of morals and motives. In exchange, he'd
gain the ability to cast a few paltry frost spells and knowledge of
Snake Cult propaganda, customs, and courtesies.
He didn't look into just what. That would take more research and
the information wasn't useful to him. He checked the data over for
any rogue curse functions in the knowledge subset, but that was
the extent of it.
Tycon would not have his mind taken over as long as his
arrogance overpowered the stone's ancient will. Likely the curse's
strength had diminished over time or it was instilled by a mere
Gold-Rank mage.
If his willpower was to waver, he could rely on his ⌈Mark of Pride⌋

ability. He was immune to overt domination effects.
Without fear of a complete override, he could utilize his System to

forcibly cut the connection with the Frost Stone via mental
command. A few changes to the System's connection filtering
later, he ensured the curse's most severe effects would not
activate on him.
He couldn't make himself entirely immune during the testing

phase. He needed to ensure his ritual completely bypassed the
curse so Athena wouldn't turn into an unhygienic Snake Cultist. To
that end, he worked with the Frost Stone's power set to 2%,
feeling the bite of the curse and the cold, both.
Less than thirty minutes into working on the first sun, he returned
to the servant's quarters to borrow and steal several thick
blankets. Some individuals reveled in discomfort, taking pride in
stubbornness and hardiness. Tycon would suffer minor
annoyances for greater comfort. It was efficient.
The workings of the Frost Stone's curse were simplistic, its

composition logical and grouped. However, its organization was...
appalling. The entirety of the curse was lumped into one
concentrated mana-stream.
It was an unintentional layer of defense. If Tycon wished to

completely dispel the curse, he would need to root through the
inner workings of its core. It would take several suns to decipher
it, then further study to calculate how he could modify the mana-
stream without causing an explosion. Such an endeavor also
required a moderate amount of arcane power-- something he did
not have.
...He could have written it better, though. He found it so

bothersome, he did take the time to forcibly change and
reorganize some of the curse's miscellaneous settings.
Because of the Frost Stone curse's design, Tycon surmised it may

have been created accidentally, perhaps the result of a desperate
mage's will coalescing into a physical form. If that were so, the
creator was not merely an uncreative hack-- they were just a man
or woman with shite morals.
The ritual formation would have been completed sooner. However,

Tycon took an embarrassing amount of time designing a
modifiable variable function. In the midst of the ritual, he wanted to
be able to adjust the amount of mana flow from the stone to the
empowered target.
It would have been highly inconvenient to activate the formation at

a low percent, only to repeat the cast several times more at
increasing percentages. This way, he'd only need to complete the
ritual once, adjusting as necessary.
After all was finished, they'd seal the stone away, perhaps for use
later?
It would probably be fine.

Chapter 331 Frost Stone Ritual
ycondrius elicited the help of footman Tanamar, real name

T
Athanasius Mors, for Athena Vanzano's ritual. He insisted upon
weapons, but not armor. Against attacks powered by frost mana,
Tycon doubted the effectiveness of leather and steel protection.
He wore more than one layer of clothing, as well as an
unnecessarily stylish wool scarf.
The drawn formation took the space of most of the basement

vault. The tables and shelves were pushed out of the way and
several sections of script and shapes were inscribed onto the
stones. Tycon tried to summarize what exactly he'd done with the
various sections.
Neither of them seemed to understand even a modicum of his

efforts.
It allayed Athena's reservations. Tycon took a miniscule amount of

solace in that.
Empty night... He wished they'd understood just how gods-

damned hard he worked. Ultimately, however... he was not
designing a ritual for praise. The true goal was to aid Athena's
breakthrough to Bronze-Rank.
Tycon opened the box, unleashing the Frost Stone's blue glow
upon the room. He designed the fantastical display with the intent
to impress the two.
"Is... is that... my brother's Frost Stone?" Athena's eyes glowed in

wonder, quite opposite of the grimace of disgust a few evenings
prior.
One of the settings Tycon changed in the stone was the form the
mana exhibited within the crystal. Before, it had formed into a
handsome snake skull. Now, it was a glowing, stylized lightning
bolt, reminiscent of the Vanzano heraldry.
That change, too, took a lengthy amount of time... but was well
worth it, considering Athena's look of awe and Tanamar's nod of
respect.
...
With the Frost Stone in place at the formation's center, Tycon

performed last-minute checks of all of the formation's functions.
No apparent errors.
He also checked Athena's condition...
« System, inquiry: Check the affinity between the Frost Stone and
Athena. »
⟬ System response: 99%. ⟭
A higher affinity rate could only be a positive change... It... was a

dubious jump in number, though.
"So... I just stand here, Sir Tycon?" Athena pirouetted gracefully

within a circle at the end of the formation.
"Indeed," Tycon smiled politely. "I will be operating this section,

which regulates the mana flow."
"I'm ready! I'll take ALL OF IT!!" Athena declared with confidence.
Tycon narrowed his eyes... "I will increase the power steadily,
depending on your tolerance."
"All of it?" The blue-haired noble smiled sheepishly, "I wanna get
stronger now."
Tycon shared a worried look with Tanamar, "I'm having second

thoughts."
"It's kinda too late to back out now." The footman shrugged,
"Anyroad, you've already done all this work. You've even tested it
a hundred times over."
"Something to that extent..." Tycon grimaced. He'd tested it in its

completion three times-- more than enough, but far from a
hundred.
The most likely negative result was Athena suffering the effects of
mana overload, which was even more plausible considering her
overly confident personality. Tycon was relying on the fact that the
girl had a keen mastery of mana sense and would know her limits.
A little mana overload was fine. She would be able to expend

additional mana by casting spells, with Tanamar and himself
provided as 'target practice.'. If she lost control, the two of them
would attack the young lady, forcing her to use her mana
defensively.
"Miss Athena, if you would, sit down and circulate your mana,"
Tycon ordered. "Your goal is to accept the flow of power, regulate
it to match your own, and absorb it."
If Athena's mana intake was far higher than her ability to process
it, her physical body would be torn asunder by her own power.
Tycon did not mention this. He wished for the young lady to strive
for success, not to merely avoid failure.
"Yes, Sir!" The young lady obediently sat down. She folded her
hands and closed her eyes, appearing to be in devout prayer.
Tanamar channeled his radiant mana to catalyze the ritual... the

chalk-drawn lines on the floors and walls beginning to glow with
power. Tycon observed the workings... clean, unobstructed... just
like the simulations and trials.
2%
5%
10. 20. 33. The girl calmly continued to regulate her mana flow,
her body greedily absorbing the Frost Stone's power.
40. 50. 66. Sweat crystallized on Athena's brows and frost mana
swirled around her, forming thin, but beautiful fractals along the
stone walls.
Tycon was glad he had the mind to apply sealant to the formation.
It would be catastrophic if the lines were disrupted or one of the
base circles were modified.
"75%, young lady!" Tycon yelled over the localized snowstorm

surrounding Athena. "How do you feel?!"
Athena's eyebrow twitched, her face curling up in discomfort, "I'm

still okay! K-keep going, I think it's starting to feel good..."
Hm. He would increase the pressure by 5% increments from

here...
Tanamar shifted uncomfortably.
"What's your issue?" Tycon glared. "You're not the one in the ritual
circle."
"Yeah, it's just..." The footman hesitated, his mouth twisted to the
side, "The way she's saying these things is kinda..."
"'Kind of... what?"
"No, nevermind."
80. 85. 87... 90... 91...
Athena's eyes and mouth began glowing at 91. A thin layer of ice
formed on her body at 92. She began to aimlessly cast ice lances
and frost orbs at 93.
...94?
Athena shrieked in power, levitating up in the air. Her hair stood

on end and flowed as power swirled around her, giving her the
appearance of a woman submerged in water. She appeared to
have lost rational thought.
94 was the limit. Tycon gestured to Tanamar. The Holy Lancer
would occupy Athena while Tycon eased the Frost Stone's mana
flow.
A mana lance formed in Tanamar's hands as he leapt up and

batted it at Athena. A shield of ice formed around her, deflecting
the attack without as much as a crack. It was as if Tanamar had
struck solid steel.
"Oooooh!!!" The glowing-eyed, floating noble, spun excitedly. "I'm

really strong, now! Oh, I'm so happy! I can actually help you in the
dungeons, Tanamar!!"
"Tycon!" Tanamar yelled, "Did you turn it off?"
Tycon glared at the boy, raising his voice in annoyance, "Yes, I

turned it off! You can visibly see that the formation's lost its
power."
"Then why is Athena's power level still rising!?"

Chapter 332 Frostblade
ycondrius rolled his eyes, "Because of the mana overload. We

T
discussed this. Now please attack her seriously or we risk the
young mistress violently exploding."
Her eyes suddenly gaining clarity, Athena twisted her head

towards Tycon, "Wait-- violently what?"
...Oops. He let it slip.
Tycon unsheathed his two Decani swords, "My apologies. I had

withheld that information."
He somewhat regretted not having explained that. He was worried

the young lady would have been hesitant to process such a high
concentration of mana, had she been aware it was plausible she
would violently explode.
"SIR TYCONNNN!!! IM GONNA EXPLODE??!?!" Athena

shrieked. She directed her palms towards him, glowing icy blue
with concentrated frost mana.
Oh, that didn't look good.
"Not... necessarily?" Tycon offered.
"⌈IIIIIIICE BEEEEEAMU!!!!⌋"
Emanating from the young lady's palms was a veritable stream of

frost energy. Everything it touched frosted over immediately,
forming jagged crystals of ice. Tycon immediately began sprinting
counterclockwise, staying a few steps ahead of the concentrated
beam.
« System, activate ⌈Tumble⌋, please. »

⟬ Activating. ⟭
⌈Tumble⌋ was always a reliable skill. With Tycon being Gold-Rank,

he could also cast it more than once. Mana flowed through his
circuits, filling him with energy and making his body feel light.
Tycon ran up and across the side of the dungeon walls,
acrobatically flipping to dodge-- making sure to land on dry stone.
Besides the beam, Athena simultaneously cast other, lesser

spells. The technical skill she displayed in double and triple-
casting was impressive-- genius-level magery. With a higher-level
of mana coursing through her circuits, she was casting almost
purely by instinct, but strongly affected by her strongest emotions:
rage and fear.
It made her predictable.
He smirked, snapping his fingers.
⟬ ⌈Commander's Strike⌋ activated. ⟭
Again Tanamar leaped up, swinging his holy lance. This time,
however, the footman's attack was empowered by Tycon's skill.
With an instantaneous mental command from Athena, a frost

shield formed around her, protecting her from damage. Still, the
force of Tanamar's strike launched the levitating woman across
the room, smashing her into the stones.
The dust and debris blocked the lantern light, but the whitish-blue
glow of Athena's mana-overloaded form lit up the basement's
entirety.
Her form hidden by the clouds, Athena's words echoed coolly

along the frozen walls, "⌈Icicle Fall.⌋"
Dozens of icicles formed on the high ceiling, each nearly the size
of an adult human. They plummeted down, crashing near
Tanamar with deadly force and mana-assisted speed.
"D-dodge it, Tanamar!" Athena yelled worriedly.

...Tycon was slightly disappointed that he didn't get the same
encouragement. He sprinted towards Athena-- through the cover
of darkness and in her blindspot.
Shadowfang Strike? Legionbreaker? No... That would be too

lethal. Tycon elected to use brute force.
He skidded along the ice-slicked stones, lowering his body...
Athena noticed. She turned her head and reached her arm to the
ceiling. A massive blade made of crystal clear ice formed above
her head, ready to swing downward.
As impressive as the high-mana attack was, it was dreadfully

slow.
Keeping his legs grounded as he slid, Tycon swung his sword

utilizing his full body's rotation. Athena's frost shield went up at
once, but the young lady was again launched backward with a
satisfying crack of the solid ice.
Blood dripped down Tycon's face from a cut on his cheek. He

glanced down at his Decanus sword... It was made of solid Tyrion
steel-- more resistant to mana effects than steel of other makes.
Still, the blade had shattered upon impact, frost layering over the
surface of the metal.
...He was glad the shrapnel didn't find his eyes.
Athena bounced off of a wall, but Tanamar managed to catch the

falling girl before she took additional damage.
"Tycon!!" Cradling her in his arms, he scowled murderously, "What

the hells was that?? Are you trying to kill her?"
Tycon pursed his lips... "No?"
He'd been yelled at too many times in the past several minutes.
Really, he thought the two of them trusted him a slight bit more.
Athena struggled out of Tanamar's arms, "I'm fine. Let me fight

him."
"But..."
"I gotta get Sir Tycon back for his stupid sand-attack."
...So she was still upset about that.
Stars and stones.
Tycon sighed and pulled his cloak around him tighter. He was
wearing three layers of clothing in preparation for freezing
temperatures, but lamented not having brought... a blanket or two.
He breathed hot into his gloved hands and rubbed at his numb
face.
He also slightly regretted not having brought Zenon. He trusted

the Librarian, but he did not want to burden the Centurion with the
secret of utilizing a tool the Church would deem heretical.
"It's too dangerous," Tanamar insisted. "I'm sworn to protect you,

Athena. Let me fight for you."
"I... I know..." Athena sighed, averting her gaze, "But you've

always been fighting for me. Just... I need to do this. I need to
prove to you that I can help!"
"You're always doing your best. You never ask for help!" Tanamar
nearly shouted back at her.
"That's because I always know I can count on you!!" Athena

looked back, tears dripping down her eyes as frosty sparkles.
"I just... I can't bear seeing you get hurt," Tanamar grimaced. It
looked like it physically pained him to say that aloud.
"T-tanamar..." Athena sighed. Suddenly, her eyes shot open,

"Wh... WHERE ARE YOU GOING, SIR TYCON??!"
Tycon glanced over his shoulder, "That's a rather silly question,

young lady. I'm taking the stairs, back up."
"BUT WHYYYY?!" Athena stamped her foot, like a child throwing

a tantrum.
Tycon turned, sitting upon the stone steps... "I suppose... it's
mostly because it's cold down here."
Also, the two were sharing a private moment. He felt like he was
intruding.
"That-- that's... I can't help it!" Athena pouted, "I have frost-type
superpowers!"
⟬ Athena Vanzano, Bronze-Rank Frostblade. ⟭
"Yes. You're very strong," Tycon smiled politely. "I'm proud of you."
"Oh," The young lady bared her teeth in an embarrassed half-

smile. "Thank you!"
Tanamar stepped forward, irritation still on his face, "What about

the mana overload?"
"It seems like Miss Athena has everything under control," Tycon
calmly gestured. "Using the process of induction, I believe it has
something to do with her large expenditure of mana in shielding
against my last attack... which neither of you have thanked me
for."
Also, the subsequent conversation between her and Tanamar

further stabilized her emotions. From there, it seems Athena's Yin
Body quickly adapted. However, Tycon was too cold and irritated
to explain that.
Athena pursed her lips, the figurative fire in her eyes dying out,
"Th-thank you, Sir Tycon."
Chapter 333 Intent To Kill (Part
One)
till standing on the stairwell, Tycondrius looked down and

S
nodded sagely, "You're very welcome, young lady."
Athena's gratitude lifted his spirits slightly. It was nice to be

thanked-- even if he had to more-or-less request it.
"You tried to kill her, dude!" Tanamar shouted.
This much was true. Tycon hadn't held back with his last attack,
fully trusting in Athena's capabilities to survive. Of course, if he
wanted to kill her for certain, he would have used a skill or
attacked her while she was completely unaware.
"Miss Athena is obviously not dead," Tycon groaned. "I don't

understand why you're so upset."
"Sir Tycon?" Athena shyly approached the stairs, "Can... can we

keep fighting? I still have a lot of mana and it feels...
uncomfortable."
Tycon grimaced. It was a reasonable request. The more mana

she expended, the easier it would circulate through her body after
a rest period. It was imperative, of course, that she not exhaust
her mana reserves or receive a critical injury.
He sat upon the steps and snuggled deeper into his cloak and
stylish scarf, "Fight Tanamar."
The white-haired footman's eyes furrowed, revealing a hint of

panic, "Wait, what?"
"Tss," Tycon scoffed. "As long as the young lady can use her
mana, there's no difference in her choice of combat opponent."
"Well, yeah..." Tanamar scratched his cheek, "But that..."
"Come on, Tanamar! Let's fight!" Athena grinned happily, bouncing

up and down in her usual glee.
The footman glared back to Tycon, before his expression changed

to helplessness, "There's some issues with that... and you know
about it."
Tycon surmised that there were two things the young man could
be referring to. The first was his unwillingness to hurt Athena.
Tycon decided this was a non-issue. Tanamar was smart enough
to not use lethal attacks. During previous bouts, he often used the
blunt side of his holy lance for this reason.
The second was Athena's subconscious inability to use lethal

force on Tanamar-- even going as far as to warn the latter to the
dangers of her attacks.
That was simple enough to solve.
Tycon smirked, "Miss Athena, I wonder if Tanamar is a poor

opponent... as I suspect you are romantically interested in him."
Athena's chill-touched face blazed a pinkish red, "H-he... what?!

No. I-- what?! He's not-- I'm not!"
Tycon shrugged, standing up, "If you hold back your attacks
against him, then perhaps it would be better if I were to--"
"⌈FROZEN ORB!!!⌋" Athena yelled. Placing her hands together,

she hurled a frozen sphere half her size at her manservant.
Tycon gulped. The white, spinning orb of frost magic looked

reminiscent of Zenon's deadly, ⌈Wind Spheres⌋. Worse, the orb
also launched sharpened blasts of frost mana as it traveled.
Had he just sentenced Tanamar to death?

Tanamar retreated, dodging ice blasts, ⌈Frost Lances⌋, and
another cast of the area-attack ⌈Icicle Fall.⌋
Should he intervene? He didn't want to stop the fight... Athena

was attacking with... somehow more fervor and seriousness than
against him.
...Tycon also considered just... leaving.
The Holy Lancer threw himself out of the way of a particularly

deadly-looking mana icicle. Sloppily rolling along the cold
dungeon stones, he came to a stop, resting his face flat on the
floor.
"If I lose, I'll get yelled at. If I win, I get yelled at," Tanamar
grumbled. "What the hells am I supposed to do?"
Tycon pursed his lips, feeling a bit guilty. Social effects aside,
Athena expended more mana fighting against two people
consecutively rather than just one.
He raised his voice to encourage the bedraggled footman from the

safety of the stairwell, "Cheer up! We'll get dinner after this-- I'll
inform Zenon you two are exempt from evening training."
Tanamar pushed himself back to his feet, discontent clear in his

eyes.
Tycon shrugged in apology. That was the best he could offer.
Athena summoned another ⌈Frost Blade⌋ above her head, the

mana composition far more condensed than her previous one.
She took less time to form it... and with its smaller size, swung it
nearly as fast as she swung a corporeal blade.
The footman was forced to block the attack with a swipe of his
holy lance, but... her ⌈Frost Blade⌋ shattered. The mana remnants
levitated, spinning rapidly around the two of them.
Tycon smirked. He had seen the tactic before... in Tanamar's

⌈Scatter Lance⌋ skill. If he guessed correctly, the icy debris would
fall upon her footman, stunning him and leaving him vulnerable to
follow-up attacks.
Athena smiled innocently... like a cruel child about to tear off the
wings of an insect, "⌈Frost Tornado.⌋"
...That didn't sound right. Tycon expected her to name the skill
Scatter Sword or... Frost Scatter.
The glass-like shards of ice began to whirl around, quickly picking

up speed.
Oh.
Tanamar was battered repeatedly by the spinning shards, dozens

of superficial cuts appearing on his body. Tycon considered
intervening... but he judged the attack only capable of grievously
wounding the young man.
He'd live.
Eventually, Tanamar was forced to kneel, slamming his holy lance

against the dungeon stone, dispelling the attack.
"Oh, no! By the Flame! Tanamar! Oh, nooooo!" Athena rushed

over, panicking, "Are you okay?"
"Y-y... yeah. I'm just... gonna... gonna... sit here," Tanamar's body
slightly lurched forward. Righting himself, he audibly gulped...
before smiling reassuringly. He did not reveal his teeth.
Tycon suspected that the young man had spat out blood due to
internal bruising. He held back, in order to save face... and to
avoid worrying his young mistress.
"Well, that's enough of that," Tycon stood up and began walking

down the stairs. "Mister Tanamar, you're dismissed. Head back
upstairs, if you would."
Quickly nodding, the footman used what was left of his strength to
quickly escape up the stairs.
Athena was left behind, staring at his back in disbelief, "Is he... is
he gonna be okay?"
Tycon smiled politely as he racked his mental capacities,

searching for a plausible excuse, "Perhaps... he was excited for...
evening training? You know how he is."
"But... but he looked--"
"He'll probably be fine," Tycon shrugged.

Chapter 334 Intent To Kill (Part
Two)
ycondrius walked back down the stairs to stand on the same

T
level as the young Athena Vanzano.
"Now, I suppose you've some energy left, young lady."
Athena puffed up her cheeks, nodding hesitantly, "Y-yeah."
Tycon shivered. He did not like the cold, "Again, I'm rather
uncomfortable with the temperature--"
"It's not my fault!!" Athena shouted, aggrieved.
"--nor did I blame you. Please let me finish, young lady..."
"Ehehe... S-sorry, Sir Tycon."
"What say you to a single concentrated attack?" Tycon offered.
"Oh... okay. I can do that," Athena nodded. She allowed herself a

tiny smile, apparently still excited to use her new abilities.
Tycon walked to the center of the room's formation. He noted that

parts of the walls were still frozen, the effects of her powerful ⌈Ice
Beam⌋ spell not yet dissipated. He was planning on using that.
He judged Athena's supercharged mana-charged spells to be at

Second-Circle. As she was, she had power comparable to her
brother at Iron-Rank. After this, she'd fall back to a comfortable
Bronze, but he doubted she'd encounter a bottleneck in the near
future.
Tycon hid one hand behind his back, gesturing for her with his
other hand, "Please, young lady. Attack with your all-- but don't
overexert yourself."
Athena stood up straight, saluting crisply, "Y-yes, Sir!!"
She closed her eyes and pressed her hands together, as if in...
prayer?
White winds swirled around her, causing Tycon's cloak to flutter,

the winds prickling and biting at his skin beneath his clothes.
Her eyes shot open, glowing white with power...
She spoke...
"(Winds of the Frozen North. // Sisters shunned by the light of the

sun.)"
...And she was speaking in the gods-damned language of the

Elementals.
"(The dark side of the moon, hidden by the zealous sky. // Frozen
blood of a hundred thousand sinners...)"
She pointed her arms forward, just as six more arms made of
crystal-clear ice pointed forward... They glowed with an unnatural
light, reminiscent of a Warlock's spell.
Tycon felt his heart ache. He wanted to cry. He should have left.
The power of Athena's oncoming attack Third-Circle, maybe even
Fourth...
"LIGHT OF THE ETERNAL FLAME!!!!" Athena shrieked, her voice

echoing thrice-over. If it was from the walls or from her magic, he
couldn't tell, "SHOW NOT THY MERCY, HERE!!!!!"
Tycon did not like the sound of that. He did not like that, at all.
"⌈IIIIIIIIIIICE!!!! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAMU⌋!!!!"
The entire room turned white as if hit by a snow blizzard while the
sun was shining. As Tycon was engulfed in a concentrated beam
of below-freezing frost mana... he couldn't help but wonder... why
did Athena add the -oo sound at the end of ⌈Ice Beam⌋?
...
Utilizing his boot knife held like an icepick, Tycon hacked away at
the massive ice crystal formation in the center of the room. It took
him several minutes of Gold-Ranked knife stabs, but he was
finally able to free his hand. His boot knife was ruined. And he'd
lost his glove...
His leather gloves were expensive... and as handsome as he was,

he would look foolish if he wore one without the other.
Held within Athena's ice formation (and still held by his glove) was
the Frost Stone. Tycon volunteered himself as the target for a
single concentrated attack, knowing he'd be able to mitigate its
effects by utilizing the cursed relic as a shield.
Athena kept him company, sitting on the stone steps and watching
patiently as Tycon hacked away.
Tycon addressed her, "Miss Athena..."
"Y-yes, Sir Tycon?" She looked guilty... like she knew she was
going to be scolded. But still, he lauded her obedience in not
escaping.
"If I didn't know any better... I'd think you were trying to
permanently encase me in a block of ice..."
"Y-yeah... Eh... hehe..."
Tycon narrowed his eyes, staring until the young woman met his
gaze, "That would have killed me, you know."
"O-oh..." Athena pursed her lips, "I mean... you're really strong,
though?"
Tycon's mouth twitched, "Well... thank you."
Even with the compliment, he remained mildly annoyed.
"I mean... I kinda figured you were immortal," Athena bared her
teeth in a sheepish grin.
Tycon sighed, "Danger aside... everything appears to have

worked out..."
"Are... you immortal, Sir Tycon?" She asked.
Tycon rolled his eyes, "No. I do not believe I am. I would

appreciate you not purposely trying to kill me in the future."
Athena twisted her lips, chuckling softly, "Ehehe... y-yes, Sir..."
...
The Frost Stone remained dangerous. Though its potential was

severely weakened, it still held a simple, but malicious sentience.
For the 'small' price of irrevocably altering a person's mind to
commit Snake Cult atrocities, a host would gain the ability of a
Circle Mage.
A single Circle Mage could be the core of an adventuring team. A

squad of them could turn an even battle into a one-sided
slaughter. If he wished, over the course of a few years, Tycon
could utilize the relic to make an army of evil frost mages, capable
of toppling entire nations. Someone else could... use it to be a
much less threatening nuisance-- but a nuisance, nonetheless.
He wanted to report the relic's existence to Zenon's Church... but

there was a chance they wouldn't try to seal it further. He feared
they'd instead try to harness its powers. Archbishop Natalya
Crucis mentioned there were traitors abound within her
organization. He had seen it himself, having earned a Snake Cult
favor from one of their Inquisitors.
After analyzing Athena's chanted spell with his System, he

confirmed it was indeed cast at Fourth-Circle. Interestingly, it was
not by the virtue of the Frost Stone's Third-Circle nature, nor by
Athena's First-Circle control and her temporary boost to Second-
Circle. The high affinity from the two together, and perhaps the
incantation guided by her instincts broke the Circle barrier.
Athena's ice from her mana barrier was harder than Tyrion steel.
The ice encasing the Frost Stone... no normal human would be
able to break.
That girl... Athena Vanzano... the blood-related sister of Rex

Gladiatores Maximus of Ezyria... just how powerful could she
become?
And how could he use her?

Chapter 335 Second Chance
(Part One)
hile the Frost Stone had lost much of its mana, it still had
W
enough for Tycondrius' purposes. He modified his formation,
directing the stone's mana flow into its prison, effectively sealing it
until its power decayed.
In a few suns, the ice would freeze over the formation lines,
making it nigh-impossible to modify further. Outside of special
circumstances, it would take years (hopefully epochs) to recover
it. Besides discovering its location, it would then take a specialized
team of experts with the proper tools to do so.
By that time, it would no longer be Tycon's problem.
Athena's impromptu ice prison was admittedly a half-measure. It

would be far better to place a proper seal on it... hiring a
Formation Mage to do so. Then he could hire adventurers to seal
it at the bottom of a dungeon with an active Core... or to throw it
into a fiery volcano that linked to the Plane of Fire. Such plans,
however, risked the secret of its location being leaked.
The ice prison would do. It was free.
Still, to be thorough, Tycon sent a coded letter to Archbishop

Crucis. To keep its secrecy, the writing remained vague... but he
hoped to get his point across.
Stars and stones... It seemed that it wasn't uncommon for Sol

Invictus to encounter persons and items capable of destabilizing
the entire Realm. Tycon wasn't a selfless hero. He was just a
snake.
...
Medousa of Silva rolled over onto her side. The bed was so soft
and comfortable. Sweat covered her back... leftover from the
nightmares. She never expected to sleep well-- if only the
nightmares would be more convenient. Still, warm and
comfortable, Doe snuggled deeper into her blanket...
Usually, when she awoke her heart was racing in fear. How
strange... She took a deep breath, nostalgic for a happier time,
surrounded by friends, and not wanting for food or shelter.
The smell of clean linens was so lovely...
...Wait. Clean linens?
Her heart began to race again, just like in the nightmares. Doe
threw off the foreign blankets, a scream caught in her throat.
She was wearing a thin, white linen gown.
Looking at her surroundings, she was in... a small room containing

four beds, medical tools and bandages displayed neatly on a
nearby table. The sun shone glaringly bright through a nearby
window... and everything smelled... clean? An infirmary?
A confused-looking woman in a dark-ponytail approached her,

adjusting her white healer's robe and sitting upon an adjacent bed.
She looked about Doe's age, maybe a little older-- as she had the
barest hint of a crease on her forehead and at the corners of her
mouth.
"You've awoken, Miss," The physician smiled.
Doe's mouth hung open in shock. What was going on? Was she
still dreaming? Why was she being treated so politely?
"I'm so sorry..." She apologized, bowing her head. "I don't have
any money. I'll... I'll leave."
The woman tilted her head, giving a gentle smile, "Coin is not an
issue-- I'd really prefer if you stayed for a while. You were
recovered by a member of the Church and you're quite weak."
A member of the Church?
Doe immediately began piecing together her fragmentary

memories, involuntary tears running down her cheeks. She was
alive. Poor, sweet, Ialtrae was not. But then again, her ex died in
excruciating pain in front of her eyes, so she had that going for
her.
It didn't hurt. Unlike what the physician said, she... didn't feel like
she'd gone without food and water for several suns... She felt like
she could stand and walk around if she wanted to. She also felt
like she could eat a whole cow, though.
"Now, you don't have to answer..." The physician's eyes turned

serious, "--but may I ask your relationship with the Decanus with
golden eyes?"
Doe gulped... That man... The man with the terrifying eyes saved
her from dying cold and alone, rotting in the sewers of Silva...
"He... he's my savior."
The physician released the tension from her shoulders, "Oh, good.
I was slightly worried that he was the one who did this to you."
"Oh! No!" Doe raised her voice... Oops. She was being too loud.
Doe was pretty sure infirmaries were supposed to be quiet... "N-
no. He saved me from... from those people."
The woman nodded in understanding, "I had hoped for as much...

but in my profession, you learn quickly that looks can be
deceiving. Everybody lies."
Doe chuckled to herself derisively, "Y-yeah... I know."
The physician asked Doe a series of questions about her

condition, which she answered obediently. The older woman
admitted she expected Doe's recovery to take well over a week,
maybe two, even while administering Elementary healing potions.
It had only been two suns.
Doe must have received First-Circle healing... maybe even
stronger. She had never received such an expensive gift without
having to give up something in return.
...But... why? Doe couldn't hope to repay the Decanus for his
kindness. She had no possessions and no money. Even with her
usual pay, she would barely be able to afford a shite inn room,
much less a stay in an infirmary-- not including the cost of
recovery medicine.
The only thing relatively nice that Doe had was her body. But... he
didn't even reveal his identity when asked.
"Do... do you know who saved me? His name?"
"Unfortunately, I do not," The physician shook her head. "But he

does come often enough."
"Did he come to visit me?" Doe asked, her heart suddenly racing.
"That..." The woman smiled sadly, "He did not."
Doe nodded... suddenly embarrassed. Why did she ask such a

stupid question? Of course, the Decanus wouldn't visit her... They
were complete strangers.
"I... I have to go," Doe tried to get out of her bed. "Where are my
clothes?"
The physician held Doe's hand to stop her, "We've cleaned the
cloak the Decanus brought you in... but if you won't stay... I'd like
to feed you a proper meal before I let you go."
Doe grimaced. The woman's kindness made her want to cry

again, "But..."
"Free of cost," The kind physician prodded.
Tears again welled up at the corners of Doe's eyes. She nodded

her head, "Th... thank you... Thank you..."
(Part Two)
edousa stumbled out of the infirmary... It took her several

M
minutes to get her body limber enough to walk normally.
Maybe she should have taken the physician's advice. Who was
she to question someone who probably went to a school for their
profession? She was an idiot. By the Flame. Doe was an idiot.
People on the streets stared at her.
Was it because of her stupid walk? Or was it because they knew

she was naked underneath her ratty cloak? Were they looks of
pity? Or were they out of disgust?
She knew she wasn't supposed to care about what people

thought. Even still, the burning stares caused her face to redden
and made her limp just a little bit faster.
She had to take several breaks from walking, sitting on benches

or taking a knee when she needed to. It wasn't particularly warm
outside, but she was sweating from just how tiresome it was to
walk. Bits of her brown hair stuck to her forehead, painting her ten
more deep shades of gross and homeless.
Maybe she should have asked the physician for a hair tie. That girl
wore a ponytail. Ponytail girls always have extra hair ties... But
no... the kind woman had already gone above and beyond her
duty. Asking for even one more thing would have broken Doe's
heart.
After over a bell of walking, Doe's legs ached terribly. She wanted
nothing more than to collapse on the cool roadstones. But her
goal was right there-- the golden gates of House Vanzano.
Just a few moments more...
She limped through the gates, onto the overgrown grass, resisting
every urge she had to collapse and fall asleep.
There he was... he stood amongst several other people in the

courtyard, amongst... what looked like... traveling packs?
A green-haired man with golden eyes shined through the crowd in

his silver armor. He was a man in military uniform, untouchable...
at an unreachable standard. At the time she didn't realize just how
attractive the Decanus was... a literal Tyrion hero, so brave... and
so strong.
And young... so incredibly young.
Also, really rude... but... honest. He hadn't lied to her... he didn't

string her around. That made him a thousand times better than
any man she had ever met. At Doe's darkest point, it was the
Decanus who offered her a second chance at life. She wanted to
repay that debt... no matter what it took.
She also wanted to grab him and cry into his chest for a bell or
two... but that would be awkward. He didn't even know her.
...Why the hells was she here? He didn't even know her!?
Her feet just... took her to this place. All that time and she didn't
even think about what she would do when she arrived! By the
Flame, how are you this stupid, Doe?!
...But she had nowhere else to go. She could go back to Madame
Virgil's... but... she didn't want to work in the brothels, anymore.
And with her body the way it was... it really wasn't an option.
Five sets of backpacks and supplies were set out in front of the
Vanzano manor. The Decanus was holding a piece of parchment,
talking to a taller man with a mustache. She didn't recognize that
person.
Doe did recognize Lady Athena Vanzano, the baby-faced, blue-
haired daughter of Lord Greer. And there were two more people
who she'd seen before-- Vanzano manservants.
"Everything appears to be in order," The Decanus nodded

solemnly.
"That's a relief," The taller man smiled. "I know we checked the
night before, but sometimes... things just go missing."
The Decanus narrowed his eyes, looking upward, "I am familiar

with the phenomenon. It is the reason why I am checking your
gear and you are checking mine."
"Sir Tycon!" Athena called out, "THIS RECRUIT is ready for

inspection!"
The Decanus sighed and shook his head as he approached the

young Vanzano mistress, "Please do not call yourself that. It's
demeaning and I only associate myself with professionals."
"Ehehe... Sorry, Sir." She chuckled. Looking over to a silver-haired

youth, she whispered, "I'm a professional."
So the Decanus' name was Tychon... It wasn't a common name,

but it was distinctly Tyrion. Like her proper name, Medousa, it was
derived from the Ancient Language.
Maybe she was saved by that coincidence... The Eternal Flame

granted her a miracle.
"Um, Sir Tycon?" Athena tilted her head.
"Yes, young lady?"
Doe felt her heart tighten. Sir Tychon had called her the same
exact way. Was she jealous? Of a teenage girl? Ughhhh. Why had
she come heeeeere?!
The young Mistress looked over to Doe.

Oh, no... What was going to happen? Was she going to be chased
away? She barely had any strength left... If Athena had her
servants chase her away, she was going to get beaten...
The young Mistress... she smiled. It wasn't a sneer or... a

malicious smirk. It looked like... an actual smile?
"Is that one of your friends?" Athena asked.
Sir Tychon glanced over. Doe felt her heart begin to pound. She
was going to faint.
"She looks like a vagrant," A rude looking blonde man interjected.

"Shall I escort her off the property? Lady Athena? Sir Tycon?"
"Unnecessary," Tychon returned his gaze to his paper. "Miss

Athena, your gear is accounted for... save your rations?"
"I've got them," The silver-haired footman answered for his

mistress. He had the most... unfriendliest eyes. There was a
Vanzano footman that chased away House Galanis' collectors
before... and Doe had a feeling it was him.
"Mister Tanamar, treat this as training." Tychon firmly insisted,

"The young lady will have no issues carrying a few additional
librae. Return them to her."
Doe frowned. She was being ignored. She thought she heard
something crack-- was it her heart breaking? All of her willpower,
all of her courage drained out of her body at once, and she only
felt cold and numb. She hadn't even tried to speak to Sir Tychon...
but it wasn't worth it. There was nothing for her in House Vanzano.
She plopped to the ground in her tiredness. She wanted to cry.
...The tears flowed forever when she was in the dungeons. But
right when she wanted them back, they were nowhere to be
found. She chuckled to herself. Doe... poor, foolish Doe. Why had
she chosen life? Was that what she really wanted?
(Part Three)
" Sir Tycon," Athena glared, pointing angrily at the girl in the
tattered cloak. "What is your relationship with that person?"
Tycondrius raised an eyebrow, "I met the young lady a few

evenings ago, naked in a dungeon. Why do you ask?"
Without warning, Tycon received several harsh slaps of a

sheathed sword.
"By the Flame!" Athena screamed, "How can you ignore her?!"
"Miss Athena..." Tycon used his left forearm to block the girl's
simple attacks. They stung, though.
"Go TALK TO HER!!" The young lady was furious.
...Tycon grimaced, "But why?"
"Seven HECKS! Just go! Go or you're fired!!"
"...I don't... I don't actually work for you, young lady. You can't fire
me."
"Then I'll get Mister Zenon to fire you!!" Athena growled.
"I won't dismiss my Optio unless I know the full story." The
Librarian shrugged... "But you're lookin' kinda like a scumbag right
now, Tycon-- no offense."
Tycon furrowed his brows. What did he do?

"There is no point in speaking with the young lady. Be serious, you
two. We're in the middle of a gear inspection."
"Just... just go! Do it! Or I'll be really mad!" Athena puffed up her
cheeks like a petulant child.
She was already mad. This was the extent of the young lady
being mad. No. He didn't want to go. He wanted to finish the
inspection.
"Duty above all else." Zenon gave a half-hearted smile, "I'll finish
checking the gear, Optio."
Tycon watched as his beloved inspection sheet was snatched

away from him. He enjoyed doing inventory... and he had lost that
privilege.
"Very well," Tycon sighed. "Please be thorough, Centurion."
He was going to be very upset when one or two of the children

reported missing supplies.
"Of course."
Taking a deep breath, Tycon walked over to where a miserable-

looking young lady had sat upon the grass. Her shapely legs were
revealed beneath her cloak-- appearing slightly alluring. Had she
been able to recover proper clothing within the past few suns... or
was that all she was wearing?
"Good afternoon, Miss Doe," Tycon greeted her.
Doe's eyes widened as she looked up in surprise, "Y-you

remember me?"
...He did... slightly. The young lady was of no importance, so he

hadn't thought much of her. Thankfully, his System always did an
excellent job at informing him of various persons he'd met
previously.
⟬ Medousa, Bronze-Rank Human Expert. ⟭

"Yes. I was curious as to your arrival. When first we met, I tried to
kill you." Tycon smirked, "Are you so willing to waste the life I had
gone out of my way to save?"
Admittedly, it hadn't taken much effort to save the young lady. He

had taken maybe a bell's worth of effort and spent a single gold
coin. After fleecing some stolen trinkets and valuables from House
Galanis, he had the benefit of disposable funds.
"I... I wanted to pay you back," Doe muttered. She shifted

uneasily, revealing more of her scarred legs.
Tycon rolled his eyes, not particularly caring to hide his emotions,
"Not necessary. Concerning my current quest, I've no use for you.
You can go back and live your life as you please."
She knelt and bowed her head, "I... I'll do anything you want. I can
fight..."
"Tss. You?" Tycon scoffed, shaking his head, "The five of us will
be venturing to the Icingdeath Mountains. While I appreciate your
enthusiasm, with your level, you'd only be a hindrance."
Expert was not a combat class. That she would volunteer herself
for such a job was absurd, regardless of where Sol Invictus was
going.
She pointed past him, angrily, "And why is he going with you,
then?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes, following her finger, "Victorius? He's a...
porter."
It was a good question... Why was he coming along?
"I can... I can carry your things for you," Doe offered.
Why was this young lady being so stubborn? Tycon grimaced,

refusing her again, "Carry things? You're clearly fatigued just from
your travel here. Your pupils are dilated and your body is literally
shaking. I trust you as much to carry gear as much as I trust you
can walk five paces."
He took in a breath through his nostrils, exhaling slowly, "Rest for

a while. Go back, afterward. I insist."
"Sir Tycon... Please," The girl begged, bowing her head near his
boots. "I can... I can warm your bed."
Frustration tinged Tycon's voice, "Raise your head."
The last woman who offered her body to him, he had killed
immediately after. It was something he did not regret.
The young Medousa was physically attractive. The scars on her

body he was privy to, while considered a social flaw by human
culture, he didn't care for, at all. Once she recovered, her body
would be in good condition for such physical endeavors.
That she was offering herself without a strong relationship

seemed to be... a social faux pas. When the young lady raised her
head, he looked into her eyes.
Within them, he saw fear, uncertainty, desperation...
...and not an onze of self-respect.
"I will not share a bed with someone who does not respect her
own body," Tycon declared with finality.
The young lady's jaw hung open and she gawked in disbelief,
"Wh... what?"
Tycon sighed. The girl was lost... confused. He likened her actions
to that of a child, promising whatever she could, without thinking
of the consequences.
Kneeling down, he patted Doe on the head, "There was no selfish

motive in saving you, young Guardian. You owe me nothing...
"But if you need guidance... get off your feet, work towards a goal,
seek to support yourself honorably. And I prefer if you did not
need saving again..." Tycon chuckled, "Hah... You only get one."
The young lady's eyes had glazed over. Small tears ran down the
sides of her face and her lips were quivering. He was trying to be
inspirational... he hoped those were 'inspired' tears.
Tycon poked the center of Doe's eyebrows, "Do you understand

me, young lady?"
Clarity returned to her eyes, "Y... yeah. Th... thank you, Sir Tycon."
Tycon offered a smile that he did not need to fake, "Good."

Chapter 338 Revisiting The
Past
xhausted, Doe let her feet take her to the only other place she
E
thought to go. Her bare feet torn and filthy, and feeling like she
was half-dead again, she stumbled through the back door of
Madame Virgil's Massage Parlor.
"By the Flame, is that Doe?"
"Doe, what happened to you? Oh no! Are you hurt?"
As soon as Doe half-collapsed onto a couch, five of the girls

surrounded her, various levels of worry on their faces. The girls
were always the sweetest. After Doe left the Massage Parlor to
work for House Galanis, she was no longer considered
competition. That was the only reason they could pretend that
they cared as much as they did.
Kleio split her way through the crowd, her make-up half done, her
damp hair wrapped with a towel, "Finally back, b*tch? Seven
hellllllls, you look like shite, girl."
Oh, Kleio... she was the most beautiful whore in all of Silva. Doe
never understood how she wanted to claw her eyes out but at the
same time confide in her all of her deepest secrets.
Doe gave a tired smile, trying her best not to cry, "Shut up, Queen
B*tch, haha... I've had... I've had a really... really rough sun."
Kleio smirked, "Welcome back, Little Doe."
Even if they were lies, Doe had missed the warmth of someone--
anyone, pretending to give a shite about her. She failed at not
crying. She was definitely crying, "Is... is Madame Virgil in?"
"Hally is getting her now!" One of the girls said, "We heard about
what happened to House Galanis..."
"What... what happened?" Doe asked, "I... I got sick. And I haven't
been around for awhile."
"Mister Galanis got himself strung up in the Market Square, just a

sun ago," Kleio licked her teeth, before sitting down next to Doe.
"You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?
Weren't you f*cking one of their leaders?"
A powerful falsetto voice reverberated through the room, "Now,

now, girls. Give Little Doe some space."
Obediently, the girls made way for Madame Virgil to saunter into
the sweltering back room... with the exception of Kleio. Kleio
draped her arms over Doe possessively.
Virgil swept back the hair of her gorgeous wig of blonde curls,
while adjusting her backless, strapless red dress, "You too, little
Queen."
"I don't wanna~" Kleio complained. Still, she planted a sloppy

lipsticked kiss on Doe's cheek before standing up, "I missed you,
b*tch."
"Y-yeah... I missed you too," Doe admitted between her sniffles.
Madame Virgil was the sweetest slavedriver Doe knew. Before

she had met Sir Tychon, she didn't think any man in Silva was
worth her trust. But even though Madame Virgil was born male,
she didn't count as one... for somewhat obvious reasons.
"The underground is in an uproar," Virgil sang in her deep, sultry

voice. "But Madame Virgil's Massage Parlor still offers its services
to those who have the coin...
"If you want to come back..." Her expression changed to a

motherly worry, "By the Flame, Little Doe... It looks like we'll have
to feed you for a week or two before you're plump enough to work
again."
Doe wiped at her eyes, smiling... sobbing, "Th-thank you,
Madame Virgil... But no... I'm..."
"There, there..." Virgil snatched up a clean cloth and dabbed at

Doe's eyes, "Mama Bird is here. All my girls are welcome, back in
the nest... What can we do for you?"
Doe sniffled, leaping forward to embrace her former employer...

Everything was going to be okay. This was her second chance to
live how she wanted.
"I... I want to be a maid for a noble house. Can... can you teach
me?"
...
⟬ An unknown amount of years prior. ⟭
"Ehehe..." Athena giggled, "This is the farthest I've ever been

away from the house."
She was looking over a large rock formation at its lowest point...
standing atop the shoulders of her newest servant, Tanamar. He
was a lot nicer and friendlier than the other servants. He didn't
even complain when she told him to boost her up.
Athena didn't think he'd do it. She felt kinda bad. But she really did
want to see over the rocky outcropping.
"Wh-whoa!" Suddenly, she lost her balance. With the fall, she
found herself plopped down atop Tanamar's back as he exhaled
painfully, "Oh! I'm sorry, Tanamar!"
Quickly getting off, she knelt down by him and swept her light blue
hair out of her eyes, "Oh, no~ By the Flame, are you okay??"
"Yeah," The silver-haired boy groaned. "I'm fine."
"Oh, I'm so glad," Athena breathed a sigh of relief, fanning her

flushed face.
He sat up, rubbing his lower back, "Why are you here, again?"
"I wanted to see what kinda training Uncle gave you!" Athena
beamed, "Also, I have a responsibility to protect my friends!"
"...Shouldn't it be the other way around?" Tanamar shook his

head, "Well, that's fine, I guess. You have to listen to my
directions, though."
"Ehehe. 'Kay!!"
Tanamar was always super nice about everything. She had asked
properly before she decided to tag along on her own. Uncle said it
was really dangerous in the hills, but Tanamar was about her age.
How could it be dangerous?
"What did you see? Athena?"
Tanamar never called her mistress. It was nice. Since they'd first
met, she never treated him like a servant. He was her friend! An
awesome friend that let her stand on him if she wanted to!
"No enemies! We're safe!" Athena grinned. She found herself

smiling often when she was around him. She loved that feeling.
Tanamar stood, gazing up the steep rock... Was he going to climb

up? There weren't any handholds?
"⌈Aspect of the Winged Seraphim,⌋" He whispered... really quiet,

so Athena could barely hear him.
It was like Tanamar sprouted wings. He ran up the rocks, grabbing

the jagged top with one arm. He pulled himself up to observe
beyond it... before sliding back down.
"Wow," Athena said in a hushed voice. "You're really cool,

Tanamar."
"Why are you whispering?"
Athena tilted her head, "Because the enemies might hear us?"
Tanamar narrowed his eyes, "Well... you can stop. I can hear you
just fine if you talk normally."
"Then why were you whispering?" Athena pouted.
Tanamar's mouth twitched and he grew quiet. He was so cute

when he was confused! Athena didn't even care about the answer
anymore, grinning wide, "Where are we going next?"
The white-haired footman held out his hand, a glowing rod of light
appearing like a divine weapon gifted by the Eternal Flame itself,
"I saw an enemy. It's hidden, but it's there."
Chapter 339 Breaking The Ice
(Part One)
⟬ Present sun. ⟭
Tycondrius observed Athena Vanzano's gait as she hiked near the

front of the group's column. She was more than happy to recall
memories of herself and Tanamar.
Normally, he'd be perfectly pleased to listen to idle chat. Mindless

stories helped to pass the time. While they were technically in
hostile territory, the wildlife seemed to be keeping to themselves.
He and Tanamar both remained especially vigilant of their
surroundings, so the likelihood of being caught unaware was low.
However, journeying towards the dungeon in the Icingdeath

Mountains, they began to slowly ascend. The higher they went...
the lower the temperature became.
The lower the temperature became, the keener his scrutiny

became.
He could only wear so many layers of clothing without impeding

his movement...
With Athena's enthusiasm, she marched ahead without issue. Her

'natural' gait became one where she kicked her boots out in front
of her like a toy soldier.
The young lady was wearing armor. Her pack was weighted with
adventuring equipment, extra clothing, full canteens of water, and
rations. Furthermore, their group was steadily marching uphill, the
air growing noticeably thinner as they ascended.
She was having a suspiciously easy time.

For Athena to still have so much energy, Tycon surmised that
Tanamar-- yet again... may have taken weight out of her pack
when unobserved. The young noble may have recently ranked up
to Bronze, but that would not improve her stamina dramatically.
Zenon was carrying additional weight in gear and weaponry, but

he'd left his heavy Church armor behind, so was actually carrying
less weight. Even considering Zenon's pack balanced differently,
Athena was not as strong of a hiker as Zenon. Something was
amiss.
Tycon had packed an additional set of chainmail. Once their group

took a break, he was planning to have Tanamar carry it as
punishment.
"And that's when Tanamar swore to protect me, forevermore!"

Athena exclaimed.
Tycon pursed his lips in thought. The story seemed to end...

abruptly, "I have questions... several of them."
"To answer one," Tanamar huffed. "Athena left out the part where
like-- five giant centipedes started chasing her."
"That-- that's not important!"Athena's yelped.
"Well, you made it sound like I didn't have any reason to protect
you," Tanamar shook his head.
"Y-you don't need a reason!" Athena argued.
"There were five pretty good reasons at the time," Tanamar

shrugged.
"Hmph. Don't listen to him, Sir Tycon!" Athena puffed up her

cheeks.
Tycon kept his face impassive to hide his confusion. What did that
mean? Was she suggesting Tanamar's oath of protection was not
serious? No... Was he supposed to doubt the existence of several
giant centipedes that chased the two of them in the past?
He was fairly doubtful of five. One or two sounded more realistic...
though even one was capable of eviscerating two human
teenagers.
"Where were you?" Tycon asked Victorius. He wasn't trying to be

rude-- he was sincerely curious. A young lady going missing
seemed like a major event.
The blonde footman grimaced, "I was training with Tancred, at the
time. The whole manor was in an--"
"Optio!" Zenon called out.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, holding a hand signal up for a group

halt. He would hear the counsel of the elevated one, before they
were to continue.
The Centurion shut his eyes, listening to the chilly mountainous

wind, "There's a battle ahead. People shouting-- shouldn't be
more than a dozen."
Tycon nodded, "Drop packs. Grab your weapons. Let's move."
...
The moisture within the grass underfoot had frozen, crisping as

the five of the Athena Team hurried forward. Tycon observed a
group in the distance fighting against a swarm of round, rock-like,
many-legged creatures, each waist-high. Five armed and armored
men and women were heroically defending themselves against a
herd of them.
« System, analysis: The strength of those creatures. »
⟬ System response: Bronze-Rank magical beasts. ⟭
Tycon grimaced. There were two issues. The first was that while
his System could accurately assess the creatures' strengths-- all
of them Bronze-Rank, he had no idea of what the creatures were
or their abilities.
The second was that five Bronze-Rankers were fighting against
twice their number of similarly-ranked beasts.
The humans were going to die.
Footman Tanamar of Vanzano slowed, shutting his eyes.
It was a precarious situation for the humans... but the young

footman's actions were so extraordinary that it gave Tycon pause.
The white-haired Holy Lancer opened his eyes, looking over to the
patient Tycon, "Nearly two dozen Rock Creatures. Blood's acidic.
We have to take care of them before the--"
A loud roar interrupted Tanamar's analysis, causing the team to

look over at once. A 9-fulm tall, rock-skinned humanoid had
emerged from a nearby open cave. In its hands was a dead tree,
torn from its roots.
Tycon increased his pace to a run. He could intercept it before it

reached the besieged humans. Interestingly, Tanamar caught up
quickly, keeping the pace effortlessly.
"It's more efficient if we fight the little ones, first," Tanamar warned.
"Then it'll be safer to engage the boss."
Tycon kept his eyes forward as he ran, "Sound plan. The larger
one will inflict heavy casualties if left alone. Be efficient? Save
lives? Choose now."
"Tch. I'll engage first," Tanamar growled. "⌈Seraphim.⌋"
Tanamar dashed forward, the burst of speed Tycon had never

before seen during training. The footman's feet barely touched the
ground, as if he'd had invisible wings. A movement technique?
Stars and stones, that man did not like revealing his abilities... Or
perhaps he knew that revealing such a skill would only result in
his training growing harsher.
"Zenon! Athena!" Tycon yelled, "Support the Bronze-Rankers!"

"Yes, Sir!!" Athena yelled. With a hand on her rapier sheath, she
began to sprint towards the other group.
Zenon ran after her wearing his flowing white cloth robes, "Shout if
you need support spells, Optio!"
Tycon ran towards where Tanamar had stopped.
The footman was charging mana into a wooden longbow, likely to

keep it protected from the cold. He swiped his opposite hand
forward, snatching two mana-created arrows that far better
resembled Tyrion pila.
...Tanamar could shoot his holy lances with a longbow. How much
more had Tanamar held back during training?
Chapter 340 Breaking The Ice
(Part Two)
ycondrius continued to run towards the 9-fulm tall humanoid,

T
running to the left to give a wider berth to Tanamar's line-of-attack.
The Holy Lancer was right-handed and the wind was weak. If the
arrow was to drift away, basic knowledge dictated it was more
likely to veer right.
"⌈Double Strafe,⌋" Tanamar utilized another skill, firing two of his

enlarged arrows nearly simultaneously at the creature's chest.
The two spears of light struck the goliath's chest, forcing it to

stagger back a half-step. Unfortunately, it began to lumber
towards the two of them, as if barely inconvenienced.
⟬ Gold-Rank Magical Beast. ⟭
Mundane Gold-Rank creatures could be defeated easily enough

by the Tycon-Tanamar duo. He was glad he gently suggested that
they engage with it. Bronze-Rank humans would be felled by any
of the monster's attacks.
His System classified the tall human-like creature as a magical

beast... notably not a humanoid, nor a monster. Like the other
beasts, his System also offered no suggestion to the creature's
name or its abilities.
Tycon recalled that, according to earlier calculations, they were

quite close to the Icingdeath Dungeon. The creature may have
been created and cultivated by the Dungeon Core...
If so, Team Athena was within the dungeon's zone of influence...

or even already within the dungeon-proper. Worse still, it meant
that they would only encounter stranger and more fantastical
creatures as they progressed.
He would act on this assumption. If the creature was sentient, its

loyalty would first be to the Dungeon Core or whatever forces
allied to it. Thus, it was safe to act with extreme prejudice, aiming
to kill.
Moving within range of the creature, Tycon grabbed his Dynamic

Weapon off of his lower back. Allowing it to segment itself into a
whip of metal fragments held together by mana, he lashed it
forward, wrapping it around the goliath's right ankle. With a sharp
pull, the blade wrought havoc on the creature's stone-colored
flesh.
Tycon grimaced, watching the creature continue to lumber

forward. His attack had drawn blood and according to its anatomy,
it should have been crippled.
"It has a healing factor!" Tycon yelled as he threw himself out of

the way, retreating to a safe distance. The goliath's weaponized
tree slammed down into the mountain dirt, scattering rocks and
dust onto Tycon's cloak and hair.
He sighed inwardly. Because he was perspiring, the dirt stuck...

increasing his level of discomfort and annoyance both.
Even if the rotten beast was sentient, he would choose to murder

it.
Footman Victorius had caught up with Tycon, stopping and

bending over to catch his breath. Though the former archer wasn't
a combatant, it was smart that he'd followed. Being left alone in
the dungeon's zone of influence was an effective way to get killed.
"F-frost troll!" Victorius squealed between breaths, "It has to be!

It'll regenerate unless we have fire!!"
Tycon got to his feet, groaning to himself. He raised his voice loud
enough for Victorius to hear in the distance, "That information
does nothing to help us!"
Their team did not have access to fire-based spells or attacks.
Perhaps if they had a torch, they could cauterize the creature's
wounds-- but a hostile frost troll would not be so obedient.
Tanamar dropped his longbow and began to charge towards the

creature, holy lance in hand.
"Y-you don't understand!" Victorius yelled. "It doesn't matter how

much we attack it! You won't be able to kill it!"
Tycon rolled his eyes, glaring at the young blonde, "Seven hells,
where did you get that information?"
Meanwhile, Tanamar sidestepped the troll's weapon slam and

ducked his head to barely avoid a heavy claw swipe. In a flurry of
spear stabs, he stuck the creature's chest half-a-dozen times.
It was at a speed Tycon was familiar with. He felt relieved that the
young man at least hadn't held back during weapons training.
Tycon left the indignant Victorius behind, circling behind the troll
and snapping his fingers.
With the burst of mana, Tanamar's eyes began to glow and he

attacked with an arrogant fervor. A spear slam cracked the troll's
ribs and a deep stab pierced the roaring creature's eye and partly
into its brain.
"GRAHHHRRRHHH!!!!" The creature held its bleeding eye,

stumbling backward. The way it roared, the seemingly lethal
attack was not enough to kill it.
It was good timing from Tanamar, though.
"⌈Shadowfang Strike.⌋" Concentrating a burst of mana into his

legs, Tycon sped his movement to close the gap. He lashed his
razor whip up, catching the troll's neck, pulling and simultaneously
launching a Gold-Ranked kick into the side of the creature's ankle.
Unable to catch itself, it crashed onto its side.
"Right arm!" Tycon yelled.
Tanamar stabbed his holy lance into the fallen troll's weapon-wrist.
It shrieked in pain, clutching at its wrist with its opposite hand.
Beautiful. Tycon quite enjoyed working with competent

teammates. The two had not practiced such teamwork
maneuvers, but Tanamar naturally understood exactly what
needed to be done.
Drawing his Decanus sword, Tycon held it high above his head,
"ZENON!!!"
"Cut down the enemies of mankind, ⌈Wind Blade⌋." Though Zenon

stood several dozen yalms away, his voice echoed crisp and clear,
carried by the winds.
Tycon's ⌈Legionbreaker⌋ skill could cut cleanly through human

armor. For this particular case, Zenon's ripping and tearing ⌈Wind
Blade⌋ skill would prove more effective against the troll's mana-
infused, regenerating flesh.
With a heavy hack, Tycon's blade bit into the troll's neck.
Releasing his whip, he continued to apply pressure with his
sword, allowing the spinning wind-enchantment to cut deeper and
deeper. Eventually, he relieved the Gold-Ranked Frost Troll of its
head.
Tanamar kicked the troll's body so it laid on its back. With its head
separated from its body, it had stopped regenerating.
The two looked over to the others. With Zenon's spells affecting
multiple enemies at a time, the round, rocky creatures were
beginning to scuttle away in retreat. It also appeared there were
no additional casualties from the humans they saved.
Footman Tanamar faced Tycon and scowled, "I did most of the
work."
Tycon raised an eyebrow. That was rather obvious, "Yes, you did.
You also pinned both of its arms to ensure my safety. Expertly
done on both accounts."
Tanamar paused before rubbing the back of his head, "Y-yeah.

Thanks."
Chapter 341 Good People
ycondrius and Holy Lancer Athanasius Mors walked towards the

T
others. Team Athena's timely assistance had ensured the survival
of all five of the standing adventurers they encountered. It seemed
that they stood to fight because half of their party were injured and
in no state to withdraw. Centurion Zenon currently assisted with
the triage of the wounded.
A crestfallen Athena Vanzano gingerly approached the duo, her

steps lacking of her usual... energy. Besides the young lady's
expression, it was quite obvious that the blue-haired young lady
was missing her family-crested armor.
Saluting crisply with her rapier, Athena reported, "Tanamar! Sir

Tycon! We have defeated the enemy without additional
casualties!"
"Well done. At ease." Tycon returned the salute... before slowly

crossing his arms and waiting for further details.
While Athena was unaffected by a cold due to her Yin Body there
was a certain impropriety of the noble traipsing around in only a
tunic. Further, it was worrisome that her clothing was marked with
a series of holes.
Tanamar shared an uneasy look with Tycon before addressing his

mistress, "Athena, you okay?"
"Y-yeah." Athena nodded, "It was really hard, but we managed to

win with Mister Zenon's help."
"Ahem..." Tycon cleared his throat, "Young lady, where is... your
armor?"
Athena frowned for a half-second, "It's more important to save a
life than to worry about the cost of my armor."
Tycon felt his mouth twitch. Both were important. Was she
implying there was a situation where she had to choose between
them?
One of the five adventurers was hurrying over, ragged from battle,
and with a blooded bandage wrapped around his head.
...With such a head injury, he should not have been running as he

was.
"Lady Athena!" The man yelled, "By the Flame, are you alright?
You ran off without being treated."
The dark-blue-haired armored fellow rested his hands on his

knees, catching his breath. Tanamar stood by his side and
steadied the man, so he wouldn't fall.
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "A friend of yours, Tanamar?"
"Sir Tycon, this is Karodin of Emberhold." Tanamar revealed a

light smile, "He's good people."
⟬ Karodin, Bronze-Rank Human Legionnaire. ⟭
Barring the grammatical butchery that Tanamar used, Tycon kept

a mental note on the fellow. If the Holy Lancer trusted Karodin, so
would he.
"Mister Karodin, might I ask the reason to your urgency?"
Karodin stood up and bared his teeth in a grimace, "Lady Athena

saved my life. She took a direct hit from one of the Stone Frogs'
acid blood!"
Athena laughed derisively at her misfortune, staring down at the

cold dirt, "It's fine, Mister Karodin. I'm fine."
He turned to Athena, "But milady! Your armor! And... and you

should really be checked by one of the healers!"
Athena frowned, "I really don't want to inconvenience them.
Almost half of your team have worse injuries, Mister Karodin."
Tycon and Tanamar shared another tacit gaze.
Tanamar nodded, "I'll take care of it."
"Please do," Tycon gestured.
Grabbing onto Athena's arm, the young footman dragged her over
to be checked by the healer in Karodin's group, "Traitor!!"
Tycon and Karodin exchanged pleasantries-- with the latter

apologizing profusely for allowing harm to befall Athena. Why
Karodin thought that Tycon, a person relatively unknown to him,
was appropriate to receive a list of personal-failings was beyond
him.
The reason Sol Invictus had traveled to the Icingdeath Mountains

was for a collaborative effort with the Brazen Guard, the largest
adventuring company from the Tyrion territory of Kasydon.
Tycon intimately understood that the Gold-Ranked guild was

going to grow in popularity in Ezyria. It was becoming common
knowledge that the Gold-Ranked Ezyrian guild, the Rhodoks, had
yet to return from their last quest.
Only Tycon knew that the Rhodoks were hunted down and killed...
as well as a number of stubborn horses and beasts of burden that
refused to join Isidor's faction.
The Brazen Guard was initially an amalgamation of two large

guilds that had often worked together, the Old Guard and the
Brazen Souls. Because of their history, it was common for them to
consolidate their ranks with adventurers from smaller companies.
With greater numbers, they were able to challenge and complete
more dangerous quests.
This particular excursion was to curb the monsters in the

predictably named Icingdeath Dungeon, recovering the Dungeon
Core, if possible.
To that end, Tycon and Zenon would be acting as interim
members of the company Tanamar and Athena claimed
membership to, the Stormbrands. Athena, Tanamar, and even
Zenon would gain combat experience. Tycon could oversee their
growth and keep them alive if he needed to intervene.
Legionnaire Karodin belonged to one of the Brazen Guard's

Bronze-Rank teams. He was both surprisingly humble and
receptive to Tycon's inquiries. Adventurers, especially those of
large, powerful guilds, commonly had insufferable egos. That the
first Tycon had met was so agreeable made him look forward to
the immediate future.
Tycon hoped to work in a team of men and women peaceably. If

all of the Stormbrands were as polite as Karodin of Emberhold,
Tycon decided that he might enjoy himself... even despite the
cold.
...
With the help of Victorius (and Karodin, going above and beyond
to be helpful), Tycon removed his Decanus armor, lending it to
Athena. That his armor sized well to a teenage girl forced him into
a deep state of uncomfortable introspection. Was the coincidence
a result of marvelous Tyrion engineering or... something else?
Tycon did not mind downgrading to a sleeved suit of chainmail. He

soon came to prefer it, realizing that it kept him warmer than the
cool military breastplate that failed to cover his arms. After again
wearing his unnecessarily stylish dark cloak, Tycon felt relieved
that his body temperature began to steadily return to acceptable
levels.
After meeting up with Centurion Zenon, Tycon requested of

Karodin of Emberhold to introduce the two of them to the Brazen
Guard guild leader, Bannok of Kasydon.
While seemingly unnecessary, it was socially polite to do so. In the

future, it might even prove advantageous to have forged
connections.
Unlike Tycon's previous Gold-Rank guild, he wanted this one to be
successful.
Chapter 342 Brotherhood
he Brazen Guard war camp was in good spirits. Nostalgia filled

T
Tycondrius' heart from again being amongst military-minded
peoples. Tents were set up, adventurers lazed about, napping,
eating, performing gear maintenance, and playing card games to
pass the time.
Karodin insisted on hurrying. Tycon continually reassured the

fellow that there was no purpose in doing so. Team Athena had
arrived two bells before the agreed-upon time.
As Zenon was not specifically crusading for the Church, he had

eschewed both his title and his Centurion armor. Instead, he wore
white cloth robes, supplemented by his own set of recently
purchased chain mail.
The Centurion had insisted also on undergoing a shave and

haircut before departing. Tycon respected the tall man's diligence
and professionalism. Because of it, he listened patiently to
Zenon's complaints about how cold his face and head felt.
Shared misery brings about camaraderie.
Entering the command tent, Tycon observed the only human

present, a bald but bearded Tyrion veteran seated at a table and
examining a map.
Deep lines were carved onto Guild Leader Bannok's face from
age and scars, both. He wasn't particularly attractive, neither old
nor young. He didn't look unreasonably muscular underneath his
dark armor-- nor was he fat. He had the advantage of a few
inches of height on Tycon but was nowhere near Zenon's
elevation.
With nothing particularly standing out about the human, Tycon
would have struggled to identify him in a crowd. Thankfully, he
had his System to constantly remind him of anyone he'd
encountered.
"Hey! Karodin!" Bannok stood and approached them, wearing an

easygoing smile that radiated supreme confidence, "You look like
an ogre ate you and shite you out. You gonna be alright or am I
gonna have to call Ari to fix you up with a heal?"
⟬ Bannok, Gold-Rank Human Weaponmaster. ⟭
Bannok was a confident leader of hundreds of men who spoke

affably and expressed concern for a Bronze-Ranker. Name and
reputation aside, just that small interaction was enough to win
Tycon's respect.
Karodin apologized for his clumsiness in combat and reported the

patrolling incident. He waxed... somewhat poetically at the
timeliness of Team Athena's intervention... though Tycon found it
odd how he was referred to them as such, instead of as the
Stormbrands they were supposed to be.
At Bannok's insistence, Karodin was to leave to seek out a

secondary check-up from the Brazen Guard lead healer,
apparently a woman named 'Ari.' Before he left, he introduced
Tycon and Zenon, as well as their respective classes, Iron-Rank
Tactician and Librarian.
"Oh, yeah? Good shite, fella's." Bannok nodded. He clasped

wrists and shook, first with Tycon, then with Zenon, a professional
Tyrion greeting, "Sure is nice to get a couple more Iron-Rankers."
"Heard a lot about you, Guild Leader," Zenon smirked.
Most of Tycon's information about the Brazen Guard had come

from Zenon. Apparently, besides knowledge of Ezyrian Gladiators,
he enjoyed reading about the military histories of various
adventuring companies.
Zenon did not have many friends... which in this particular case,
was a boon.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Bannok," Tycon nodded.
"Ahaha," Bannok chuckled, rubbing the back of his head. "Yeah,

none o' that here. Name's Bannok-- not Guild Leader, not Sir, not
Fat-Old-Guy."
Tycon looked up to share a look of uncertainty with Zenon. Using

honorifics was a force of habit for both of them. The Centurion
was raised in the militant Church of the Eternal Flame. If an
acolyte failed to use proper courtesies, they would be flogged... or
worse. Tycon enjoyed being polite.
"Uh... sure thing... Bannok," Zenon said hesitantly.
"Come on, guys." Bannok twisted his lips to the side, "Don't give
me that look! Anyroad, I'm just gonna call you's by your first
names, too. Tycon and Zenon, yeah? Though if we get in the
shite, I might just call you green-hair and tall-guy."
"I'm alright with that," the Centurion smiled.
Tycon chuckled softly, "I've been called worse, Brother-Bannok."
The term gave the Weaponmaster pause before he burst out

laughing, "Haha! A weird guy, huh? Alright. Why the hells not?"
Bannok nodded, grinning wide, "Glad to have you, Brother-Tycon,

Brother-Zenon. Ah... make sure your guys are all in order, yeah?"
Tycon forced a smile. There were still whole bells of time before
their collective would set out, "Hurry up and wait, then?"
Zenon chuckled at the joke. Concerning military situations,

hurrying would inevitably result in delays, usually for logistics
purposes.
"Oh, a military guy, huh?" Bannok sat down on a folding stool and
gestured to two others. "I was part of the Snake Cult wars... seven
hells, it's been fifteen years since. I got out two years back. I'm
only really good at making things bleed-- without a war, I ain't
shite."
Bannok laughed at his own joke, "How about you guys?"
"Also military..." Zenon admitted, "But I haven't seen combat yet."
The Weaponmaster snorted, "Yeah. I can tell by your shave and

haircut-- you look like you're a fish, fresh outta training! Don't
worry 'bout it, guy. You'll get plenty of action here... and if you're
alive at the end of it, we'll all have an ale together."
Tycon was liking Bannok more and more.
"How about you, green-hair-guy?" Bannok asked.
"I did serve as a Duplicarius recently," Tycon smiled weakly, "But

for my other military endeavors, I honestly can't tell you.."
Bannok raised an eyebrow, "Confidential shite? You look like you

know what you're doing."
It was an astute observation, considering they had only just met,

"Memory loss."
"Yeah..." Bannok shook his head. "I been hit in the head a few
times too many. Hey, it's fine, though... there are things I seen I
wish I could forget."
Tycon frowned. The Weaponmaster mentioned he left the military

two years prior, "Did you deploy to the Free Nation?"
Bannok took a deep sigh, "Yeah... I... killed..."
The Weaponmaster hesitated, shaking his head, "--I did a lot of

things I can be proud of. Fighting for a good cause, that sorta
thing I can be proud of. In the Free Nation... there wasn't a lot of
that."
Tycon nodded quietly. Military leaders all had similar stories. It

was why they tended to keep to their own kind. The gravity of their
decisions was not something civilians could easily understand.
Chapter 343 “Orcus”
"There are no good ends for people like us, Brother-Bannok."
Tycondrius placed his hand on the armored human's

shoulderguard. He had said the same thing to Archbishop Natalya
Crucis, "But we shall continue, whether it's forging the path for the
next generation or keeping ourselves alive for one more sun."
Weaponmaster Bannok's eyes grew wide... before he burst out

into unrestrained laughter, snorting and holding his stomach,
"Hahaha. You're shite at being inspirational, guy."
...That was not the reaction he was hoping for.
"Brother-Tycon... naturally has a sarcastic voice," Zenon

explained, "But he tries. Really!"
Tycon frowned. That did not make him feel better.
Bannok took off his gloves, wiping at the corners of his eyes,
"Ah.... I needed that. Alright, fella's. As much as I'd love to keep
running my suck, you's should meet up with the kid and the rest of
the Stormbrands."
The 'kid' likely referred to Athena, the youngest member of her

adventuring company. It seemed to be a term of endearment, as
well. Everyone that Tycon had met thus far had a good opinion of
the young lady.
It gave him even more reason to eventually remove Lord Greer

and Lady whatever-her-name-was.
Tycon and Zenon politely excused themselves. The next step was
to meet Athena's and Tanamar's adventuring company, the
Stormbrands. He was looking forward to it.
...
As the two approached the Stormbrand camp, Centurion Zenon

began to exhibit signs of panic and hyperventilation.
"That-- that's the guy, Optio!" He whispered breathily.
Tycon pursed his lips, trying to understand his robed friend's

excitement, "You're referring to the... gentleman conversing with
Athena?"
A young, beardless, white-silver-haired human was speaking with

Athena Vanzano. At first glance, it seemed like they were getting
along splendidly. Upon further observation, Tycon noticed a subtle
dance, even from the distance. The male would speak proudly
and energetically, stepping slightly towards the young lady. Athena
would smile, respond respectfully, and... take a slight step
backward. The process continued.
He looked... familiar. However, Tycon's System did not mark him

as an individual known to him. The male's hair was long, tied into
a high ponytail-bun that would otherwise spill down past his
cheeks... and of a similar color to Tanamar's-- real name
Athanasius Mors. Besides that, the fellow's age and facial
structure were also very similar to the footman's.
"It's... it's Orcus!!" Zenon squealed. "God of battle!!"
Ah. It was the gladiator with the stage name-- Athanasius' twin
brother. Gladiators were often adventurers on the side and vice
versa. Sol Invictus was of that exact archetype.
Besides the fact that the presence of... 'Orcus' turned Zenon's
voice from deep and melodious to shrill and unpleasant, Tycon did
not have a good opinion of the fellow. Tanamar remained a loyal
footman of House Vanzano. His brother, on the other hand, had
chosen to leave.
It was rational. It was human. At the time (and still, currently), the
Vanzano name was more-or-less worthless. While participating in
the arenas could restore fame and fortune to the noble house, it
was far more lucrative to work for wealthier patrons.
Tycon would have likely done similar.
The price... was trust.
'Orcus' had shown that he sought fame and financial reward. He

could be trusted that much. Most mercenaries could only be
trusted as far as their pay could afford.
The Stormbrand adventuring company would be paid as long as

two stipulations were met. The quest had to succeed and they had
to survive. Unfortunately, there was little incentive to perform
above average-- just enough to do their part and allow their allies
to make up for their deficiencies.
It was a weakness of the Brazen Guards' business model. Allying

with various smaller companies allowed their numbers to swell.
However, besides the original two guilds that had completely
merged, the smaller teams retained their own identities and would
be prone to acting selfishly, keeping their own members
comfortable rather than seeking for the collective's success as a
whole.
Of course, there would be exceptions to this rule, companies that

built excellent reputations and thrived on building trust. He liked to
think that Sol Invictus belonged to that category.
Most of the companies that sought reputation, though, would have

already relinquished their team identity to join the Brazen Guards
properly. Thankfully, from what Tycon had observed in the war
camp, the number of main guild members outnumbered the
numbers of those they allied with.
"Brother-Zenon..." Tycon hesitated, trying to form his words to not

offend his elevated friend, "May I ask again... what exactly is so
impressive about that fellow?"
Athena's lack of foresight was about to entrap her. The

approaching 'Orcus' was positioned so that the young lady would
back into a line of seated Stormbrands, making her unable to back
further.
Tycon quickened his pace. When he and Zenon were in view,

Athena would have a socially acceptable excuse to withdraw from
the conversation with the overbearing male.
Zenon hurried after-- and by that, he began taking full steps

instead of half, "I just think he's cool. Look, you can see he's
wearing his gladiator armor!"
'Orcus' wore dark armor underneath a long, white coat... but he

also wore gaudy crimson gloves and dark blue boots. The fellow
could have been colorblind. It could have been a trick to lull his
opponents into thinking his poor stylistic choices correlated to his
skill. More likely, the mismatching gear was lightly enchanted.
⟬ 'Orcus', Iron-Rank Human Reaver. ⟭
A large, two-handed axe was strapped to his back, looking far too
unwieldy for the human to properly control. Realizing this, Tycon's
opinion of the fellow fell even more.
The two of them were finally noticed by Athena, who bowed

politely and excused herself from her conversation with 'Orcus.'
...Tycon realized something else. He did not like that name. But
why? It was an aesthetically pleasing name, sounding guttural...
raw... and powerful. He spent a few moments rifling through the
fragments of his previous life's memories...
He knew an Orcus once-- most of the details lost to him. It was

possible they were even friends. That an unworthy human shared
his name was an unfortunate coincidence.
Chapter 344 Public Display
" Sir Tycon!" Athena Vanzano beamed, "Hi! Welcome! These are
the Stormbrands! What d'you think?"
Tycondrius had to control himself to not shy away from the

positive radiance the young lady was emitting. She was like a
child presenting her favorite material possession. Knowing her...
Tycon had to restrain himself. If he was uncareful with his words,
Athena would pout.
...which was also somewhat like a child.
...which, considering their differing ages, she was.
Tycon forced a polite smile, "What is... going on here?"
Besides 'Orcus', the various Stormbrands all had mismatched

armor as well. It seemed only Athena and Tanamar, were actually
armed and armored well... as well as a rough-looking fellow in a
dark coat similar to Tycon's own. The mix of Bronze-Rank
adventurers and a few Iron-Ranks lazed about on the ground or
seated upon their packs.
There appeared to be no logistical personnel of any sort. There

were no tents set up nor was there evidence of gear being
inventoried or maintained. Though there was a higher-
concentration of Iron-Ranks in the group for such a small
company... compared to the rest of the Brazen Guard war camp,
the Stormbrands looked incredibly unprofessional.
Tanamar was nowhere to be seen. He was probably doing

something more important... likely having to do with logistics.
What the Stormbrands had put effort into... was creating a dueling
ring of sorts, a dozen or so rocks arranged in a somewhat-circular
shape. A Bronze-Rank Warrior and Thief were sparring at its
center, but the technical skill displayed was not enough to hold
Tycon's interest.
Athena looked back at her woefully colorful troupe, "Y-yeah. It's

not really much. But most of us grew up together!"
So the young lady was personally invested with the Stormbrands.

That made sense why a full-time academy student would also be
in an adventuring company. If she was well-liked amongst her
guild, Tycon could at least trust they would keep her safe.
Zenon stepped forward, speaking in a hushed voice that could

barely contain his excitement, "Th-that's Orcus, right? Can you
introduce me to him? Do you think you can help me get his
autograph?"
"Oh, Mister Zenon..." Athena tilted her head, her smile somewhat
hesitant, "Y-yeah, I don't think Tancred will mind."
Tycon did not let the name-drop go unnoticed. Athena's brother,

Gian, she called by his childhood nickname, Maximus. Her
footman, she referred to as Tanamar. 'Orcus, god of battle', she
referred to as... Tancred, assumedly his actual name.
As for why Athena chose to call him that, Tycon did not know...
only that it was markedly different. He also did not know the
reason he was referred to as Sir Tycon and his Centurion as
Mister Zenon.
"It looks like Tancred's about to duel Mister Photios," Athena

looked over. "So you'll have to wait, Mister Z."
...Zenon's name changed again? Stars and stones, what did it

mean?
"Oh! Oh! Can we watch?!" Zenon Skyreaper, Centurion of the

Church the Eternal Flame asked giddily.
"Mhm! Sure!" Athena grinned.

Tycon grimaced. It was an open dueling circle. Why was Zenon
asking for permission to watch a public display?
...
A mage entered the improvised arena, wearing an ugly sneer

upon his thin, sunken face. His height was above average, but he
was slouched over and slovenly. If not for the mage's thick,
enchanted, black-and-silver robes, Tycon would have judged him
to fit well amongst the rabble of the Stormbrands.
Athena informed Tycon that the gentleman was Photios, the

strongest offensive caster in the Brazen Guard.
⟬ Photios, Iron-Rank Human Silver Pyromancer. ⟭
It was no wonder. The mage had a Tyrion-specific high tier class.

Zenon noted that, though he wore no rank identifiers, there was
imagery inscribed onto Photios' robes that hinted that he was a
sanctified spellcaster of the Church of the Eternal Flame. Due to
his young age, it was likely that he had only recently left its
service.
Logically, Photios had fulfilled his contractual obligations

honorably, as he was still alive. The Church was not lenient to
those they deemed... lacking.
In a flash of mana, silvery flames began to radiate outward from

where Photios stood. Tycon was disappointed that the heat the
magic generated was pitifully low. It seemed the mage's source of
power was less elemental and more divine in nature. Divine
energies were better suited to smiting enemies of the Church than
for keeping warm.
If Photios was an actual fire mage, Tycon would have wanted to

become friends with him.
The Pyromancer grinned, crooked tooth and arrogant, "You ready

to do this, little gladiator?"
Tancred Mors stood across the circle, stifling a yawn. He drew his
heavy two-handed axe and allowed its weight to fall, the blade
sticking deep into the earth with a loud thump, "So you finally grew
some f*cking balls."
Tycon grimaced. He did not like either of the rude combatants. He

spoke idly with Athena and Zenon about their wellbeing and the
weather, only paying half-attention to the fight.
The mage cast some fire spells. They were dodged and deflected
by Tancred.
Athena had a big blister on her toe, but it got better with some
Elementary healing.
The mage set an arcane trap, chains of silvery fire bursting from
the ground. Tancred leapt through the flames.
Zenon was craving for garlic bread, but that would likely have to
wait until they returned to Silva.
The mage used their ⌈Mana Ward⌋ skill to prevent getting

decapitated by an ally. Then, they disappeared in a gout of flame,
reappearing at the opposite edge of the arena.
Tancred used a movement technique, ⌈Charging Bull⌋, to close the

distance. The fight was ended with a skill called ⌈Ravager's
Strike⌋. The domineering axe attack shattered Photios' arcane
barrier, following through and smashing into his left forearm.
Tycon judged Tancred to be rather reckless. The Reaver relied

mainly on his reflexes, reaction speed, and strength rather than
forming a careful plan. It was a viable strategy and worked
especially well, considering that Tancred could not be entrapped
by Photios' spells.
"By the Flame... He's so cool," Zenon was exuberant to watch his
personal hero in action.
Tycon remained skeptical, "Mister Photios appears to be

grievously injured."
Chapter 345 Controlling Life &
Death
ycondrius had previously fought in a duel on contested territory.

T
The participants fought with quarterstaves. Blunted weapons are
generally more appropriate for training purposes and lowering the
probability of injury.
Within the Stormbrands' dueling ring, Pyromancer Photios was

utilizing Second-Circle spells, each capable of decimating a squad
of unranked warriors. Tancred Mors was swinging around a
weighty axe more appropriate in a slaughterhouse than on a
battlefield.
Athena Vanzano winced and averted her gaze when the Tancred
struck Photios down.
"H-he should be okay," Athena whispered, perhaps more for

herself than for Tycon. "We... we have a healer. That's Mister
Occam, now."
Tycon watched a human in a dark coat approach the fallen mage.

Long, raven-black hair, eye-patch and scar over an eye, unshaven
beard, wrinkled and tattered clothing, Occam appeared just as
rough as his peers.
⟬ Occam, Iron-Rank Human Cleric. ��
As he walked, he carried a curved warscythe lazily over his

shoulders. He looked more like a Weaponmaster than a Cleric.
Occam snorted before spitting at Photios' feet and squatting in
front of him.
"AWWWWW! What's wronnnng Photios???" The Cleric mocked,
"Did you get HURRRRT?!? HAR HAR HAR!!"
The entire circle of Stormbrands shared Occam's laughter. Tycon

couldn't decide if they were laughing due to the fellow's somewhat
redundant observation or at the fellow's exaggerated laughter.
"Flame take you, Occam," Photios cursed, clutching his forearm.

Sweat dripped down his face, his expression twisted in pain.
"Tancred!" He shouted, "What the hells? You broke my

Flamescarred arm!"
Reaver Tancred shrugged, raising his arms high, "It's not my fault
your ⌈Mana Ward⌋ is so weak!"
Photios gnashed his teeth, clenching his eyes shut, "Whatever!

Fine! ...Ergh ...Occam! Help me out, here!"
"Ehhhh?" Occam sneered, grinning with jagged teeth, "How the

hells is that my problem?"
The Cleric prodded Photios' arm with the end of his warscythe,
causing the man to yelp out in pain.
"ARRRGH!! Seven hells, that hurts, you rotten thief!" Photios

growled, "I need a heal, Occam. It hurts like hells..."
Still squatting, Occam rested his chin on his fist, "Hmmmm... If

you want a heal... how about... you get on your knees and beg?"
Tycon frowned. That was... exactly what Photios was doing.
What was Occam's goal, though? What was worth extending the
duration of pain suffered by an ally?
"Flame take you, man!" Photios roared, " You can't be serious?!"
"It's just a broken arm, you Flamescarred thief," Tancred mocked.

He was nonchalantly drinking from his waterskin. "Suck it up."
The mage's face was beginning to pale, his pupils dilating.
Whether Photios was unused to such pain or the injury was more
severe than the Stormbrands were estimating, it was clear that he
was not faking his condition.
Occam planted the base of his warscythe and stood, lifting his
other arm, "I am Occam! By the power that flows through these
hands, I control your life and death as I see fit! How about you
show a little gods-damned respect, witch?"
Witch? Tycon raised an eyebrow. Was this a class thing? In the

Holy Country, casters were sanctified by their government,
brainwashing the powerful into never betraying their nation. Those
who failed the sanctification were deemed as heretics and
executed.
To the common folk, the prejudice took on a different form.

Worship of a different religion? Heretics. Speak out against the
Church's draconian laws? Heretics. Warlocks and Sorcerers that
drew from non-traditional power sources like dead gods and
elemental planes were rare-- mistrusted and persecuted.
Heresy was punishable by death.
Still, it made no sense for Photios to be subject to such treatment.
He was a sanctified spellcaster. He was a human of the Holy

Country. He was part of the Brazen Guard collective.
Besides that, they were in the field, where prejudice was less
important. When the actions of teammates directly correlated to
survival, it did not matter the shape of their ears or the color of
their fur.
Tycon was starting to highly doubt his initial theory and developed
a new one... that Cleric Occam and Reaver Tancred were
worthless human beings.
Tycon looked over to Athena. She was glaring intently at Occam...

clearly unhappy.
But she said nothing.
The vocal, always-confident Athena was holding her peace.
Tycon grew more and more irritated. Everything he had seen thus
far of the Stormbrands either disappointed or confused him. Their
professionalism was a joke, they were rude, arrogant, and
generally unpleasant to associate with. They derived a cruel
sense of camaraderie from laughing at and mocking an Iron-
Ranked mage that, for all intents and purposes, was their ally.
He decided to prod the young lady, "Miss Athena... perhaps you

should do something?"
Athena dropped her gaze to the cold mountain dirt, "I... I don't
really like talking to Mister Occam...
"He..." She shook her head, "Yeah..."
Tycon narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Athena's reluctant

expression. There seemed to be a reason she avoided conversing
with Occam, and not one she wished to share.
Strange and stranger still...
...
Soon after, Occam finally used a ⌈Rejuvenation⌋ spell on the fallen

mage.
During Photios' suffering, Tycon said nothing... Athena and Zenon,

too, kept their silence.
Tycon could have corrected the Stormbrands, but he would gain

no direct benefit. At best, Photios would be healed faster and he
would feel better about himself for helping humanity.
In doing so, he risked a negative opinion being formed of him. He

was unfamiliar to the Stormbrands and they were more hostile
than they were accepting and friendly.
That negative opinion directly correlated to his survival. In a high-
stress combat situation involving teamwork, the man or woman
with the lowest social standing is open to be sacrificed. At worst,
he would be actively sabotaged.
By staying silent, he risked nothing. The only cost was his pride
being wounded, an acceptable loss considering the
circumstances. He also worried that Zenon's opinion of him would
worsen. However, the Centurion also watched in silent judgment,
his enthusiasm from earlier, nonexistent.
It seemed that he, too, understood.
The two of them were supposed to entrust their lives to the

Stormbrand adventuring company.
Between the dangers of the Icingdeath Dungeon and a score of

pig-headed teammates, Tycon couldn't decide which was worse.
Chapter 346 Brazen Plan
he Brazen Guard collective began to move, surprisingly, only a

T
half-bell after the agreed upon time. During which, Tycon and
Zenon wisely kept to themselves, rejecting contests of skill by
feigning weakness. The Centurion was slightly more indignant
about it, but agreed with Tycon's counsel in keeping a low profile.
If either he or Zenon lost their tempers, it would result in critical

injury or death. Zenon did not have the defensive advantage of his
Church-mandated armor. Tycon would have not stopped at only
one murder. There was no benefit in fighting.
The movement towards the dungeon was relatively painless. The

Brazen Guard led the push, only encountering low-level
skirmishes from hostile magical beasts and wildlife. Like Tycon
had encountered earlier, there were occasional Grey Trolls and
Stone Frogs that the Bronze-Rankers could handily defeat using
tactics and teamwork.
With the Bronze-Ranks more than capable, Iron-Ranks and higher

were allowed to save their energy, remaining were free to move
about the field and assist at a moment's notice. The
noncombatant Immunes moved without issue, the engineers, the
fletchers, quartermasters, as well as porters like Victorius.
The collective finally entered the Icingdeath Dungeon, peculiar in

that it was almost an open-air valley. A thick, magical mist hovered
high above, perfect for enemies to attack from-- if such enemies
existed. The sun's rays through the mists covered their view a
bleak grey while simultaneously blotting out warmth.
Tycon no longer hoped to be warm. He was fully convinced that

the fates hated him too much to offer him that.
The familiar Legionnaire, Karodin of the Brazen Guard, was sent
to retrieve Tycon from the Stormbrands. His presence was
requested by their leadership, likely because of his stated class as
Tactician. That he was a tactician wasn't an outright lie. His actual
class, Warlord, had all of a Tactician's abilities but was a tier
higher.
Tycon arrived at Bannok's war tent to discuss the tactics for the
next major encounter. It was there that he met the various leaders
of the Brazen Guard and their collective.
⟬ Bannok, Gold-Rank Human Weaponmaster. Leader of the

Brazen Guard. Striker Lead. ⟭
Bald human, veteran of war. Honest and straightforward. Tycon

liked the fellow.
⟬ Ariadne, Gold-Rank Elven Priestess. Brazen Guard Caster Lead.

⟭
A bronze-skinned Elven woman with silver eyebrows and blonde

hair-- dyed, perhaps. Light-colored magical runes were etched
into her skin, a common practice in the Eastern States.
⟬ Felinus, Gold-Rank Elven Hunter. Brazen Guard Scoutmaster

and Ranged Lead. ⟭
Tycon had encountered the androgynous elf in the city of

Caeruleum and now was able to appreciate his features without
the cover of a hood. Long purple hair, thick eyebrows, and a wisp
of a goatee since then.
He also had the benefit of being familiar with Felinus' skill and
prowess. The elf had handily trounced a Bronze-Rank Ranger
without as much as a scratch.
⟬ Athanasius Mors, Iron-Rank Human Holy Lancer. Guild

Stormbrand. ⟭
Other group leaders were part of the meeting, but only Tanamar
sat amongst the three Brazen Guard leaders. The young footman
must have held a special status.
Scoutmaster Felinus explained the situation, "According to our

information, there are eight large quadrupedal, furred and fanged
creatures about the size of a carriage. Hostile. We're calling them
Frost-Tails."
"Just eight? Any more threats?" One of the group leaders asked.
Felinus nodded, "There's an abnormally large nest of Stone Frogs

in the area, as well. There might be a correlation between the two
creature-types, but to combat both, I advise fielding the Bronze-
Ranks simultaneously with the Iron and higher."
"Who gathered this information?" A different leader inquired, an

Iron-Rank Scout, "I didn't see anything like that."
"The information can be trusted." Felinus said impassively,

"Tanamar saw it. I verified."
The Iron-Rank Scout crossed his arms, "We're going to risk our
Bronze-Rankers on the word of a Lancer class?"
Tycon felt his eye twitch. It was a fairly reasonable complaint... but
it didn't feel good to have one of his companions doubted... Of the
Brazen Guard leaders, the dark elf, Ariadne, wore a displeased
expression.
If the Iron-Rank Scout fell into disfavor with a healer-class-- the

leader of all the other healers and casters, he was undeserving of
sympathy.
Tanamar, himself, rolled his eyes and sighed. He didn't seem to

care.
"Yes," Felinus answered simply. "Tanamar's the best scout we

have. I trust his judgment as well as my own."
It was high praise from a Gold-Rank Hunter.
Bannok grinned, "Hey, listen, guy. You must be new. Tanamar's

one of those guys you can't judge based on his class or age. He's
good people. You're just gonna have to trust us on this."
The Scout nodded and apologized, successfully avoiding the

wrath of a Gold-Rank Priestess Ariadne.
"So the big guys got four legs and teeth," Bannok pondered aloud.
"The Stone Frogs can injure our guys by bleeding on 'em. I want
some opinions... Ladies and gent's, this is our new Tactician,
Tycon. What do you think, green-hair guy?"
Tycon nodded, "Not enough information on the creatures. I'd like

to consult a Loremaster if we have one. Failing that, since there
are eight, I'd advise isolating one with a high-mobility group,
baiting its abilities."
Felinus was called next... but instead of giving his opinion, he

gestured to Tanamar, who had his eyes suspiciously closed.
"Jaws that can tear apart anyone without armor," Tanamar

explained. "Mana-empowered tail swipe. Also minor earth spells
that can entrap in a small area.
"I say we do as Tycon says. We focus fire them down one or two
at a time. We keep our clear slow, to keep everyone safe."
Tycon was slightly surprised by Tanamar's level of information. But

then again, the young footman was a transmigrator like himself.
Whether it was knowledge he retained from a past life or an ability
that granted him such, it would only be beneficial.
Also, transmigrators tended to keep their abilities secret. Tycon's

own abilities were largely unknown to his peers, his class, his
rank, and even his ability to heal injuries.
"Any objections?" Scoutmaster Felinus asked.
"Yeah, from me." Bannok grinned, "Sounds like that's gonna take
awhile. And we got an awful lot of guys... plus that risks our
Bronze-Rank ranged line getting hit with the entrap."
Tycon was not sure where the Brazen Guard leader was going
with that line of thought...
"We're gonna treat this first encounter as a stress test." Bannok

continued, "These things don't sound that tough. We got enough
Iron-Rankers to assign a team to each of 'em. We go in hard, our
Bronze guys spread out, watch for Frogs. If we get shite on, that
means the Brazen Guard won't be able to complete this
dungeon."
The veteran turned to Tanamar... not Felinus, not Ariadne, but the
young Holy Lancer, Tanamar, "You think we can do it, Hero?"
"Tch," Tanamar grinned. "Of course, we can."
When prompted, Felinus and Ariadne also agreed.
Tycon agreed with Bannok's plan, as risky as it was. The entrance

area of the dungeon would not be more difficult than the
dungeon's as a whole, and the Brazen Guard collective did have
enough Iron-Ranks to succeed. A more hectic fight would better
test the teamwork of the various groups and set the tone of the
entire dungeon delve.
Why the hells not? Tycon looked forward to seeing the full
strength of a Gold-Rank guild.
",
Chapter 347 Efficient Tactics
" This plan is ridiculous," Victorius frowned. "It definitely doesn't

sound like one of Tanamar's. What is Bannok thinking?"
Tycondrius took a deep breath to calm himself. There was no

benefit in him arguing against the professional porter's complaints
other than to feel intellectually superior.
The fact would remain true, regardless of whether or not he

flaunted it.
"I'm goin' in!!" Tancred yelled, "Follow me!!"
⟬ Tancred Mors, Iron-Rank Human Reaver. Guild Stormbrand. ⟭
"Victorius," Tycon gestured. "Take care of Miss Athena."
"You got it, Sir Tycon," Victorius tried to immediately respond with
a salute, wincing in pain, before withdrawing clumsily.
Hm. Interesting. The results of the footman's training showed for a

brief second.
"Hold on! I'm coming!" Karodin yelled, trailing several steps behind
Tancred.
⟬ Karodin, Bronze-Rank Human Legionnaire. Guild Brazen Guard.

⟭
As many members as the Stormbrands had, they still lacked a

defensive class. To combat the creature deemed as a Frost-Tail,
Karodin of Emberhold was assigned to them. Reasonably, the
shield-wielding Legionnaire would have been the most ideal
combatant to engage first.
The Stormbrands were... not so keen on the minutiae of efficient
tactics.
Simultaneously, several Forward Groups moved to engage with

the Frost-Tails, each centered around Iron-Rank close-combat
classes. In case of an attack by the numerous Stone Frogs, the
Bronze-Ranks in the Forward Groups were to thin the wave. Rear
Groups composed of ranged classes were defending the
noncombatants in the back line, amongst which Athena and
Victorius remained in relative safety.
Ultimately, the encounter was to be a display of which of the

groups worked together effectively, so the Brazen Guard's
leadership could reallocate and adjust. The Stormbrands seemed
to understand that...
Perhaps offended by the concept, they seemed to take it as a

challenge to outperform their peers.
Tycon was not surprised. The Stormbrands did not have a

declared 'leader.' It should have been Tanamar, since he seemed
to be the one that arranged most-everything. However, his
brother, Tancred Mors, had a stronger personality.
Tancred was an arrogant gladiator with gaudy clothing, a loud,

obnoxious voice, and a style for arena flair that bordered around
ostentatious. Naturally, the Stormbrands' teamwork would revolve
around him. He was too selfish to work around others.
Tycon moved up with Zenon and Tanamar to engage from range.

The four-legged Frost-Tail was a greyish, quadrupedal creature
that stood twice as tall as a human. It thrashed about, trying to
swipe jagged claws at Tancred, trying to bite at him with tooth and
tusk. The Reaver responded by dancing and leaping about like an
acrobatic whore-- also forcing the creature to turn its body...
...which turned its dangerous, prehensile tail towards a majority of

the Stormbrands.
That had potential to be troublesome.

Thankfully, before anyone took a Gold-Rank tail swipe, Karodin's
shield and pilum finally proved annoying enough to divert the
creature's attention.
With the Frost-Tail standing in one place, Tanamar signaled for the
Stormbrand ranged line to commence fire.
Holy Lancer Tanamar was firing glowing arrows half the size of
ballista bolts from a sturdy, lightly enchanted longbow. Librarian
Zenon began casting painful-looking wind spells. Amateur Archer
Tycon began firing freely with his medium crossbow, utilizing a
reload tool to quickly and efficiently reset the mechanism.
The Frost-Tail's natural mana shielded its eyes from attack,

common for stronger creatures. Tycon remained diligent, placing
well-aimed shots at the creature's vulnerable eyes and mouth.
The creature's mana would run out eventually, and faster than if
his bolts were deflected by the creature's stony hide.
An unexpected headbutt from the stone-skinned Frost-Tail sent

Legionnaire Karodin staggering back, barely avoiding being gored
by a tusk.
"Heal!!" He called out, again dashing forward to re-engage.
Tycon frowned, feeling sorry for the armored fellow. The

Stormbrands were not a group where in-combat healing was
reliable. If he were closer, he would have advised the Legionnaire
to back off and look for another opening to rush in. After all,
Tancred looked like he could use a lesson in humility.
For a moment second, Tycon felt the ground rumble beneath him.
Tanamar had taken several steps to the left, not even taking a
moment to stop firing his longbow. Tycon grabbed the back of
Zenon's armor and began pulling him back.
One of the Stormbrand archers wasn't paying attention. Tycon

took a hand off his crossbow to yank the fool's collar, dropping
them onto their back. Not a half-second later, several magical rock
pillars jutted out from the ground, blocking the ranged line's vision.
Anyone several steps forward would have been trapped. The
archer Tycon had grounded would have been impaled.
"What the hells?!" The archer complained as he got to his feet,

"Flame take you, man!!"
Tycon furrowed his brows, glancing back at the spike-pillars in

front of them. He did not feel like he deserved such a response.
The ranged classes of the Stormbrands began to reposition to the

left with Tanamar... with Tycon being the only one moving right. It
was explained earlier that dispersion was desirable, to prevent
being caught in the creature's area spells.
He stood alone. Had... he understood incorrectly?
The Frost-Tail was taking damage. None of the Stormbrands were

dead or dying. Still... the fight seemed... sloppy.
Tycon checked his fire, seeing a leaping attack enter his field of
vision.
"DEEEEECAPITAAAATIONNNN!!!" A Stormbrand in a dark coat

yelled, the crazed fool crossing the line of fire as he swung his
long, curved warscythe at the Frost-Tail.
⟬ Occam, Iron-Rank Human Cleric. Guild Stormbrand. ⟭
Occam's weapon a superficial cut along the side of the Frost-Tail's

neck. The creature, again, whipped its head to the side, smashing
into the Cleric and sending the idiot tumbling several yalms onto
rocks and dirt.
Tycon resumed his shooting, trying his best to ignore the Cleric's
nonsensical actions. Trying to decipher the fellow's line of
reasoning would only make his head hurt.
"Wow! This bastard's pretty strong! Har har haaah!!" Occam

laughed, kneeling dramatically and wiping his bloodied nose.
"⌈Healing!!! Touuuuch!!!⌋"
Tycon watched as Occam swept a hand through his raven-black
hair, a divine glow shrouding him for a brief moment.
The Cleric healed himself.
Karodin would not be getting healed anytime soon.
Tycon was annoyed. He wasn't surprised, but he was annoyed.
A few more casts Rings of Pillars later, the Frost-Tail had received
a substantial amount of damage. Tycon's had placed five
crossbow bolts into the creature's left eye, each of them piercing
through its weakened mana barrier.
Karodin was looking miserable, injured but alive. A few

Stormbrands were lying about-- mostly somewhere near where
Tancred was fighting, injured and hopefully dead.
...If a majority of them died, Tycon wondered if he could ask to be

assigned to a different group.
Chapter 348 Lighthouse
few more moments passed without incident, not that Tycondrius

A
was particularly concerned.
Reload. Brace and aim. Breath control. Slow and steady squeeze
of the trigger. Reassess situation. Repeat.
The encounter was finite. No matter how much suffering, whether

it was physical, or through the slow and steady annihilation of his
hopes and expectations... it would end, eventually.
"⌈Ravagerrrrrr's STRIKE!!!⌋"
Tancred's voice came at an unwelcome time. The Iron-Rank

Reaver struck a weighty greataxe against the Frost-Tail's head,
forcing it to stagger backward and away from Legionnaire
Karodin. The damaging attack was sound. Its execution was
questionable.
In its half-blinded blood haze and without an obvious target to

direct its anger upon, the creature began to thrash about. Its
mana-empowered tail launched three different Stormbrands away-
- one of them into a pile of suspicious-looking rocks near several
suspicious-looking holes.
Stone Frogs, the roundish, grey-skinned creatures began to

swarm, trying to defend their hatchery. The stone spheres cracked
open, revealing even more juvenile, but more-or-less fully formed
creatures.
The unlucky Stormbrand amongst them woke from their brief

unconsciousness only to find dozens of the many-legged rocks
desperately flinging themselves at him. The agonized screams
only lasted a brief moment. Though painful, there was some luck
in that the powerful jaws of the small magical beasts were able to
end them quickly.
Tycon glanced over to Occam. The Cleric was circling around the
Frost-Tail, warscythe poised above his head, ready to attack. He
was completely oblivious to the painful death of one of his
teammates.
The furious Frost-Tail charged forward, away from Tancred and

Occam, as well as a desperately-chasing Karodin. It crashed into
a ring of pillars near Zenon, collapsing them and covering that
area in a cloud of dust and dirt.
Tycon continued to fire his crossbow. He'd move in case he

needed to pull the Centurion from the rubble... but he was not at
all planning on joining the absurdity of the striker line.
The dust cleared quickly with a shout and a blast of wind

emanating from Zenon. The Centurion was well, sheathed in his
own ⌈Wind Barrier⌋. Two other archers were not.
Tycon found the casualties thus far... unacceptable. Were the

other teams doing this poorly?
A stream of Frost Frogs were heading towards the back line, too
many Bronze-Rank Stormbrands down to intercept them.
Tycon glanced over to Tanamar. The Holy Lancer was a focused,

unending stream of light, launching dozens of his arrows at the
Frost-Tail's side, precisely collecting near where Tycon estimated
the creature's heart would be.
Tanamar was very good at what he did. The Holy Lancer had a
massive mana pool and it seemed that remaining focused on the
Frost-Tail would drain the rest of its stamina. Tycon's help was no
longer necessary to secure the kill.
Tycon threw up a hand signal for Zenon to join him, then together,
they began to hurry towards the defense of the back line. While he
had no doubt that the Bronze-Rank Frostblade, Athena Vanzano,
could protect herself, it was a better use of Tycon's time to go
where he could help.
...
⟬ Several minutes later. ⟭
Tycon stepped amongst the scores of Frost-Frog corpses. He

utilized his enchanted short sword to deliver killing blows to the
remaining injured, still-living creatures-- a normal sword would be
damaged by their blood.
Photios whistled, "Librarius Zenon!! You're a piece of work!"
⟬ Photios, Iron-Rank Human Silver Pyromancer. Guild Brazen

Guard. ⟭
"My thanks, Ignus Cantor," the mustachioed Zenon smiled. The

two of them clasped hands at the wrist. As they too, scanned the
battlefield for surviving enemies, they idly spoke of their
experiences in the Church.
Zenon made a friend. Good for him.
"Looks like the two witches are bed-buddies," One of the surviving
Stormbrands remarked, taking no care to lower his voice,
"Typical."
"Did you hear what Tancred called him? Lighthouse!! Hah haha!!"
Another Stormbrand added.
"Hah! Because he's tall and light can go through his ears??"
"Because when he's around, people crash into the rocks and die!!
Aaahaha!!"
Tycon had several problems with what he was hearing. Many of

the adventurers the Stormbrands' ranged line were injured, some
critically so-- some of them even belonging to the Stormbrands
proper. Still, there was no respect given to those who fell.
Only weaklings fell in battle. Such arrogance was not at all
conducive to a team environment.
Also, that was the exact opposite of what a lighthouse did.
Tycon was having a personal crisis. He had initially thought it was

an excellent idea to accompany Tanamar's and Athena's
adventuring company. Team Athena would receive pay from the
Brazen Guard for their efforts and there was plenty of valuable
combat experience to be had.
The Stormbrands...
He hated them. He hated being around them. With the exceptions

of Athena and Tanamar, he loathed every one of their members
he'd properly met. He wanted nothing to do with them.
They had climbed half of a gods-damned mountain to get to

where they were. Still, he was strongly considering abandoning
the mission-- or at least his part in it. He did not want to die for
someone else's quest.
He made a mental note not to allow Athena to fight in the main

team. It would be a catastrophic loss if she were to be killed due
to having shite teammates. Participating in a dungeon delve was
not the only way for her to gain experience.
The Stormbrands defeated their Frost-Tail second amongst the

teams of the Brazen Guard collective, only losing to Bannok's
main team. It was an impressive achievement, especially
considering that Bannok was a Gold-Rank Weaponmaster and
had the assistance of Gold-Rank Hunter Felinus.
Shouts and cheers resounded in their group, praising Tanamar's

name-- it seemed like the Stormbrands were also the loudest
company in the collective.
Tycon did not know why the Stormbrands celebrated Tanamar as

if his achievements were their own. It irked him. Then again, in his
emotional state, he found everything to be irksome.
Every team in the collective took injuries. For such a small group,
far too many Stormbrands were too injured to continue. The
Stormbrands also incurred the only death.
That was absolutely not something to celebrate.

Chapter 349 Selflessness
" Athena," Tycondrius approached the young Vanzano mistress.

She still wore his Decanus breastplate, which remained in
handsome condition. That was good. "I have something I wish to
discuss with you."
"Aha... ha... H-hello, Sir Tycon," The blue-haired noblewoman had

placed her hands behind her back, trying and failing to look as
innocent as possible. "Craaaazy seeing you here."
Tycon narrowed his eyes...What was crazy about it? And why was
the young lady hiding her hands? Hm.
He held out an open palm expectantly.
Athena sighed, resigned to her fate. With a listless expression,

she placed the hilt of her rapier into Tycon's outstretched hand.
...Just the hilt. The sword's blade appeared to have shattered near
its base.
Tycon took in a deep breath through his nostrils, covering his eyes
with his opposite palm. Her clumsiness had broken wooden
training weapons before... but one made from Tyrion steel? How
unlucky was this girl?
"I'm sorry, Sir Tycon!! I'm really sorry!" Athena waved her hands
frantically, "I'll-- I'll pay for it!!"
"First off, this was your sword. Second, you haven't any money."
"I can still fight!!" Athena pleaded with shining eyes, "I can use my
⌈Frost Blade⌋!!"
Footman Victorius stepped forward, looking haggard and ridden
with guilt, "Sir Tycon..."
Tycon held up his palm to stop him. He needed a moment to calm

himself and breathe... "Forgive me. My mood is not the best at the
moment-- though that has nothing to do with either of you... Mister
Victorius, please explain."
The blonde footman gulped... "Lady Athena broke her sword

defending the back line... me, in particular."
"N-no!" Athena's lower lip quivered as if she was about to cry, "I
made a mistake! I panicked and swung my sword wrong, it's not
Victorius' fault!"
Athena's clumsiness tended to extend from her selflessness. As

upset as Tycon wanted to be, she had made the correct decision.
"It's fine," Tycon shook his head. "A human life is worth more than
a sword. And besides Victorius, there are many others who have
you to thank for their defense."
Still, Athena's gaze dropped to her feet, clearly unhappy. He was

trying to be nice. Did she want to be scolded?
Tycon patted the young lady's head to reassure her. Then, he took
his sheathed Decanus sword from his belt and offered it forward.
"S-sir Tycon?" Athena pouted, "I... I can't take your sword, too!
You already gave me your armor!"
"Lent." Tycon firmly insisted, "I lent you my armor. And I am now
lending you my sword. As we both know, you need to raise your
Completion Rating with your ⌈Frost Blade⌋ before you can use it
efficiently. For now, take this to defend yourself."
As talented as Athena was, she was having difficulty adapting to

her new Frostblade class. While she was more than capable of
casting spells, it was incredibly difficult for her to do so while
simultaneously attacking or defending with her sword.
While she had access to a retinue of powerful frost spells, her
Completion Rating with them was only mediocre. Her ⌈Icicle Fall⌋,
⌈Frozen Orb⌋, and ⌈Ice Beam⌋ were cast too slowly to be reliable
in combat, quickly drained her mana reserves, and would often
give her headaches.
With her ⌈Frost Blade⌋, she needed far more practice. As she was,
she could only hold its form for several seconds. Even a
momentary lapse in concentration would cause it to shatter.
Then her most powerful spells, the incanted ⌈Ice Beam⌋ and
⌈Frost Tornado⌋, she was unable to replicate their effects.
However, this wasn't to say that Athena Vanzano lacked talent.
She demonstrated her ability with her Completion Rating rising

drastically with simpler spells-- ⌈Ice Lance⌋, in particular. Instead
of allowing her time to practice, Tycon decided that the invitation
to delve into the Icingdeath Dungeons was too valuable to decline.
At the time, the quest seemed only beneficial. Team Athena as a

whole would gain in experience, while Athena herself could
cultivate an environment rich in frost mana.
In hindsight, it was a horrible mistake.
Athena took the offered weapon gingerly, still reluctant... "But...

but what are you gonna do without a sword, Sir Tycon?"
Tycon's mouth twitched, "I have more than one sword. And I'm
literally wearing a crossbow on my chest."
"Y-you can use a crossbow?" Athena gasped.
Tycon found himself staring blankly into the distance. Shaking

himself out of his reverie, he met Athena's gaze... "Do you really
need me to answer that, young lady?"
"Ehehe..." She bared her teeth in a sheepish grin, "I guess not."
"From hereon, stay in the back line. Stay safe. Keep the others
safe," Tycon commanded. "In that order."
"Yes, Sir!" Athena saluted.
...
"PHOTIOS!! AHAHAHA!!!" Occam laughed at seeing the Brazen

Guard mage, "Why you walkin' so slow?! You out of maaaana???"

Guard. ⟭
Tycon did not think it was out of the ordinary for Photios to look
fatigued. Centurion Zenon looked just as haggard. The two of
them would recover after a short rest.
During the combat, Pyromancer Photios fell back to support the

vulnerable rear line with his destructive silver flames. In doing so,
he was forced to leave his ⌈Ley Line Circle⌋, which reduced his
casting efficiency.
It was the correct action. With the front-line strikers locked in close
combat against the Frost-Tails, it was most efficient for the classes
capable of attacking from range to switch their priorities. Bronze-
Ranks were positioned to defend the noncombatants, but having
ranged support certainly reduced the number of casualties.
Occam, the Stormbrand healer, hadn't used much of his own

mana. Most of his time was spent yelling attacks that weren't skills
and swinging his warscythe ineffectually at their group's Frost-Tail.
Tycon did witness the Cleric casting spells... but only targeting
himself.
Photios didn't respond to Occam's provocations. Wise. Instead, he

chose to share a bitter smile with Centurion Zenon.
Occam grinned toothily, continuing to mock the mage, "You

probably got yourself mana-fatigue because you're not as strong
as Tanamar!!"
Tycon took in a deep breath through his nostrils. He wanted to
spend as much time away from the Stormbrands as he could--
especially their two most noteworthy personalities, Cleric Occam
and Reaver Tancred.
"Zenon, I believe we should assist our allies with the triage," He

offered quietly. "Certainly, your expertise will be appreciated."
The tall Centurion crinkled his mustache and nodded, "Yeah. Let's
go help."
"Right, I'll come with," Photios agreed in a hushed voice...

"Though, shouldn't that Flamescarred thief, Occam, be headed
there already?"
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Selflessness does not seem to be that

fellow's strong suit."
Chapter 350 Handsome Snake
espite the chill of the mountain air, the body heat in the infirmary
D
tent was warm enough to lift Tycondrius' spirits. It was an
unintended benefit in him offering to help.
As soon as he and Zenon had arrived at the infirmary tents, they

were immediately assigned work. There was always something or
someone to be moved, injured to be calmed, bandages to be
wrapped, and, as a matter of course, human byproducts to clean.
While the other medical personnel bemoaned their circumstances

or idly griped about the tedium of their mundane duties, Tycon and
Zenon performed as requested.
The work was somewhat inglorious. It was thankless.
It was necessary.
Anyroad, Tycon preferred doing just about anything over returning

to the Stormbrand camp.
Besides the comfortable environment, there was an additional

unintended benefit. The lead medic seemed to have dropped her
guard around him.
"Flame have mercy," Ariadne declared, sitting down on a foldable

travel chair. "I thought we'd *never* be finished."
⟬ Ariadne, Gold-Rank Elven Priestess. Brazen Guard Caster Lead.

⟭
"Thank you for your hard work, Lady Ariadne," Tycon smiled
politely. "You are undoubtedly the most skilled healer I've had the
pleasure of working with."
"Well, aren't you precious?" The Priestess had produced a paper
fan, which she unfolded and used to cool herself, "Thank you,
hon, but I must look a fright! I'm sweatin' like a hooker attendin' a
Church service..."
Tycon pursed his lips, trying to understand what exactly the

woman was trying to say. She was perspiring, yes. What was a...
hooker? It was obviously slang for something else. And how did
that relate to the Church of the Eternal Flame?
Ariadne eyed him, top to bottom, "Y'know, Mister Tactician, I was

wrong about you. When I heard you was one o' them
Stormbrands, I reckoned you'd be lower than a snake in the
grass."
"Lady Ariadne..." Tycon frowned, "Snakes are very handsome

creatures."
"I do declare!" Ariadne covered her mouth with her fan as she
laughed, "It was a figure of speech, darlin! Don't get'cher knickers
in a knot!"
...That was probably a figure of speech too.
Ariadne was a woman from the Eastern States and had the
speech mannerisms to match. Similar to how her dyed blonde hair
contrasted against her bronze skin, intricate silvery runes covered
her bare arms-- likely continuing beneath her healer's robes. The
tattoos were common to the 'Dark Elves' of that region, so that
was unsurprising.
Notably, there was a non-magical iron ring on the woman's finger,

engraved in the Old Tyrion Language.
'I love you too little,' It read.
It was probably supposed to be romantic. The wearing of a

wedding band was a Tyrion custom, marking Ariadne's fidelity to a
single partner.
It was a human custom.

Xenophobia aside, Tycon found it curious, as Ariadne was a full-
blooded elf and had a lifespan five times the length of a human.
"Somethin' catch your eye, hon?" The Priestess grinned, holding

out her hand and showing off her ring. "Sorry, darlin'! Little ol'
Aria's already taken!"
Tycon was caught staring... He was caught in an awkward social

position where he felt obligated to say something polite,
"Congratulations?"
Thankfully, the Gold-Rank Priestess did not look bothered,

"Thanks! Ah've been married to Bannok fer ten years now!"
"Ah, to Brother-Bannok," Tycon nodded.
He had deemed Bannok as an intelligent gentleman. Though

there were obvious difficulties to an elf-human pairing. Tycon
would not question it out of respect for the Brazen Guard's leader.
Also, he had witnessed the Priestess' professionalism and skill in

the healing arts. She was good. Very good. With Lady Ariadne at
his side, Bannok's actual lifespan was probably double that of a
normal human's.
"Ah heard about what you said to him!!" Ariadne clapped her
hands together, "Real sweet of you, Mister Tactician. Mah
husband doesn't like ta make friends, and he's real appreciative of
ya-- even if he won't say it straight."
Tycon chuckled to himself, "Your husband has earned my respect

with his professionalism and valor."
"By the Flame," Ariadne gasped, again hiding her lips with her fan,
"Are you tryin' ta seduce my darling-husband, Mister Tactician?"
"Why?" Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Is that... snake-like behavior,

Lady Ariadne?"
"Oh, jus' Aria's fine~" The Priestess sang, "And I will admit you're
a very handsome snake."
Tycon couldn't tell if he was being insulted or not. Lady Aria
remained in good spirits, though, so he decided not to question it.
Building rapport with a Gold-Rank healer could only be
advantageous to him.
"What's this I'm hearing 'bout snakes?" Bannok entered the tent,
his voice markedly annoyed. His brows were furrowed and he
looked to Ariadne for an answer. He didn't look... upset. Wary,
perhaps? Suspicious.
Ariadne rolled her eyes, "You'll have to forgive my husband, Mister

Tactician. He doesn't care a lick for snakes."
"I gathered." Tycon nodded, "Though somewhat unfair to the

noble and majestic reptile, I'm assuming the prejudice has to do
with the Snake Cult."
The human's distaste for snakes was... misplaced. Tycon would

not take offense for it.
Hatred runs deep.
Bannok took a seat beside his wife and let out a deep, reminiscing
sigh... Tycon and Aria waited patiently for him to speak.
"Sorry, you two," Bannok forced a wry smile, "It still pisses me off,
thinkin' that those cultist bastards are still out there, hidin' in their
holes."
"I also have no love for the Snake Cult, Brother-Bannok." Tycon
smiled politely. "In fact, I've directly participated in killing two of
their Warlocks."
Tycon had witnessed the brain matter of one Warlock spilled upon
the wooden floor. Another, he had witnessed being drowned by
acidic bile. It was a fair assumption to believe that one was dead,
as well.
The bald veteran took another deep sigh before adopting a wicked
smirk, "I knew I liked you, Brother-Tycon. Kehe... but two? Two's
rookie numbers."
Tycon shrugged, "Then I shall strive to increase the number if the
opportunity presents itself."
"Haha! Well said!" Bannok's laughter resounded through the cloth

of the tent.
Chapter 351 Improvisation
Tycondrius was invited to the strategy meeting.
As for why, he would have liked to believe it was because he had

introduced himself as a Tactician. It was a rare class and
apparently, was the only one in the Brazen Guard collective.
Further, he had provided solid strategy in the first meeting.
Tacticians were most valuable during the planning phases prior to
large-scale engagements.
More realistically... he was invited because Bannok and Aria

favored him.
He arrived to the command tent earlier than most everyone else,

not wishing to suffer the company of Tancred's Stormbrands. A
purple-haired elf sat silently in the corner. A minuscule twitch of
his pointed ear was the only sign that Tycon was noticed.
⟬ Felinus, Gold-Rank Elven Hunter. Guild Brazen Guard. ⟭
As light as Tycon's steps were, he had no doubt that Felinus

sensed him. That the elf had no particular reaction meant they
were not overly offended by his presence.
Elves tended to be offended by... the presence of most.
With time to spare before the meeting began, Tycon took a seat at
the planning table, intent on performing basic weapon
maintenance. Unlike Aria, Hunter Felinus did not exhibit human
social mannerisms. In their culture, the beauty of silence (and the
things their Elven ears hear) was preferable to unnecessary
chatter.
Along the same line of thought, Tycon much preferred the

practiced, rhythmic scrapes of a sword against a whetstone to idle
babbling. While he was certain his combat standards would not
appease an elf's aesthetics, it felt like he had years and epochs of
experience keeping his gear in good condition. Briefly meeting
Felinus' curious gaze, the Elven Hunter offered a nod that he
hoped was approval.
It was a very human response... and likely one he had to train, in

order to be better accepted by his choice of ally.
With that, Tycon was fairly certain he had formed a good

impression.
...It was difficult to tell with elves.
He could say the same for Aria... but that was further complicated
by the fact that she was a woman. Tycon did not and did not hope
to understand women.
He doubted anyone did... even other women.
Not long after, the three remaining people entered the command
tent.
⟬ Bannok, Gold-Rank Human Weaponmaster; Ariadne, Gold-Rank

Elven Priestess; Athanasius Mors, Iron-Rank Human Holy Lancer.
⟭
Holy Lancer Tanamar had proven his worth in the last meeting
and apparently several times prior. Tycon surmised that Tanamar's
System specialized in analyzing creatures' traits and combat
abilities. It was an overpowered cheat, fantastic for dungeon
delving.
"Looks like we're ready to start," Bannok nodded, idly running a

hand over his clean-shaven head, "Feels a lot nicer in here,
without all those chuckle-f*cks."
Tycon was unfamiliar with the terminology. The context was

grossly negative, though.
"They do try, though," Aria hid a smile behind her paper fan.
"Bless their hearts."
"Well, yeah. They're all a bunch of useless thieves, though,"

Bannok groaned, seating himself at the table. "Fel, tell us what
you guys saw."
Hunter Felinus nodded sagely, "Within the coniferous forest is a

clearing in which a 20-foot tall humanoid is seated upon a throne,
frozen in ice."
The elf produced a piece of parchment, pushing it forward onto

the planning table, "Three large symbols radiate mana, carved
into large stones and ancient trees. Here is a quick sketch."
Tanamar shook his head, "We showed the sketch to Photios and a
few other mages, but they've all agreed that it doesn't mean
anything."
Aria frowned, pushing out her plump lips, "It... looks like it should
be... something... Egh. What terrible drawing, Fel."
"Sapling..." Felinus narrowed his eyes, "I've been wielding the

brush for longer than you've drawn breath."
"Not what I meant, sir, thank you kindly!" Aria pouted. "I meant
whatever human made this-- it's obviously supposed to be a
magic rune, but this doesn't make any sense."
Tycon took the drawing, committed it to memory, and shut his

eyes as he analyzed it with his System's assistance.
"How about you, Hero?" Bannok asked. "What do you think of

what we're up against?"
Tanamar tapped the table with his finger impatiently, "The forest...
it's haunted. And I'm talking undead in the hundreds. Then, the
giant on the throne is a mage... Third-Circle-- maybe capable of
Fourth-Circle spells."
Bannok whistled, "By the Flame... This is a shite dungeon. No
wonder this quest hasn't been completed."
"Darlin..." Aria cooed, "It's better to stay safe than to force a fight
we can't win."
Tycon opened his eyes, smirking. His deep knowledge concerning

spell formations allowed him some insight.
Felinus noticed first, raising an eyebrow, which caused Bannok to

follow his gaze.
"Would you look at that!" Aria beamed, "Mister Tactician's grinnin'

like a possum eatin' a sweet potato!"
"Brother-Tycon!" The Weaponmaster bared his teeth in a grin.

"What'cha got?"
"Concerning tactics, you mean?" Tycon returned the smile.
"Pshhh. Get a load o' this guy!" Bannok exclaimed, "You figure
somethin' out from Fel's shite drawing?"
"Young man..." Felinus narrowed his eyes, unhappy.
Bannok held out his palms defensively, "It was a joke, Fel."
Tycon placed the parchment back on the table, smudging the

charcoal with his finger and making several more lines, "I believe
the original runes may have looked like this."
Felinus shook his head, "Tactician, I find your hypothesis...

implausible."
"I'm gonna have to agree with Fel on this, hon," Aria frowned.
"The three runes you've made don't make a lick of sense, comin'
outta the first... and all mushed together like that? It'll slap the
formation mage to sleep, then slap 'em for sleepin'"
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "And what if I reminded you two that it's
likely a human made this?"
"Slightly more plausible," Felinus admitted... "Such a combination
would only be proposed by a novice or a madman."
"Butter my butt and call me a biscuit!" Aria exclaimed, fanning

herself.
It had become clear to Tycon that Ariadne was improvising

phrases.
"Yeah..." Bannok sat back, crossing his arms, "Could you guys
speak in the common tongue? ...Especially you, wife."
"It's a seal, Brother-Bannok," Tycon explained... "--and as Aria has

previously stated, a volatile one."
...That's what he hoped she said, anyroad.

Chapter 352 Too Handsome
" That makes sense..." Holy Lancer Tanamar nodded, "The thing
imprisoned in the ice... it's half unsealed, which is why it's so
dangerous."
"Which begs the question..." Felinus brooded, "How powerful

would it be, released from its prison?"
Tycondrius continued, "The decayed runes are likely a result of a

mana overload that erased most of the script."
"Then what was that shite-eating grin about?" Bannok asked.
The corner of Tycon's lips curved upward, "I will be able to go

from seal to seal, restoring the formation's integrity. I will need a
substantial amount of mana dust and sanctified mages at each
point to channel mana towards each seal's reactivation."
"Can do!" Aria clapped her hands together, "We have the
materials and the mages!"
"Great! Hahaha!" Bannok guffawed, "So we go in, distract the big

dead guy, make the smaller dead deader, and you lock the thing
back in its icebox?"
"Hold your horses, bub! We'll give you a defensive detail," Aria
pursed her lips. "I'll give you a healer-- Fel, can you lend Mister
Tactician some o' yours?"
"I will accompany him," Felinus declared.
Tanamar shook his head, his eyes shut, "The undead in the forest
include fliers-- including Iron-Rank ones. It'll be dangerous to
sacrifice our ranged line."
That was indeed a problem. Felinus and Tanamar's archery skills
were the best in the Brazen Guard. If either of them were to
directly assist Tycon, the collective as a whole would lose a
substantial amount of safety.
"I'll pick a few Rogue-types to go with him," Bannok declared.
"Darlin', weren't you listenin'?" Aria scolded, "I'll assign a barrier

mage and a healer to babysit."
"I will be enough," Felinus insisted.
Tycon narrowed his eyes. It was the first time his handsomeness
had become an issue, considering the three Brazen Guard
leaders were bickering with each other to help him. Discussion
over it was largely useless. Anyone skilled enough to keep up with
him would be better suited to fighting the Iron-Ranks.
"Unnecessary." Tycon shook his head, "I can do it, myself."
"Absolutely not," Aria huffed. "It's too dangerous to go alone. You

take some help, sir, or you ain't goin' at all!"
Tycon looked to Bannok for confirmation.
"Ehh..." Bannok shrugged.
A Gold-Rank Weaponmaster avoiding conflict with his wife... was

reasonable. Tycon could respect that, even if the result
inconvenienced him.
"Hm..." Tycon placed a hand on his chin in thought, "My duo is a

wind mage. He can keep up with me."
"The fish with the fresh haircut?" Bannok asked, "He's good
people. You happy with that, Ari?"
"Hmph," Aria turned up her nose and hid behind her fan. "I
s'pose."
Tanamar opened his eyes again, frowning... "Tycon... What will

you do if you can't reseal all four runes?"
That was most troubling... Tanamar did not show a propensity for
formations, yet accurately assessed that resealing the creature
required four runes. Hunter Felinus admitted to having only found
three.
Had Tanamar encountered the formation in a past life? No, that

was highly unlikely. He would have reacted after the three runes
were identified.
...The only possibility Tycon could think of was that Tanamar's had
access to limited precognition. If he could see the future... then
even with his formation expertise, it was possible that his
resealing would fail.
"Hon?" Aria tilted her head, "Y'alright?"
Tycon pursed his lips, "If I cannot reactivate the formation, we can
overload it once more, causing the creature's ice prison to
violently explode."
"Which would unseal the creature," Deep lines of doubt set into
Hunter Felinus' frown.
"While also making it vulnerable to attack..." Tanamar shut his

eyes briefly... Opening them, he nodded and grinned, "Yeah. I like
that."
"My only question..." Bannok crossed his arms, "--is why wasn't
that the plan to begin with?"
...
Tycon examined each of the four sets of runes. They were

deceptively large, each spell circle nearly two fulms in diameter
and chiseled into the material. Following the symmetrical spacing,
Felinus found the fourth set, which was underneath a light blanket
of snow. There was also a fifth set, which Tycon did not need to
modify.
"I'm assuming there's a reason why we can't just fix all the seals
without fighting, Optio?" Centurion Zenon asked.
"That would be the best-case scenario." Tycon pursed his lips,
"We are positioning before the fight in case the Throned Giant
reacts negatively to our... meddling."
Tycon turned to Zenon, frowning, "Remain calm and quiet,

Brother-Zenon."
An Elven hand cupped over Zenon's mouth, muffling his scream.
"Tactician," Felinus nodded. The Elven Hunter had silently

dropped down from a tree, stifling Zenon's surprise, "Tanamar's
briefing will begin shortly."
"Thank you, Master Hunter," Tycon patted Zenon on the chest,

"You're fine."
Only when Zenon relaxed his shoulders did Felinus release him.
By the time the Centurion turned around to look, the elf had long
disappeared, "O-optio? Wh... what was that?"
Tycon shrugged, "If I know elves well-- which I don't, then it was a
lesson. Keep your wits about you, there are ghosts in this forest."
Zenon rubbed his hands and warmed his cheeks, "Brother-Tycon,

do ghosts really exist?"
"In this particular case, does it really matter?" Tycon chuckled,

shaking his head. "Whatever enemies we find have to be dealt
with."
"Hm... I guess you're right," Zenon sighed.
"Of course, I'm right. Let us withdraw."
...
In the distance, an old man sat upon a throne, his left arm and
abdomen-down encased in magical ice. His skin was desiccated
and grey, his eyes eaten by beasts long ago. No life remained in
those eyes. Yet still, it turned its ancient head, watching with
sightless eyes. Waiting.
With no enemies before it and even though its lungs had crumbled
to dust, it let out a ragged sigh, gnashing its teeth in frustration.
All this was slightly more unnerving, considering that seated, the
man was over 20-fulms tall and radiated an aura of powerful
magic. Worse still was that the throne that imprisoned the creature
slowly crept forward, apparently not as immobile as it seemed.
« System, inquiry: The power level of the creature. »
⟬ System response: Adamantine-Rank Undead. Warning: Proceed

with caution. ⟭
Chapter 353 Best For
Everyone
eep within the forest, the Throned Giant roved around a large
D
clearing. The leaders of the various Brazen Guard tent groups
collected at its opening to discuss strategy.
Tycondrius found the large clearing, free from trees, most peculiar.
As a cursory inspection, he swept aside the snow underneath his
boots to find hard-packed ice. They stood upon a tributary leading
to a small lake, both of their surfaces frozen solid.
Moving shadows drifted about in the depths of the waters, each

dwarfing the humans idling unaware. The creatures below were
almost certainly more products of the Icingdeath Dungeon. They
would not be able to thrive to such proportions, otherwise.
Tycon stood far away from the general populace, upon what he
judged to be thicker, denser ice.
"A few things to note about this fight..." Tanamar carved a map
into the ice with the blade of his holy lance as he explained.
"There is one 'Boss', the Throned Giant in the clearing... and there
are two types of 'adds.'
"During the fight, the three groups will be stationed at three

different seals. Now, pay attention: the first group will rotate to the
fourth seal after theirs is completed. Defend the Tactician, provide
support against the Lake Eels, and the mages of those groups will
be reactivating each of the seals.
"If not assigned to those three groups, the strikers will be arranged
to protect the squishies, with their priority being defense first and
creature-clear second..."
An Archer with dark rings underneath his eyes spoke up in a loud,
high-pitched voice, "Hold on a second! What about the
Flamescarred ghosts? The ghosts are going to wipe us all out!"
Tanamar closed his eyes and took a deep breath... "I was getting
to that."
"This Flame-taken forest is haunted as shite!" The Archer argued.
Tanamar took yet another deep, aggravated breath, rubbing the

bridge of his nose, "You wanna explain the fight? How about you
come up to where I am?"
The Archer remained quiet, feeling the burning stares of his

surrounding peers... "N-no, I'm good."
"You sure? It sounds like you know what's best for everyone,"
Tanamar gestured, looking bored.
"All of you's guys save your questions for the end," Bannok
ordered, "Keep talkin', Hero."
"Right," Tanamar nodded. "The non-caster ranged classes will be

arranged here and... here. Your primary focus will be attacking
ghosts. If the pressure lets up, provide fire support against the
Lake Eels."
Going more into detail about everyone's various roles, Tanamar

went on to explain what he expected each creature was capable
of. Then finally, he reiterated everyone's positioning, based on his
drawn map.
At a certain point of the explanation, Tanamar's speech slowed

and he began overly enunciating his words.
"--and just to make it easy, I have a bunch of flags. Each flag has
a symbol. When you hear the horn signalling to focus on the
ghosts or the eels, you will move from one flag to your
corresponding flag... both denoted on the drawn map and seen on
the field. On the field, you will *literally* be able to see which flag
you're supposed to run to."
Each group only had to memorize two flags: their own, and that of
their attached group. It seemed easy enough. Tycon didn't quite
understand why Tanamar's explanations were becoming
redundant.
Hunter Felinus handed Tanamar a bundled pack of poles, each

with a colorful flag attached.
"Listen up!" Tanamar raised his voice, "Bannok's group will

engage the boss, represented by this skull flag. The Brightstars
gets a four-pointed star...
"...--The Stormbrands will be this double circle."
"Pff..." A laugh came out of the crowd.
"It looks like a nipple!" The Reaver laughed so hard, he wheezed.
Tanamar sighed again, seemingly too fatigued to argue with his

twin brother... "Stationed at this point will be... nipple group. Now,
does anyone have any questions?"
"Yeah, I got a question," A Warrior raised her hand. "Which flags

are mine, again?"
Another slew of questions rang up nearly simultaneously.
"Hey! Did you say where Team Destiny was supposed to be?"
"Mister Tanamar, I'm so sorry, but which flag is for the

Brightstars?"
"Was I supposed to be on the Lake Eels or the ghosts?"
"Can my team be part of the nipple group?"
Tanamar looked like he wanted to cry.
Tycon would not have blamed him if he did.

...
After another half-bell of Tanamar's clarifications, each group was

finally ready to take their positions. Tanamar had foregone
physical flags. With the help of one of Ariadne's Creation Mages,
he fired holy lances topped with colorful, glowing magic flags that
he stuck onto various points of the battlefield.
That it did not alert the enemy was odd... but as aggravated as
Tanamar was, the action wasn't particularly hostile.
Explaining strategies to a large group of people was...

troublesome. The experience reminded Tycon of why he preferred
to operate with only a small number of elite adventurers. If he had
to explain complex monster-hunting strategies so many times,
he'd have likely murdered all of his troops in frustration.
Anyroad, he trained together with Sol Invictus' members so often

that it was often easy to deviate in plans. It was comforting being
able to rely on synergistic teamwork to complete various
objectives.
It was a strange phenomenon that an individual human could be

so rational and intelligent. With a group of them... it was a wonder
how they could remember to blink and breathe.
The noncombatants, the still-injured, and the less-experienced

remained behind at the collection of camps, which included
Athena and Victorius. Even with their numbers more than halved,
those that were participating in the fight numbered nearly seventy.
...That left over sixty different persons with varying levels of skill
and professionalism that Tycon did not trust.
If the fight went poorly, he would have Bannok call for an

immediate withdrawal. Tycon could not see how to reduce the risk
of failure any further, other than calling off the fight altogether.
Chapter 354 Face Of Death
ycondrius took in a deep breath, examining the set of runes in

T
front of him. Once he began reestablishing the formation, it was
likely that the Imprisoned Giant would sense the danger and
attack.
"You ready, Optio?" Zenon asked. The Centurion's voice shook.

His hands trembled, but not from the cold. Besides the ghosts and
Lake Eels, there was an Adamantine-Rank creature within 100
yalms that was capable of ending him in a single strike.
It was likely the closest to death that Zenon had ever been.
"How do you feel, Brother-Zenon?" Tycon asked, granting him a

reassuring smile.
"I... I dunno, man. So many things could go wrong," Zenon

grimaced.
"Tss," Tycon scoffed. "You'll remember this feeling for the rest of
your life-- as long or as short as it'll be."
"What do you mean?" Zenon pursed his lips and looked away,
"Being scared shite-less?"
"Figuratively staring into the face of death and still having the
courage to act," Tycon grinned. "Now, take a deep breath. Keep
focused on your surroundings. Move with me. We begin... now."
...
Undead.
A mockery of precious life. Felinus was no stranger to the cursed

beings. The red leaves fell in the autumn months. All things were
destined to die, their rot and decay giving birth to new life to the
forest.
Life and death. Two opposing concepts. Like two sides of a silver
coin, there was that which was neither. The entropy of the world
and its laws ensured that exceptions would always exist. And
when the laws of the world were thus challenged, there would be
heroes to return the balance to as it was.
Dark magics were afoot, the result of humans meddling with

powers best left alone.
Humans. Confusing creatures. Always changing. Always

interesting. It was for this reason that Felinus chose to associate
with them. As many Shadowwalkers and Necromancers they
produced, the humans proved noble and selfless Champions,
cunning and relentless Slayers... and the occasional amateur
Ranger.
They were a clumsy people. But in their honesty, their

unpredictability, their noisiness-- in their chaos... there was an
admirable purity.
Felinus would serve his part.
A human sat upon a throne of ice, swollen by magic crafted

centuries ago. Not a giant, but no longer entirely human. Not
living, not dead. Not sealed, not free. Forbidden magics flowed
through its form. Through the Tactician's plan, the same spellcraft
would prove its undoing.
Sightless eyes looked down upon Bannok, son of Tyrion.
He would not die on this day.
The giant raised an arm. Desiccated. Skin stretched taut. Dark

magic swirling about it, drawing from the void, the dark unknown,
the entropy between this world and all worlds.
Three arrows. Felinus fired three arrows that bounced harmlessly

off of the creature's ⌈Mana Ward⌋, before they could sink into its
outstretched arm.
The giant pulled a wicked cudgel from the beyond, the dark metal
steaming and sizzling as if it was freshly forged.
Three arrows. Seven. Twenty-two. Each arrow shot would weaken

the creature's energy until they could finally deliver the finishing
blow.
Live, Bannok. You must live.
"Come at me, you big Flame-taken bastard!!" Bannok banged his

shield with his battleaxe.
The giant swung down its weapon, as fast as Felinus could see,
but faster than he could shout to warn his human ally.
A deafening clang echoed through the frozen lake, the force of the
strike more than capable of crushing Felinus to a lumpy paste.
The sapling, Ariadne had enchanted Bannok's shield with a divine
⌈Barrier⌋. Bannok had braced himself against the attack, dropping
down to a knee, but showing no signs of injury.
How powerful.
"You okay, hon?" The young elf shouted to her mate.
"Yeah! I'm good, Ari!" Bannok slammed his shield to the side,
forcing the giant's mace away. With a quick strike, the human's
enchanted battleaxe bit into the giant's wrist, "Is that all you got,
big guy??"
How arrogant.
But that's what made them interesting.
"Archers!!" Felinus yelled, "Let your arrows sing!!"
...
Tycon furrowed his brows as he restored the outline of the broken

seal. Tanamar's concerns were not unfounded. Though he was
fully confident he could repair the seal, he had made the glaring
error of overestimating his assistance. While the formation was
comprised of Third-Circle parts, the result was Fourth-Circle. With
the increased complexity, perfectly repairing the seal with only
Second-Circle casters would take time.
Judging by the chaos of the battle, time was not something he

was afforded.
The heads of three ghostly, eel-like creatures emerged from the

lake's surface, phasing through the ice as if it was still water. Even
with only a third of its body exposed, each stood slightly taller than
Tycon's human allies.
Fortunately for them, the creatures had flesh. Flesh would bleed.
The bloodied could be killed.
An Iron-Rank Warrior smashed her shield against the teeth of one,

forcing it back. A Thief pierced that eel's side, low on its body,
while a Legionnaire pierced a vicious pilum into the side opposite.
...With the shield-wielding girl distracted, a second eel bit its

dagger-long teeth into the armored woman's sword arm.
Centurion Zenon stood only slightly shorter than the creature's

revealed height. He pierced his tri-bladed lightning claws into the
side of its head, charging his lightning mana into its skull. The
creature's ghastly wails drowned out that of the dying Warrior.
From the surrounding forest, walking skeletons and translucent

ghosts began to trudge onto the ice, raising ancient Tyrion shields
to block the hail of arrows.
A horn sounded throughout the lake valley, accompanied by

shouting.
"Lake Eels!!"
"Focus 'em down!!"
"Cease fire on the ghooosts!!"

Tycon began to paint over the runes with the mana-ink, sacrificing
his accuracy for speed.
"Tactician!" Photios looked greatly perturbed, "What the hells are

you doing?!"

Guard. ⟭
"The seals will take too long to restore," Tycon hastily explained.
"I'm modifying the formation to remove the limiters."
"You crazy son of a b*tch, I'm in," Photios nodded. "Brothers and
sisters!! Focus your mana on my channeling!!"
Thankfully, the Pyromancer saw the value in the sudden change

of plan. Photios' group of mages began to channel their mana to
re-activate the formation. Tycon's assistance was no longer
necessary to guide them.
"Go!" Photios ordered, "We'll meet you again at the fourth seal."
Tycon nodded, turned, and began to sprint away, hearing the

steps of his Centurion following close behind.
"Stay alive, Brother-Photios!" Zenon shouted.
"Whaddya think I'm tryin' to do?!" Photios yelled back.

Chapter 355 Don’t Look Now
tormbrand Cleric Occam swept back his raven-black hair. He

S
adjusted the strap on his chest, emboldened by the familiar weight
of his trusty warscythe, the Decapitator, on his back. He pounded
his gloved fist into his opposite palm, cracking his knuckles.
"Time to shine, ladies," He grinned.
The Archer beside him took another shot, not bothering to change
his focus, "Occam, we're supposed to be focusing on the Lake
Eels."
"Psh." Occam scoffed, "You can do what you want. I'm better off
attacking the enemy rather than sitting on my arse."
"⌈Ravager's STRIKE!!⌋" Tancred cleaved his greataxe into a Lake

Eel, severing its lower jaw from its ghostly body.
He turned to Occam, "Tanamar said eels first, man."
The Cleric shrugged, "If I engage with the ghosts, they'll take that
much longer to get to us."
"There's a lot of 'em," The Archer yawned, idly firing away. "⌈Triple
Shot.⌋ You sure you can handle that much?"
Occam snorted, "Har. I ain't 'fraid of no ghost."
He rushed forward, the crunch of his metal-cleated boots against

the ice reminding him of marching over skull and bone. Jumping
up at the last moment, he drew his fist back and slammed it hard
into a skeleton's skull, cracking it with a fist of holy righteousness.
"Deus vult, motherf*ckers!!" He cackled.

He grabbed onto the undead's ribs, pulling it closer, then with his
main hand, tore its broken skull off its spine. He smashed the skull
into the side of a zombie's head before throwing the half-broken
thing at another frail-looking bone-man.
Rotating his body, he landed a solid uppercut against a charging

ghost's chin. He drove his fingers into its ghostly eyes and knee'd
it in the groin. It keeled over in agony, keenly felt, beyond the
grave.
Occam straddled both of his legs over the ghost's head and
grabbed its waist.
"SPINNING PILEDRIVER!!!" Picking the ghost up, he leapt back,

spinning-- smashing his upside-down enemy into the hard ice.
Standing back up, Occam cracked his neck to the left and right.
He was surrounded by enemies. Poor bastards. They had
nowhere to escape.
He pounded a fist into his chest, "Flame-Taken ghosts, do you

know who the f*ck I am?!"
Grabbing his warscythe, he spun around like the veritable badass

of badassitude he was, "DECAPITAAAAAATE!!"
Two ghost-heads and three more skeleton skulls found their way
to the icy floor.
"I am Occam the DECAPITATOR!! My hatred knows no bounds!

Not for the living! NOT FOR THE DEAD!!"
...
Tycon sighed internally, witnessing an... anomaly. It came from

where the Stormbrands were positioned, the orange-colored...
nipple flag.
Cleric Occam had waded into a melee of ghosts, clearly going

against orders. He appeared to be faring well... but when it came
time for the ranged line to support him, he would be caught in the
crossfire. More likely, though, they would be forced to shoot
around him.
Logically, they would not be the only group that strayed from the
plan. The faster Tycon could complete his objectives, the less time
the various groups would have to commit errors.
Reaching the second seal, Tycon and Zenon found Karodin of

Emberhold's group in the thick of combat. Three Lake Eels had
been slain, but they were engaged with another five.
Zenon clanged together his tri-bladed claws, the fantastic spark of

lightning a reassuring display of power, "Take the objective or
clear the wave?"
"Thin the wave," Tycon said as he quickened his pace,

Leaving behind a blur, Tycon pierced his enchanted short sword

into the belly of one of the ghostly eels, jerking it upward to
exacerbate the wound. With his opening strike, three of Karodin's
team fell upon the creature with spell and steel.
Tycon quickly swept his gaze over the battlefield, searching for a
certain Legionnaire. With a flick of his wrist, his sword segmented
into a whip, which he lashed forward to wrap around the eel
Karodin was engaging. With a burst of mana and his Gold-Rank
physique, Tycon yanked it downward, crashing the one-tonze eel
onto the ice.
Karodin followed-up with a yell, striking the downed eel with the
edge of his shield before driving his serrated sword into the center
of its forehead.
"My thanks, Sir Tycon!" Karodin yelled. Glowing ectoplasm, the

ghostly eels' blood, was glazed all over his Tyrion helmet and
armor.
⟬ Karodin, Bronze-Rank Human Legionnaire. Guild Brazen Guard.

⟭
"Zenon!" Tycon yelled.
Karodin turned just in time, blocking the jaws of a Lake Eel with
his tower shield.
Centurion Zenon thrust his hands forward, "⌈Wind Barrier!!⌋"
Spinning, tumultuous mana sheathed Karodin's form, turning his

shield into a whirlwind of ice crystals that tore into the Lake Eel's
maw. As the creature drew back, the Legionnaire lunged forward,
piercing it underneath its belly. Pressing his vicious shield forward,
the eel was slowly eviscerated, further slathering Karodin's armor
in blood and guts.
Tycon was impressed by the gentleman's bravery. Karodin was far

closer to Iron-Rank than not.
"Are you guys okay?" Karodin asked, "These things are really
dangerous!"
Tycon rolled his eyes. The Legionnaire's personality tended

towards clumsiness with a healthy dose of oblivion, "Focus on
surviving, Mister Karodin. We shall see to the seal."
...
Dozens of ghosts, skeletons, and zombies lumbered out of the

forest... a wave of dead civilians, adventurers, and even military-
armored Tyrions from an age past. A horn resounded through the
valley, signaling for the ranged line to switch from the Lake Eels to
the surge of undead.
"Optio, don't look now. Here they come," Zenon warned.
Disregarding his Centurion's asinine suggestion, Tycon turned his

head as they hurried to the third seal.
"Their numbers are still tolerable. The ranged line should be able
to whittle them down."
"Y-yeah, you're probably right." Zenon responded, not at all
winded by their running pace, "After all, Tyrion defeated the
Nemayan hordes in the past."
Tycon decided not to respond. Nemaya, the Sleeping Country,

would field hundreds of undead in rank and formation, similar to
the Tyrions. A proper Nemayan attack force had archers, mages,
anti-personnel siege weaponry, and also had elite undead squads
incapable of pain and fear.
The Brazen Guard was not dealing with an organized military-

trained line led by competent military-minded officers. These
undead were instinct-driven savages, running out of the forest,
one by one.
It was then that Tycon felt the briefest rumble of movement

beneath his feet.
Chapter 356 Not Like This
ycondrius kicked a foot forward, skidding as his boots scraped

T
against the ice. Catching onto Centurion Zenon's forearm, the
both of them slowed to a stop before a unique Lake Eel phased
through the ice, roaring at the sky to show its dominance.
⟬ Dire Lake Eel, Gold-Rank Magical Beast. ⟭
It was twice as large as its kin, its ghostly scales hardened and
scarred, and had bony plates adorning its belly and head. More
worrisome was that the color of its scales were a deep red instead
of the frosty-bluish of its peers.
...It looked surprisingly similar to a Flood Dragon, essentially an

overgrown river eel. Tycon had met one before, but the current
enemy appeared to have greater intelligence. It did not talk to
prove otherwise.
"Optio!!" Zenon yelled, "I'm not sure if we can fight that thing!!"
Tycon spent an annoyingly high amount of willpower in not rolling

his eyes. The two of them were more than strong enough to fight
'that thing'. The dilemma at hand was whether or not it was
worthwhile to fight and defeat it.
"We're going around it!" Tycon yelled.
"I'll cover you guuuuyyyys!!" Karodin shouted.
Tycon whipped his head around, seeing the Bronze-Rank

Legionnaire running as if his life depended on it.
Karodin of Idiot-Hold.
Empty. Night. What in the seven hells was that man doing here?
A white sphere of power coalesced in front of the Dire Frost Eel's
open maw, greedily absorbing mana from its surroundings.
"Move!!" Tycon pushed Zenon away, giving him the momentum to

begin increasing his speed, "⌈Tumble!⌋"
Activating his movement technique, Tycon skated towards

Karodin, hooking his arm and spinning the two of them to the side.
The Dire Eel's concentrated beam of mana bored into the lake,
nearly obliterating the both of them.
"S-s... ir Tycon..." Karodin cried, "I think I'm gonna be sick...

ughhh..."
"Zenon!!" Tycon yelled.
"I got him, Optio!!"
Tycon released the whirling Legionnaire, sending him sliding

across the lake surface, quickly losing his balance and slamming
onto his side. Thankfully, he fell onto his shield, which acted as a
makeshift sled, reducing his friction. Zenon thrust a hand forward,
a concentrated blast of wind sending Karodin careening forward.
Karodin was screaming, spiraling wildly as he skidded along on

his shield. While Tycon felt somewhat sympathetic for the human,
keeping the Legionnaire alive was more important than saving his
dignity. Anyroad, the forward momentum of the trio remained
towards their objective, the third seal.
The Dire Lake Eel was eyeing Zenon with great interest, but
Tycon had an answer for that. He lashed out with his sword-
turned-whip, striking the creature's face.
While the damage it dealt was superficial, the attack caught its
attention and baited a lunge towards the passing Tycon. Tycon
reactivated his ⌈Tumble⌋ skill, grabbed hold of one of the
creature's bony face-plates, and vaulted atop it to run along its
back. Dismounting before being shaken off, Tycon caught up with
his Centurion and spinning-shield Legionnaire.
"Optiooooo!??!" Zenon shrieked in panic.
"What, NOW?!?"
Tycon glanced back to see the overgrown fish charging another

beam attack.
"Go left!!" Tycon ordered.
As Zenon peeled to the left, Tycon jumped onto Karodin, causing

the human to painfully, "Oof!" while stopping him from spinning.
Kicking against the ice to speed Karodin's movement, the snake
and the human-sled careened towards the right.
The Lake Eel's powerful beam attack again cut through the ice,
again missing the trio as they sped out of its attack range.
...
"We're nearly at the third seal!" Zenon yelled, "It's just behind that
rock formation!!"
"Technically incorrect!" Tycon returned, "The seal is inscribed into

the rock!!"
"Optio!" Zenon roared back, "Is it really the time to nitpick about
that?!"
Tycon did not respond. It was not.
The trio had escaped the Dire Eel. It would remain problematic for
whichever group had to deal with it next --but the problem wasn't
theirs.
As the dazed Karodin was in no state to run, Tycon had

transitioned to carrying the fellow in his arms. The human's helmet
had fallen sometime as he tumbled across the frozen lake,
revealing his dark blue hair. He had lost his pilum, but his
discipline was tempered enough that he kept his shield. A short
sword remained sheathed on his side, standard of all Tyrion
Munifices. That would be enough.
Vomit had splashed onto the front of his armor and soaked a bit
into his tunic underneath. He reeked, but he was alive and could
feasibly still help with defending the third seal.
"Sir Tycon! This is really embarrassing!" Karodin moaned, "Can

you carry me a different way?"
Tycon couldn't remember the last time he'd heard so many gripes
in such a short amount of time. Karodin was saved on reflex
without much thought placed into it. After breathing in the
Legionnaire's rancid breath, Tycon grew far less keen on keeping
the fellow comfortable.
He dropped the fellow onto the ice, shield-down, but grabbed onto
his leg and continued to drag him along.
"Not like thiiiis!!!" Karodin sobbed, "Sir Tycon! Sir Tyconnnnn!!!"
Why in the seven hells and eleven heavens was this particular
human so difficult to please?
...
Tycon and Karodin rested against the rock to catch their breaths.
Zenon shut his eyes, listening to the wind.
"We have to move quickly," Zenon grimaced. "The group

protecting the third seal isn't doing well."
While Tycon was tempted to climb the rocks to look over, he

trusted Zenon's judgment, "Has your sense of balance returned,
Mister Karodin?"
"Y-yeah. I think I'll manage, Sir Tycon," The blue-haired human

smiled weakly. He raised a trembling hand, gesturing with an
upwards thumb.
He did not look or sound confident. Tycon placed a finger on

Karodin's outstretched hand and pushed it downward, receiving
no resistance.
"Stay back," Tycon ordered. "I'd prefer you alive for later than to
have you make a foolish sacrifice, now."
"But I..." Karodin gulped, shrinking back from Tycon's glare, "I...
Hrrk-- alright..."
Tycon was almost impressed by the number of times and amount

of liquid Karodin managed to expel, "Rest. Take deep breaths.
Circulate your mana to restore your senses."
Karodin stared blankly at the order, jaw agape.
...Did the Legionnaire not know how to circulate his mana?
Tycon did not expect Karodin to join them anytime shortly.

Chapter 357 Shadowy Support
ycondrius rushed out from their cover towards the skirmish, with
T
Zenon following close behind. The Centurion had grossly
understated the situation. The striker line guarding the Third Seal
was almost non-existent and a dozen humans lay injured or dead
near the seal itself.
Four Lake Eels were attacking an injured Iron-Rank Duelist,

supported by an Iron-Rank Adept and two other Bronze-Rank
casters. Farther in the distance, the group's remaining ranged
classes were clumped together. They had to sustain their
concentrated fire against the undead swarming from the forest, or
they'd all be overrun.
"Optio!!" Zenon clenched his fists as they thrummed with lightning

mana, "We have to save them!!"
"I'll do something!" Tycon growled. "Support me, but keep your

mana reserves high in the likelihood that something goes wrong in
the near future."
The Centurion grit his teeth but nodded in agreement.
Tycon hoped for the best. However, with how often the heavens
seemed to conspire against him, he would at least have a back-up
plan.
His mind raced faster than his legs, analyzing the combat
situation.
Even with the Duelist engaged with a single Lake Eel, Tycon did
not wish to fight against the other three Iron-Rank magical beasts,
all at once. If he made a single mistake, its effects could be
catastrophic. An injured hand or leg would jeopardize his ability to
complete the third and fourth objectives.
The Brazen Guard were unfamiliar with him... thus the
effectiveness of both his offensive and defensive support skills
would be greatly reduced. He wanted to save Zenon's mana.
Karodin was currently useless.
The ghostly eels would be highly resistant if not immune to the

illusory poison of his ⌈Vexing Gaze⌋. He could reveal his healing
ability and use an ⌈Inspirational Surge⌋, hoping that the Duelist
might pull through... Then he could hope to pick off a weakened
eel with his ⌈Shadowfang Strike⌋...
With the Duelist's injuries... how useful would she be? Logically,
the heal would be better if he saved it for himself or Zenon.
"Empty night," Tycon cursed as he skidded to a halt, "⌈Venomous

Shadow⌋."
⟬ ⌈Venomous Shadow⌋. Reaction ability. A shadowy doppelganger

appears behind the target, performing a single weapon attack. ⟭
His summoned shadowy doppelganger could at least provide a

distraction.
A white wispy cloak appeared at Tycon's side, causing Zenon to

leap to the side in surprise, taking a defensive stance. The
shadow's cloak had changed from a night-black to a camouflaged
snow white. The legless, floating shade stared impassionately at
the Centurion, naught but darkness and two golden spheres for
eyes underneath its hood.
"H-he with you, Optio?" Zenon asked.
"...Yes."
Tycon hastily observed his summoned creature. In its ethereal

hands, it held a heavy, two-handed hammer. It was the first time
he had seen his shadow materialize with a weapon... and it was
not something that he had ever remembered using himself.
It would do.
"Give me that."
Tycon took the hammer, trading it for his crossbow, quiver, and
reload tool, "Do not take offense, but do you know how to use
that?"
The shadow nodded, ratcheting back the bowstring and loading a

bolt with practiced ease.
While Tycon was still incredibly uncertain about how effective his
doppelganger would be, it was reasonably better than nothing.
"⌈Wind Walk.⌋" Zenon quietly cast a low-rank spell to increase

Tycon's speed.
With the wind pushing at his back, Tycon sprinted out from cover
towards the Duelist. One of the four Lake Eels was caught
completely unaware, allowing him to crash his hammer against
the side of its head. It fell upon the ice and would hopefully not
revive.
A crossbow bolt pierced into the creature's closed eyelid. It did not
move afterward. If that was his shadow's single attack, Tycon was
glad that it at least gave him peace of mind.
"S-sir Tactician!" A Bronze-Rank Acolyte shouted, "Thank the

Flame you have arrived safely!!"
"Please worry about yourself, young lady," Tycon glared before

dashing towards the Duelist.
The Duelist glanced over, seeing Tycon's approach, wearing a

relieved grin. Skillfully, the woman sidestepped a lunge from the
eel, stabbing it in the eye and holding it still. With the creature's
movement limited, Tycon lifted his hammer and smashed it
against the top of its head. Keeping the momentum, like chopping
a log with an axe, he hammered down twice more. With a beam of
light from the Adept and a few more stabs from the Duelist, the
second of four eels were defeated.
"Whew! Y'took your sweet time, Tactician," The Duelist laughed,
saluting with her sword before wiping the sweat off of her brow.
Tycon returned the salute, frowning, "If it wasn't obvious, I rushed

here as fast as I was able."
He and the Duelist simultaneously leaped back to avoid a body

slam from another eel.
"I'll hold off this one!" The Duelist shouted.
"Right," Tycon scanned the field for the fourth eel. He found it
chasing one of the Bronze-Rank casters, snapping at the heels of
the fatigued Healer. With only three casters left, Tycon needed to
keep all of them alive to channel power into the seal.
"⌈Shadowfang Strike!⌋"
With his movement increased by both Zenon's wind spell and his
own movement technique, Tycon crossed the distance within
seconds. However, with his Gold-Rank perception, he could tell he
wouldn't be fast enough. Skidding to a halt at three rotations, he
lifted his stolen hammer above his head and threw it towards the
eel.
It struck true, causing the eel to roar in pain as its body took the
weighted strike. The hammer exploded in a dark cloud of energy,
the screen possibly enough to cover the Bronze-Rank Healer's
escape.
"Fly, you fool!!!" Tycon yelled.
The warning wasn't enough. The enraged eel snatched up the

hesitant Healer, its toothy maw piercing easily into the man's flesh.
The creature reared up, straightening its body and allowed the
human to fall down into its gullet... But a crossbow bolt pierced
through its eye.
The creature fell to the ice, dead and nonmoving.
Tycon glanced back to where Zenon was. His shadow remained

closeby, staring with emotionless eyes. Not taking its eyes off of
the battlefield, it calmly reloaded its crossbow, again taking aim.
...Excellent shot on both accounts.

Chapter 358 Savior
" Mages, to me!!" Tycondrius had two casters left to sabotage the
sealing formation. It would be difficult for the two of them and
they'd likely suffer mana fatigue... but they'd complete the mission.
Afterward, he could signal for the ranged line to collapse. They
could take the casters and fall back to safety.
Tycon quickly inscribed new mana lines into the seal, bypassing
its mana-limiters while mentally reviewing his situation.
Duelist: Injured, but alive.
Ranged line: Surviving, but not easily.
Casters...
The Bronze-Rank Acolyte was a young, olive-skinned girl wearing

a white cloak lined with fur. She did not appear to have sustained
injury, but was shaken. That was likely due to the fact that over a
third of her group were dead or in critical condition.
The Iron-Rank Adept was a kindly-looking bald and beardless

gentleman in billowy Church robes, his face lined with age. He
looked pathetic, exhibiting clear symptoms of mana fatigue.
"My mana reserves are... greatly diminished," He admitted,

confirming Tycon's fears. "Diantha, you'll need to work with the
Tactician. Lead the channeling spell."
"I... I can only do my best," Acolyte Diantha grimaced. She

removed her hood, revealing short, dark curly hair and wide doe
eyes. "My only fear is that it will not be enough."
Tycon felt his heart drop... The young woman they were
depending on was similar in age to Athena.
A woman's shriek of pain caused the Adept to look back. In
Tycon's peripheral vision, the Lake Eel had caught one of the
Duelist's arms in its teeth, even despite Zenon's ⌈Wind Barrier⌋
protecting her. She was stabbing at the beast's eye, growing more
desperate the more blood she lost.
"Begin circulating your energy, Miss Diantha," Tycon commanded.

"I'll be back in a moment."
"I hear you, Master Tactician," Diantha nodded.
"May the Eternal Flame guide your hand," The older Adept
nodded.
...
With the Duelist still caught in its jaws, the Lake Eel whipped its
head and slammed her painfully onto her side. Superficial cracks
formed in the frozen lake's surface from the force.
Dazed but still conscious, the Iron-Ranked woman jammed her

sword into the creature's maw, and with a twist, managed to pull
her bloodied arm free. She ran her blade along the side of the
eel's head-- not nearly deep enough.
"I'm not sure how much longer I can hold on, Tactician!" She
shouted, keeping her eyes on her enemy.
The ghostly eel lunged at her once more, crashing into the ice.
Tycon shielded his eyes to guard against the burst of icy
shrapnel... and he peered through the cloud of powder, hoping
that the woman still breathed. The current situation was
worrisome enough without the group's final close combatant
dying.
Tycon drew his short sword from his lower back, approaching
while keeping vigilant.
The eel rose out of the white clouds with the Duelist mounted on
top of its head. She held on with her ruined arm, hacking and
stabbing at the beast's head with focused fervor. The eel
predictably responded by thrashing about, flinging the woman
away. She struck the ground hard, rolling along the ice and
leaving a trail of blood as she slid the last few fulms.
Tycon immediately ran to her side to check her condition, "Young

lady..."
The half-dead woman shoved him backward with a surprising

amount of force.
"Go back." The Duelist got to her feet, spitting blood, "I'm handling
it."
She wasn't doing a very good job of it.
"Young lady," Tycon scowled, "Please tell me this is not the best
you can do."
⟬ ⌈Inspirational Surge⌋ conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ⟭
"Hah!" The woman chuckled before spitting again, "Go. Complete

your formation, Tactician."
More blood ran down the side of her mouth and she wiped it with
her sleeve. Her internal injuries were not light.
« ...If possible, yes. »
⟬ Activating... Activation failed. ⟭
How disappointing. The woman was resigned to her fate.
Tycon stood up straight and flicked his sword-wrist to unveil his

preferred weapon, the segmented whip. The remaining Lake Eel
needed to be killed quickly. He did not know when... but it was
certain that more would arrive.
"Sir Tyconnnnn!!!"
Hearing the voice of Karodin of Emberhold, Tycon narrowed his

eyes, tracking the fellow in his peripheral vision. Enchanted by
Zenon's ⌈Wind-Walk⌋ spell, the Bronze-Rank Legionnaire bounded
over the ice and rock, smashing into the Lake Eel's side with his
shield.
"By the Flame!" The Duelist yelled, "What the hells are you doing
here, Karodin?"
"SAVING. YOUR. ARSE!!!!" The Legionnaire roared,

"PTOLEMAAAAA!!"
The Lake Eel reared up, hissing and baring its hundreds of spiny
teeth. The blue-haired human's eyes widened, shocked by its
terrifying speed.
The bastard was still fatigued from earlier.
"Karodin!!" Tycon yelled, "Do something!!"
He couldn't think of any specific action he could command Karodin

to do without him suffering a cruel and quick death. Thus, he
decided to be vague and... hope for the best.
⟬ Activating ⌈Jumping Knee Counter.⌋ Reaction ability. Targeted

against an enemy with increased accuracy. ⟭
Cognizance returned to Karodin's eyes. In that brief moment, he

knelt down, stabbing his short sword into the ice and bracing his
shield as silvery mana encased him. The eel collided with the
shield but was rebuffed by the immovable object, recoiling back in
pain.
"I'm not done with you, yet!!" Karodin yelled. Drawing his blade, he
leapt up and stabbed the creature in the snout. Likely because of
Tycon's compulsion effect, the Legionnaire also launched a mana-
powered knee-strike into the creature's jaw. The resulting crack
was thankfully from the eel's broken teeth and not from Karodin's
knee-cap.
« ...System, inquiry: Karodin's information. »

⟬ System response: Karodin, Iron-Rank Human Legionnaire. Guild
Brazen Guard. ⟭
The young man had broken through to Iron. That was somewhat
promising. Still, that would not clear his fatigue from earlier. It was
likely that he would die along with Duelist Ptolema.
It was a sacrifice Tycon was willing to make.
"Take care of it," Tycon turned on his heel and jogged back
towards Acolyte Diantha and her companion Adept.
Chapter 359 Sacrifice (Part
One)
" Senior Librarian... Master Eugenios..." Diantha had materialized

her mana, and it took the form of a flat, wispy rectangle, glowing
silver in her hand. It was enough... but Tycondrius would have far
preferred if she had two or three cards, instead of just one.
The Acolyte's bottom lip quivered as she bowed her head in

shame, "My mana only amounts to this much."
Adept Eugenios returned the bow, "Trust in your heart, young

Diantha. We shall do all that we can to assist you."
"Well spoken, Brother-Adept," Zenon gave Diantha a reassuring

smile, "All we can do is follow the path laid out for us, child. Do
your best. Your seniors are here to guide you."
"Trust... The path..." Diantha furrowed her brows, thinking deeply

upon her situation. "Of course... The Flame lights my path. All I
need to do is have faith."
As Tycondrius approached, he sensed the girl's mana spike and

stabilize. The silvery card in her hands glowed brighter, its edges
growing sharp and defined. Both Centurion Zenon and Adept
Eugenios shared a look of pleasant surprise.
Acolyte Diantha had undergone a minor breakthrough. If she

survived the dungeon, it wouldn't be impossible for her to reach
Second-Circle within a year or so.
"Brother-Tycon," Zenon waved in greeting. "I will assist with the

channeling."
"No, you will not." Tycon refused him outright, "As I said before, if
you expend your mana and concentration here, we will be
disadvantaged in the near future."
"Tycon... Let me do this," Zenon insisted.
The Centurion's expression betrayed that he knew what was right.

It was emotion and not logic that guided his stubbornness.
"Brother-Zenon..." Tycon frowned, "The situation remains

precarious. It would better behoove our cause if you were to
instead watch over Mister Karodin."
"Brother-Librarian, the Tactician is right," Eugenios smiled

sheepishly, "Allow Diantha and this old man to do our part."
Zenon shut his eyes, a deep grimace set below his mustache...
"Very well."
No longer hesitating, the Librarian turned and ran towards

Karodin. With Zenon supporting the shield-bearing Legionnaire
with both offensive and defensive spells, Tycon and the others
would be afforded the time needed.
Tycon briefly explained to the Acolyte and Adept pair what needed
to be done. Unfortunately, even after the young Diantha's
breakthrough, a glazed look of uncertainty remained in her eyes.
Uncertainty led to failure.
Tycon lamented that he could not do everything himself. The first

two seals were completed without much difficulty. The raw magic
power from several participating mages was enough to channel
mindlessly, forcing the formation's reactivation. Unfortunately,
even with all of Tycon's knowledge, his own magical power
amounted to less than that of a First-Circle Acolyte.
With Diantha, Tycon chose to idiot-proof the process. He re-

explained the spell formation in greater detail, walking her though
each step. He traced the logical lines of power and mapped out
their relations to each of the formation's three parts. He asked
active questions throughout, making absolutely certain she
understood.
The more familiar she was with the ritual, the more efficient her
mana would transfer. This was the way the objective would be
completed with a Bronze-Rank Acolyte and half-an-Iron-Rank
Adept.
With a semblance of confidence instilled into the young Diantha,

she placed her flat, rectangular mana-focus onto the stone ritual
circle, beginning its reactivation.
Her mana flowed freely and without reservation. That was good.
Still, the formation was essentially Fourth-Circle, far beyond the

ken of her abilities. It was logical for her to encounter difficulty.
That she was not was... worrisome.
Tycon turned to the young lady's senior. Sweat dripped down

Adept Eugenios' wrinkled face, his expression strained.
Stars and stones...
The old man's mana reserves were too low to directly charge the
formation, that much was certain. However, it seemed he had
taken it upon himself to correct, stabilize, and funnel Diantha's
magic power.
It was an unintended effect from Tycon's detailed explanations.

Likening Acolyte Diantha's tribulations to being in a hedge maze
carrying a barrel of water... it was like Adept Eugenios had a map
and was running alongside and ahead of her to prevent her from
going down wasteful paths.
Tycon had the assistance of his System for complex magical

calculations to perfectly determine what would usually take weeks,
months, or longer. He could not carry a barrel of mana, but he
knew the multi-layered hedge maze intimately. The guidance he
could provide Diantha was nothing short of perfect.
Adept Eugenios did not have that advantage. His map was not as
comprehensive and he'd have to fumble around the hedge maze
himself. He risked pitfalls and traps and he even had to carefully
carry his own smaller barrel, preventing his mana from spilling out.
The mental power he had to expend in order to do so was
astounding.
The old man was already suffering mana fatigue. Following this,
he would certainly suffer mana exhaustion. It wasn't impossible for
him to become imbecilic, his mind broken... lost in the hedge
maze, forever.
Tycon was not going to stop him. Interrupting Eugenios' struggles

risked a severe magical backlash with undoubtedly catastrophic
effects for everyone involved. That... and his selflessness greatly
increased the chances of Diantha's success.
"Stabilize the mana going to the fourth line in the second

quadrant. Fill the middle circle steadily-- the formation is already
drawn, you don't need to force it."
Tycon continued to calmly guide Diantha. He couldn't complete

the objective by himself. It was foolish to try to stop Eugenios. He
was unwilling to utilize Zenon. His best option was to continue
pushing the young lady to her limits.
The girl was... remarkably similar to Athena, if not by appearance.

Their ages were similar. Most everyone she was initially relying on
had been killed by monsters. She did not question her duty. She
held onto what confidence she could. She was clearly trying her
best.
Tycon loathed the fact that he had to ask the young Acolyte to
shoulder such an important task. If she failed, the Brazen Guard
would have to sound the retreat, which would result in even more
casualties. Even if she succeeded, it would not return her dead
companions to life. The pressure was immense for a single
teenage girl.
If she was Athena, Tycon would have immediately taken her from
this place.
She was not.
Tycon would ensure she completed her mission, even if she had
to sacrifice herself in doing so.
Chapter 360 Sacrifice (Part
Two)
" The lake..." Tears flowed down Acolyte Diantha's face, "The
monster's seal is the lake... My mana cannot... possibly be
enough."
Tycondrius grimaced. There was yet another problem that

stemmed from his detailed explanations. Diantha keenly
understood how daunting her task was to handle alone and how
little room she had for error.
She was lost in the formation, her eyes aglow with mana. She
could not see how desperately Karodin and Ptolema were fighting
against three Lake Eels... and losing. She could not see how yet
another Archer in her group's ranged line had fallen. She could
not see her senior leader, the old Adept Eugenios, trembling with
pain, blood streaming from his ears and nostrils.
Tycon lowered his voice, his tone solemn... "Listen to me, girl."
"I... I hear you, Tactician."
"You've survived this far into the battle. All of your friends are
dying around you... to protect you. You are our victory condition.
This is when you need to push. This is when you draw deep inside
of you to find whatever that keeps you going. What drives you?
Why are you here? Why do you fight?"
"Tactician, I..."
Tycon stared at the girl intently, growling through clenched teeth,

"Answer me."
Sparkling tears seeped from the girl's glowing eyes, "I... I do not
know..."
"Why do you continue?!" Tycon's voice grew louder in urgency,

near shouting in her face, "Why haven't you abandoned your
mission??"
He wished this could be a civil discussion. Circumstances dictated

that he could not afford Diantha even that small mercy.
"Faith..."
"Your volume is pathetic! What was that?!"
The young lady clenched her jaw, "Faith, Master Tactician..."
What did that mean? Was she referring to faith in her god? Faith
in her religion's tenets? In her allies? In humankind? Whatever it
was... she needed to prove it.
"Tss," Tycon scoffed. "Then you have more to give."
"I... hear you," Diantha sobbed.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Show me."
The channeling was nearly complete. With Diantha already

pushing her limits, she was certain to suffer mana exhaustion like
Eugenios. However, Tycon asked for more.
In this world and most, mana was present in all living beings. Not
so obvious-- and not at all common knowledge in the Holy
Country, was that being completely drained of mana was a death
sentence. If the rate of Diantha's mana output remained
consistent... whether she drew from the last of her reserves or
from her very soul, she would die.
Was it worth it? For her, Tycon did not know. For those who relied
on her... Tycon could not say. Still, her efforts were necessary to
reactivate and overload the third seal.
Another human hand was placed onto the etched stone formation.
"You are not alone in your faith, Diantha," Zenon said quietly. He
offered Tycon a small smile in apology.
Tycon crossed his arms, glaring. Zenon was going against his
wishes... but he knew exactly what he was doing.
Sanctum Librarius, Centurion Zenon was choosing to invest his

mana reserves into easing Diantha's burden. He was saving her.
The Centurion was not wrong to value the life of a sentient being.
Tycon was not wrong for seeking mission efficiency.
It was just a shite situation.
...
Duelist Ptolema lied on her side, feeling miserable. Her left arm
was definitely broken.
Karodin supported her, allowing her to sit up-- which still jostled
her injury. She clenched her eyes hard, enduring the pain that
traveled like lightning bolts throughout the entire left side of her
body.
Pain meant she was alive... and that meant she was better off
than a few members of her Snowy Village adventuring company.
They were dead.
Ptolema had no right to complain.
"Here, you go," Karodin unstoppered a healing potion and placed

the glass to her lips.
"Bwohh!!" Ptolema turned her face away, "Mister Karodin! My arm

is broken, not my spine!"
Karodin grinned like a fool, placing a hand behind his ruffled, dark
blue hair, "I uh... I know that."
"Then *hand* me the potion," Ptolema glared. "Please."

"Right. Here," The Legionnaire smiled, "Drink slowly."
Ptolema began drinking from the potion bottle... She would have
finished it in one gulp, if Karodin hadn't reminded her otherwise.
The flavor was terrible, but as an Iron-Rank adventurer, she was
used to it.
She felt a little guilty for treating Karodin of Emberhold so poorly. If

she remembered correctly, the Brazen Guard Legionnaire was
part of the group at the second seal-- and not even its strongest
member. He had gone well out of his way to help her and her guild
out of a dire predicament. She'd apologize later.
Karodin's almost overbearing helpfulness made no sense. They

had only met a few suns prior. They weren't from the same city or
anything like that. She doubted it was because he favored her, as
Ptolema wore men's clothing and Karodin hadn't heard her voice
until just recently.
He was stronger than he looked, too. The way he blocked the

Lake Eel's charge just by bracing his shield... It was something
she expected out of the Brazen Guard's guild leader, Bannok-- not
from him.
"Mister Karodin, you live," The green-haired Tactician approached

the two of them, his cloak billowing in the wind.
As pretty as he was, his voice was... incredibly annoying to hear.

She and Karodin had literally just-survived a life-and-death
situation. They could do with a little gratitude.
"Yep!" Karodin flexed his sword arm, "Ptolema and I took down
four."
Ptolema held her tongue. All she had done for the final four Lake
Eels was defend herself. Legionnaire Karodin did that, as well...
while keeping the creatures' attention... and defending her... and
finishing them off, too.
Strong. Humble. Selfless.

Ptolema sighed. He was superior to her in every way. She
definitely needed to apologize.
"Oh." The youthful Tactician's eyes passed over her in judgment,

"Miss Ptolema... you appear to have survived, as well."
The way the Tactician spoke to her made her want to punch him in
the face. As rude as he was, though... he was definitely an ally.
Also, the particular gold color of his eyes unnerved her slightly.
"Wait-- MISS Ptolema??" Karodin turned incredulously, "You're a

girl?"
Ptolema glared daggers in response. She might have preferred

trousers with pockets to a skirt... and sure, her hair was incredibly
short after a run-in with a fire elemental a few moons prior... but
her name was obviously female. By the Flame, this man was
ridiculous.
There was no way she was going to apologize after that remark.
Chapter 361 Tempting Fate
tolema swayed her head backward to avoid Karodin, bowing for

P
forgiveness. The Legionnaire's speed surprised her a little bit.
Wasn't this person a Bronze-Rank?
"I hadn't meant to take advantage of you, Miss Ptolema." Karodin

apologized, "--grabbing you like that, I mean."
Was he referring to when he helped her sit up? Ugh. It wasn't like
he did anything creepy or touched anyplace questionable. This
man had a shite sense of propriety.
"Tch. It's fine," Ptolema grumbled.
"The fourth and final seal, Mister Karodin," The green-haired

Tactician prompted. "Will you be accompanying us?"
"Yeah! I'm coming!"
Without as much as a goodbye, the two sprinted off, the tall mage
going along with them.
Ptolema's arm felt hot, the fracture steadily repairing due to the
potion. It was how she knew it was working... that, and how
hungry she felt. Standing up, she waved her good arm to greet the
approaching Acolyte Diantha.
Diantha trotted over quickly and gave a sharp salute, "Leader."
It was rare to see her with her hood down. Her baby face and
cute, dark curls betrayed her young age. In a similar betrayal, the
dark rings beneath her reddened eyes showed that she'd had her
own share of difficulties.
"Glad to see you still in one piece, girl," Ptolema wore the most
assuring smile she could, "Report."
"The third seal has been completed but Mister Eugenios is

suffering mana exhaustion," Diantha coolly explained.
"Hm. Very well," Ptolema nodded in thought. "Help him withdraw.

I'll pass word to our archers that we're heading back."
The Acolyte shook her head, "Our guild members are still in
danger, Leader. I will go to them and provide support as we fall
back."
The girl's plan made sense. Ptolema didn't like it, but it made
sense.
Even with one arm, Ptolema was stronger and could assist
Eugenios more easily. Conversely, the Acolyte class could support
their other ranged classes at a distance.
"Tch. Alright," Ptolema grimaced. "Do so."
Diantha bowed her head, "I hear you, Leader."
"Ehh..." Ptolema sighed and shook her head, "You can just call me
Ptolema from now on."
She deserved it, especially concerning how difficult the fight had
been. It looked like she gained some confidence, as well. If
anyone in the Snowy Village adventuring company needed more
confidence, it was the reticent Acolyte that tended to hide quietly
underneath her hood.
Acolyte Diantha raised her head and curled her lips up in a small
smile, "Flame guide your path, Ptolema."
Ptolema nodded, "Flame guide you safely back, girl."
...
"Did you use a Tactician skill on me, Sir Tycon?" Karodin asked as
the trio jogged towards the fourth seal. "It felt like all of a sudden, I
could fight the Lake Eels singlehanded-ly!"
"I highly advise against it," Tycon frowned, not bothering to meet
the bounding Legionnaire's inquisitive gaze. "Do not take
unnecessary risks, Mister Karodin."
"You got it, Boss!" Karodin grinned.
...Hm. It had been a while since he'd been called as such. It gave
him a sense of nostalgia.
Tycon, his tall friend, and his slightly-ridiculous friend arrived at

the location of the fourth and final seal. They were supposed to
receive a warm and hearty greeting by the members of
Pyromancer Photios' group, easily the strongest of the three
caster-centric groups. Instead, they were greeted by the sight of
their corpses, strewn about in pieces or crushed and bled by Lake
Eel teeth.
Tycon took a deep breath and sighed. Duelist Ptolema's group

had to defeat nearly three times the number of eels as the other
groups. Whatever had happened at the fourth seal had likely
factored into that.
"Brother-Zenon..." Tycon turned to the Centurion, "How confident

are you in reactivating the seal on your own?"
Zenon averted his gaze, "I don't have enough mana to complete
the channeling by myself."
It might have been possible, had he not wasted-- no... used his
energy in assisting Acolyte Diantha.
...As frustrated as he was, there was no sense in berating Zenon

for it. The Centurion already keenly knew he was at fault. Further,
it was probable that his recent friend, Mister Photios, lied amongst
the dead.
The closest seal beside the first was the third... and Diantha had
no mana left. By this time, the group at the second seal should
have already withdrawn to the back line.
Tycon briefly considered seeking assistance from one of the
mages from Bannok's group? ...No, a rogue factor entering into
combat with the Throne Giant carried a substantial risk. Anyroad,
every single member of that group would be focused on keeping
Bannok alive. Taking one or two had the possibility of offsetting
that balance.
Tycon shook his head, his expression grave. The plan was a
failure. They needed to move as fast as possible, in order to find a
hornblower to sound a retreat. Thankfully, they had the advantage
of Zenon, who could boost their movement with his mana-efficient
⌈Wind Walk⌋ spell.
...In retrospect, he should have asked for one of the horns and
instruction on its usage.
Karodin's sharp whistle pierced the silence, "This sun keeps

getting worse and worse."
Tycon and Centurion Zenon immediately glared at the

Legionnaire.
"Whaaat?!" Karodin grinned in embarrassment, "I was trying to

lighten the mood!"
The frozen lake beneath them began to rumble violently, Karodin

dropping to a knee and Zenon reflexively using his magic to
levitate.
"Karodin!" Zenon shouted, "Come on, man! You don't say these
kinds of things!"
A familiar creature emerged from the ice. The red-scaled Dire

Lake Eel surged up, towering over the trio. While it sported a few
new arrows and crossbow bolts stuck in its armored plating, it
remained relatively undamaged overall.
"When you tempt the fates, Mister Karodin..." Tycon massaged

the bridge of his nose, "Do not be surprised when they answer."
The creature's roar drowned out the Legionnaire's frantic
apologizing.
...
⟬ A few moments earlier. ⟭
"Save your strongest skills for when the fourth seal is released,"
Tanamar spoke calmly. Divine arrows like rays of the sun shone
from the Holy Lancer's bow, finding their marks upon the undead
giant's chest, "It'll be soon."
Chapter 362 Ranged Support
nly Felinus's Elven ears would be able to hear Tanamar so well

O
over sword, spell, and shouting. The young hero's direction was
clearly intended for him, alone.
They were strange tactics... even for a human. But they were
logical. With each seal destroyed, the creature's ability to resist
the song their bows sang fell drastically. When the final seal was
broken, though the Throne Giant's power would surge
tremendously, its ⌈Mana Ward⌋ was likely to shatter, leaving it
vulnerable.
"It feels like our arrows are doing jack shite!!" An Iron-Rank Hunter
yelled.
"Keep firing!" Tanamar ordered, "The giant is wasting

concentration on blocking our ranged attacks. He'll start casting
Fourth-Circle spells if we let up!"
The other Hunter's face paled with the new knowledge and his
rate of fire increased.
Humans always needed a motivation to perform to the best of

their ability. Some found it easily. Some needed not-so-gentle
reminders.
What capricious creatures...
"Keep focusing it down, Fel," Tanamar whispered. "I'm going to

split my damage for a sec."
Felinus understood Tanamar's actions even less than that of a

typical human. Still, their judgment had always proven reliable in
the past. Felinus trusted the boy as much as he would any honest
and well-meaning child.
Felinus was a master archer with well over two hundred years of
experience, without peer in both precision and accuracy... until the
Brazen Guard had enlisted the help of the Stormbrands.
Though the human wasn't even a tenth of his age, it was as if he'd
lived several human lifetimes practicing the art of the bow. Further,
the skills the Holy Lancer used were... unique.
Tanamar could fire arrows of varying sizes, some comparable to

human siege weaponry. Sometimes they would curve to follow
their targets as if they had wills of their own. At other times,
Tanamar's arrows would shatter, blinding his marks and shocking
them into confusion. Only reliant on mana, his barrage of arrows
could be as endless as a coursing river... with the primordial force
of a great typhoon.
Felinus' ears twitched, hearing the roar of a great beast in the

distance. Following Tanamar's gaze, he observed a Dire Eel
emerging near the opposite side of the lake. Its scales were red
instead of pale blue... Perhaps their scales hardened and
changed color with age? ...Or perhaps the creature had
undergone bloodline evolution?
Narrowing his eyes, he made out the green hair of the Tactician,
the tall stature of his Librarian companion, and... one more. They
were being sorely contested at the fourth and final seal.
"Is that your target, Hero?" Felinus asked.
"Ayep," Tanamar responded casually.
If it were any other human, Felinus would have found the notion
absurd. The Dire Eel was at a range far past the limits of his own
longbow. With the seconds of time it took for an arrow to reach the
creature, it would have long moved from its spot.
"Is the beast known to you?"
"It is," Tanamar nodded. "Lake of Rage, north of Mahogany Town.

That one was bigger, though."
Felinus had traveled all of Tyrion and had never heard of such a
foreboding place.
At any rate, though the Brazen Guard would lose a third of their
pressure by losing Tanamar, it was far more important for him to
reposition in order to ensure the fourth seal's reactivation.
"Go. I'll keep command while you're gone."
"No need," Tanamar aimed his bow towards the beast. "I can hit it
from here."
Mana pulsed from where the young human stood. The billowy
mist above the dungeon parted, a beam of light crashing down
from the heavens and shrouding Tanamar's form. Runed lines
glowed upon the ice, thrumming with power, rotating and
reconfiguring dynamically to empower his attack.
Tanamar's silvery hair stood on end, flowing as the air swirled

around him. As he drew back his longbow, a blur of magical
afterimages followed.
The mana-empowered skill was... greedy, hungry. Most Archer

classes collaborated with the world and its laws... Tanamar... he
was forcing the world to bend to his will. And bend it did. The
spirits in the ground, the air they breathed, the trees and the snow,
the light of the heavens-- all bowed, lending Tanamar their power.
"Creation is a noble charge..." Tanamar spoke, his voice a peal of

thunder, an echo in an empty valley. "The elements give
themselves freely to the cause. I am unworthy of their praise... for
my light brings only darkness. This is my ⌈Oath⌋: Death to the
enemies of House Vanzano."
It was not an arrow of mana that formed in Tanamar's drawn

string. It was divine light... condensed power wielded by the
gods... raging against being wielded by a mortal. Releasing the
bowstring, the death sentence sped instantaneously across the
frozen lake, rending a crevasse in the ice trailing its path.
For the briefest of moments, Felinus thought for certain that he
heard the screech of a giant feathered roc, descending upon its
prey.
The Elven Hunter shivered, a chill of terror running down the

length of his spine. Tanamar was an Iron-Rank. He was young.
And he was human. How powerful would he become in the
future?
Felinus controlled his breathing to calm his heart rate... "Hero...

you previously stated we should save our strongest skills."
"Oh, no worries, Fel," Tanamar smirked. "I can cast that twice."
...
Oh. Hm.
Tycon grabbed Karodin's collar and yanked him backward. He

glanced back to Zenon-- he would be fine. Tycon took a quick hop
backward, careful not to slip on the ice.
A beam of light about twice the thickness of a ballista bolt shot

through the red Dire Eel. The ice immediately grew slick with the
pooling blood from its gaping wound.
"What?! WHAT??!?" Zenon shouted, "By the FLAME, what just

happened??!"
"An attack from one of our allies, it seems." Tycon shrugged, "Our
enemy still remains. Which one among us would have the honors
of the kill?"
The thunk of a crossbow answered the call before either Zenon or

the grounded Karodin could volunteer. The massive eel collided
with the ground, which cracked the ice, but thankfully did not
break it.
The Lake Eels were strange creatures for their bodies to half-
phase through the ice while reverting to fully corporeal upon their
deaths.
Legionnaire Karodin sat up, staring at the eel corpse, "What... By
the Flame... what just happened?"
"An attack from..." Tycon stopped himself, sighing. "Don't worry

about it."
He glared back at where his Venomous Shadow was hidden. The

white-hooded doppelganger placed its crossbow and quiver neatly
against the rock near the fourth seal before fading away.
How polite.
No matter how strange Tycon's ⌈Venomous Shadow⌋ summon

was, he could not hate it.
Chapter 363 Magical
Appearance
enon grimaced as his gaze passed over Tycondrius and Karodin

Z
both, "What... what should we do now? Optio?"
Tycon shook his head, "We still have to return-- unless a powerful
enough mage magically appears to help us."
"Ahem," The sound of a man clearing their throat put the trio on
edge, and they naturally took outward defensive positions.
"Whoa! Hold on!" A hooded mage in black-and-silver robes

appeared in a gout of silvery flames, "I'm an ally!"

Guard. ⟭
"You're alive!" Zenon cheered, "Thought we lost you, man!"
"Haha, yeah..." Photios grinned somewhat awkwardly, "I wasn't

sure I was gonna make it, to be honest."
Tycon narrowed his eyes, somewhat relaxing his guard but not re-
sheathing his sword. The Pyromancer had arrived alone. His
group lay dead upon the frozen lake. Something had happened...
but the presence of Photios would factor well into their mission's
completion.
"You've excellent timing, Mister Photios. I pray you have enough

mana to assist me and Librarian Zenon with the final seal..."
...
The Brazen Guard collective gathered at the war camp to rest and
recuperate. After the reactivation of the fourth seal, Bannok had
severed the head of the enthroned giant with his battleaxe.
Footman Victorius told him about it in grisly detail.
He made it sound like he was there alongside the Gold-Rank

Weaponmaster.
There was a high degree of embellishment in his tale, but the

results were undeniable. The Brazen Guard was vict-- was
successful.
There were more casualties incurred. Photios' entire group was

annihilated, save himself. The Snowy Village adventuring
company lost a third of their members, with most of the remaining
too injured to participate in further encounters.
The Stormbrands, of course, did not disappoint even when

comparing levels of failure. One of theirs was also killed, their
corpse strewn about in pieces over the frozen lake. Unfortunately,
it was neither Reaver Tancred nor Cleric Occam.
The Brazen Guard hosted an internal auction for the spoils... most
of it mundane and worn weaponry, dropped by the various
undead. Tycon was granted priority... but chose to default to the
Gold-Rank guild. A cache of basic arms and armor would always
remain useful in a company of their size.
...and there was nothing of immediate value to be claimed.
Word was passed that the Brazen Guard would rest for two suns.
There were more than enough adventurers to continue, after all.
During the downtime, Hunter Felinus' scouts, as well as some
volunteers were to patrol deeper into the dungeon, reporting on
their findings.
That was fine. It allowed Tycon the time to train his charge.
...
They did not teach magic at the military academy in Silva.
Everything Athena Vanzano had learned, she did on her own...
and with perhaps a bit of assistance from her loyal footman,
Tanamar. It was quite impressive, especially considering the girl
had nearly killed him with an incanted ⌈Ice Beam⌋ a few weeks
prior.
Tycon patiently explained basic magical concepts, the young

lady's frost-blue-haired head greedily soaking up the information.
As always, she proved a diligent student, the questions she asked
granting him confidence that she well-understood the material.
Some of the mage-initiate's inquiries, (while slightly off-topic,)

pushed the boundaries of Tycon's knowledge. He provided what
theories he could... but magic, at its core, was not so easily
explained, even by one as handsome and intelligent as himself.
At the lake mouth was a majestic waterfall, its sheer size dwarfing
both the Dire River Eel and the Throned Giant. With the magic of
the lake undone, in a few short bells, the waterfall again resumed
its flow. The torrent crashed upon the large rocks below, the force
easily enough to pulverize a Bronze-Rank.
With the amplified ambient frost mana in that area, Athena

discovered that she gained the ability to levitate... slightly. Her
excitement turned to horror as Tycon assigned the young lady her
latest training.
Three wispy spheres of Athena's condensed mana slowly rotated

around her as she floated above the icy waters. Four was her
limit. Three allowed her to keep her levitation mostly stable...
Still, Yin Body or not, a lapse in concentration would find her very
cold and very miserable.
Athena's ability to sustain her spells would see an improvement...

or she'd be greatly inconvenienced by drowning or the
hypothermia that would set in afterward.
Tycon calmly observed their surroundings, ever vigilant for signs

of danger. The forest was still quite haunted, but Athena would
remain safe even if he was her only guardian.
Zenon accompanied them for a while. The Centurion's spells, in

particular, held the distinct divinity of his Eternal Flame, rending
the forms of ghosts as easily as the flesh of men. Where he went
off to from there, Tycon did not know. It was likely that the events
of the battle weighed on his mind.
Post-battle was an excellent time for introspection.
Scouts traveled near the falls in small teams of four, often

stopping to gawk at the floating Vanzano's magical appearance.
They would come by to relieve their boredom with idle talk before
ultimately returning to their duties, foraging for wood and hunting
furred animals.
Having Athena handle a fourth sphere was too easy. Instead, he

sharpened the young lady's concentration by inviting passersby,
as well as the members of Team Athena, to hold thoughtful
conversations with her.
Victorius did well to help. The blonde footman reminisced about

his past glories and shared inside jokes that Miss Athena was
privy to.
Tycon slightly lamented that Centurion Zenon had gone

elsewhere. He would perform an excellent job distracting Athena,
speaking about his favorite gladiators or the history of some
obscure adventuring company. The levitating Vanzano would not
be able to escape... though as polite as the young lady was, she'd
probably prove perfectly receptive to the elevated gentleman's
tedium.
For whatever reason, Tanamar's presence made Athena fail

fantastically. When his eyes fell upon her in wonder, she seemed
to panic. With her concentration broken, she crashed into the
waters. The noble hero that was Tanamar immediately leapt in to
save her.
Though Tycon couldn't identify how, Footman Tanamar was most

certainly at fault.
One of Karodin's team members, a Bronze-Rank Adept, came by
and dried Athena's hair and training clothes with magic. The fellow
even helped Tycon build a fire and an improvised formation
helped protect it from the domineering frost mana that suffused
the environment.
The young lady was more resistant to hypothermia than he'd

originally estimated. Conversely, her misery was worse from her
failures combined with her damp clothing. Thus motivated, the
training continued.
Following that event, Tycon chased Tanamar away with his blade-
whip. It was good to challenge Miss Athena... but it seemed that
that fellow's presence had too powerful an effect.
Chapter 364 Unfair
" Sir Ty..." Athena waved her hand, deflecting a pinecone with her
⌈Frost Shield⌋, "I have a question?"
"Ask away, young lady," Tycondrius tossed up another pinecone in

a gentle arc, which the young lady also blocked easily. He was
slowly increasing the speed of his projectiles, training Athena's
ability to react while still holding her concentration on her spheres
and levitation... "Also, don't call me that."
"Um, alright." Athena pursed her lips, "Sir Tycon, you're friends
with Mister Z, right?"
"We are friends, yes," Tycon tossed a pinecone in a high arc.

Athena would have to be mindful of its trajectory as she
responded.
"D'oh," Even though she was watching for it, the pinecone
bounced off the top of her head. The young lady idly rubbed
where it struck, "Doesn't he seem... kinda sad, lately?"
"Is that so?" Tycon pitched another... aimed at her abdomen

instead of her head.
"Y-yeah," Athena caught the pinecone. With a surge of her mana,

she coated its surface with frost. Using her magic to keep it
levitating, she directed it back towards him.
Tycon gently caught the frozen pinecone, following its momentum,

preventing it from shattering. He held it up to shine against the
cracks of light spilling from the mists above. It was an admirable
display of talent to be able to freeze the small object in its entirety,
"What would you advise?"
"Oh! Wh-whoa!!" Athena's concentration lapsed briefly, and she
struggled to regain control and not fall into the icy waters. "A-
advise? I dunno! I don't want to be rude."
Tycon shrugged, "This is a relaxed training environment-- just the

two of us. You may speak freely."
Athena grimaced, but nodded, "I think you should talk to him. I'm
worried."
Tycon pitched a fast pinecone, aimed just shy of her right ear.
The young lady shrieked. Slowly struggling to keep hold of her

spell, her body slowly descended towards the water. When the
cold touched her rear, her spell failed completely, and she
splashed into the waist-deep water, "S-sir Tycon!!! That wasn't
fair!!"
"I'll talk to him," Tycon chuckled. "Warm yourself by the fire and
we'll walk back together."
...
"⌈Wind Barrier⌋..." Centurion Zenon activated a defensive spell as

Tycon dropped down from the trees, a short distance behind.
"It's me," Tycon raised his voice to ensure he'd be heard.
Zenon sighed aloud, shaking his head of dark brown regulation-

cut hair. He dispelled his magical shield and offered a slight smile,
"Sorry, Optio. You surprised me."
"No apologies necessary," Tycon chuckled lightly. "I'm quite glad

you remain vigilant. As close to the camp as we are, it's quite
dangerous to wander in hostile territory."
Tycon had found Zenon along the outskirts of the Brazen Guard
camp, listlessly moping about on his own.
"I'm sorry I haven't been participating in the training..." Zenon

sighed again, his eyes focused on something far off into the
distance.
Tycon followed Zenon's gaze. He wasn't looking at anything in

particular.
...Strange.
"It's fine," Tycon pursed his lips. "Is there... an issue?"
"No... I... " The Centurion shrugged, "I just have a lot to think
about."
Tycon brushed the frost and snow off of a smooth rock and seated
himself comfortably. He was prepared for training in the mountains
and had swaddled himself in a thick fur blanket over his armor and
cloak.
He wore a polite smile and stared at his friend. Zenon had more to
say. Silence was the best way to convey that he was willing to
listen.
The Centurion crossed his arms, shivering briefly, "Her name was
Diantha. She was an Acolyte from Rhizenia."
Tycon shut his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath through
his nostrils. He was afraid he knew where Zenon's thoughts had
gone. Acolyte Diantha was imperative in reactivating the third seal
as the Brazen Guard fought the Throne Giant. That Zenon spoke
of her in past tense...
"She was one of the casualties in the Snowy Village adventuring

company..." Zenon grimaced, crinkling his mustache and staring
at his feet, "I just... It wasn't fair that she..."
Tycon remained quiet, gesturing for Zenon to continue.
"I... I feel guilty about it. Like... I could have done something..."
Pain was evident both in Zenon's expression and his voice, "We
could have taken her with us..."
Tycon scoffed internally at the notion. He never would have

agreed to such a suggestion. The mana-fatigued girl would have
only been a burden.
Zenon was struggling to think of what he could have done

differently and was distraught at not having an answer. His
internal crisis was very human... resulting from reliance on logic.
The human mind seeks causality. Every effect should have a
cause.
While somewhat true, there are a myriad of catalysts that are

impossible to influence. According to Chaos Theory, the slightest
changes in conditions can completely upturn an eventual
outcome.
Induction is impossible. Gathering enough information to explain

an event can only provide a theory. Further, not everything that led
to Diantha's death could be observed, the tactics of the enemy,
the actions of her guild members, the thoughts going through the
young woman's mind.
Sometimes... bad things happen to good people.
Such unfortunate events take place, catching all parties involved

relatively unaware. Of course, hindsight analysis proves useful in
preventing repeat incidents. The future can be changed. The past
can not... not in this world, anyroad.
"Decisions were made, Brother-Zenon," Tycon forced a smile.

"We acted on as much information as we had, did we not?"
"Yeah, but... I could have..."
Tycon gestured with an open palm... "Realistically, you could have

what?"
"I could've... prioritized her safety or..." Zenon's voice trailed off.
"The mission came first," Tycon shook his head, "We were not
wrong in acting as such."
"...We... we should have known," Zenon's voice grew quiet.

"We did not know she was at such risk," Tycon stood up and
placed a reassuring hand on Zenon's arm, "We did what we set
out to do... complete the mission...
"At the time, we made our decisions, as best we could. In our

profession, such decisions will haunt us until the end of our suns...
Mourn the dead, but do not let your grief consume you."
Zenon dropped his arms, taking a heavy breath in thought,

"Alright... I'll try my best."
Tycon chuckled to himself, "The best is all we ask of you, Brother."

Chapter 365 Adventuring Life
wo suns after defeating the Throne Giant, the Brazen Guard

T
collective ventured deeper into the valley forest. The scouts had
found a few off-beaten paths leading to subsections of the
Icingdeath Dungeon. The various groups that made up the
collective could split off to explore and loot as they pleased...
provided the 'Dungeon Boss' was defeated.
On the fourth sun, Felinus' scouts reported the discovery of the

strongest creature in the dungeon, a Dread Wraith. Tycondrius
was somewhat familiar with the large undead creature, unlike the
other dungeon denizens.
It was large. Its touch could instantly drain the life force of an
adventurer. And it was an Adamantine-Rank threat.
The quest issued by the Tyrion Adventurer's Guild referred to the

creature as the White Lady, which Tycon found to be woefully
lacking in creativity. Also, unfortunately, Felinus and Tanamar
identified no workarounds that Tycon could take advantage of.
The Brazen Guard's guild leader, Bannok, limited participants to

Bronze-Rank, high-tier classes and stronger. Nearly forty
members remained, a rather high number. Many casualties of the
Throne Giant were able to be restored to fighting condition, thanks
to Priestess Ariadne's healing. Of course, she couldn't bring back
the dead... that was the purview of the White Lady.
Theoretically, their numbers would be enough.
Within those left over from the screening, Tycon was pleased to
see a few familiar faces.
⟬ Karodin, Iron-Rank Human Legionnaire; Photios, Iron-Rank

Human Silver Pyromancer. Guild Brazen Guard. ⟭
Photios had gotten along well with Zenon. From it, Zenon had
recovered much of his enthusiasm, doing his best to hide his
uncertainty.
Karodin waved like a fool upon seeing Tycon. Hesitantly, Tycon

waved back in acknowledgment. The clumsy Legionnaire was
almost certain to die in the next combat. It was surprising that he
hadn't died in the previous two.
⟬ Ptolema, Iron-Rank Human Duelist. Guild Snowy Village. ⟭
The hooded Duelist stood near Karodin, granting Tycon a nod

when their gazes met. That girl was too stubborn to die. If she
wasn't already the leader of her own guild, Tycon would have
considered scouting her.
⟬ Athena Vanzano, Bronze-Rank Human Frostblade. Guild

Stormbrand. ⟭
"Athena," Tycon glared. "Go back."
"Aww... Okay," The young lady sauntered off, somewhat

disappointed.
What was she expecting? For her to go unnoticed? Her frost-blue

hair stuck out in a crowd as much as Tycon's green.
There were also a few familiar adventurers loitering amongst the

crowd that Tycon was less than pleased to see.
⟬ Tancred Mors, Iron-Rank Human Reaver; Occam, Iron-Rank

Human Cleric. Guild Stormbrand. ⟭
Tancred stood around in his multi-colored armor. He was trying to

look disinterested in his surroundings, but his vapid stare only
betrayed how foolish he appeared.
Occam roved about, leering at females. Otherwise, he was

aggressively posturing in front of the few adventurers obviously a
lower metal rank than he was.
As before, Tycon specifically avoided the company of those
people. If they disliked him for it, he was not interested in their
opinions.
Bannok announced that the Brazen Guard collective would

engage in battle with the Dread Wraith the following sun at noon.
While the dungeon's high mists blocked a majority of the sunlight,
it was generally accepted knowledge that it was better to siege the
undead with the sun at its highest peak.
...
A strategy meeting was called at the Brazen Guard command tent

consisting of Bannok, Ariadne, and Felinus, as well as himself and
Tanamar.
Tycon had assumed they were to discuss strategy concerning the

Dread Wraith. He was pleasantly surprised to discover it was to
share a hot meal and some warm wine.
"So what's your relationship with the kid, Brother-Tycon?" Bannok

asked... "If it's not some secret squirrel shite, anyroad."
The human's cheeks were lightly flushed by the drink. Because of

the battle on the morrow, he was insistent on 'holding back' even
as he drained half a Tyrion congius of wine.
Tycon swirled the sweet red wine in his wooden cup,

"Circumstances have dictated that I am to assist in rebuilding the
name of House Vanzano."
"Ah. She's a good girl... and a good leader," Bannok nodded,

plunking his empty winecup onto the planning table. "A shame
what happened to her house, though..."
"She's the sweetest thing!" Aria grinned as she refilled the

winecups of both Tycon and her husband. "Ah made cupcakes
once. She stuffed her li'l mouth like a chipmunk."
...Tycon had seen the phenomenon before with the young lady's
love for thinly-sliced fried potatoes, topped with sour cream and
sharp cheddar. He had scolded her for her impatience and
impropriety.
"How about you, Brother-Bannok?" Tycon raised an eyebrow,

"Why continue the adventuring life instead of becoming a
landowner with all your military achievements?"
Bannok leaned back and sighed contentedly, "Gotta stay sharp.

Without a war going on, adventuring is the best way to prepare for
the next one."
Ariadne's eyes drifted over to Hunter Felinus, prompting everyone

in the tent to follow her gaze.
"Ahem..." The quiet elf cleared his throat, "The Brazen Guard
must continuously complete quests in order to provide for the
upkeep of our magical equipment. Mana dust is difficult to come
by in large quantities, otherwise."
"Like Fel says," Bannok followed, "Quests get us coin to keep our
gear good. Occasionally, we find a magic weapon or set of armor,
too. Our guild's really just about killin' people, if you think about it."
Tycon nodded in understanding. Bannok and the Brazen Guard

lived for war. To that end, adventuring was the most logical and
effective way to remain a relevant military force. His success was
evident in that his guild was the strongest in Kasydon and was
able to take high-rank quests with regularity.
However... a war did exist, even if Bannok stated otherwise. It was

waged silently within his Holy Country of Tyrion. The Snake Cult
seemed to have infiltrated deep within the ranks of the Church of
the Eternal Flame. He was fairly certain that Bannok was
intimately aware of it... as he expressed a sense of guilt that he
did not remain in the military proper.
It was for the best. The Weaponmaster had implied that he

participated in the war massacres in the Free Nation. Villages and
entire cities were quarantined and put to the torch to combat the
spread of a highly contagious lycanthrope. As a high-ranked
Centurion, Bannok had undoubtedly made many difficult decisions
during that time.
With any large-scale engagement, unfortunate casualties were

commonplace. While the death of innocent men and women was
never acceptable... for a man so loyal to his country, fighting
against his kinsmen was a nightmare that Bannok had to avoid at
all costs.
Ariadne hummed musically... as elves were wont to do, "An' look

at us now... we're in the hills, cold 'nough to freeze a tit off a frog,
huntin' poltergeists."
"It's a wraith, sapling," Felinus corrected her.
The dark elf Priestess placed her hands on her hips and stuck her
tongue out, "How 'bout we call a spade a shovel, Fel!?"
Tycon paused, thinking about the incredulity of his own situation.

In the span of a few moons, he had gone from convincing
dwarves and a gorgon idiot to fight on his behalf... to sending his
daughter to school... to freezing like a... frog in the mountains.
And now, he was fully intent on defeating an Adamantine-Rank
Dread Wraith.
",
Chapter 366 Snowfall
riestess Ariadne pointed accusingly, "Look, Fel! You scared

P
Mister Tactician!"
Tycondrius narrowed his eyes. He wasn't scared. That was

ridiculous.
"We must exercise a healthy amount of caution," Hunter Felinus

warned with a grave expression. "The Dread Wraith's very
existence weakens the boundary between the corporeal world and
the Plane of Shadows. Balance must be returned."
"Eh, should be a simple fight," Bannok shrugged. "Won't be an

easy one, but it'll be simple. Tell 'em, Hero."
Tanamar was finishing up his plate of spiced marinated beef,

caught off guard by Bannok's questioning. He hastily swallowed,
washing the bite down with wine, "Ahem... Yeah, it's a pretty
straightforward fight. We enchant our weapons with Spiritbane
and we survive the illusions."
"There we go," Bannok drained another winecup. "We kill the

ghost, grab its spirit stone, and that's it-- quest complete. We'll
spend a bit snooping around for a Dungeon Core for some extra
coin, but that's secondary."
The details the Holy Lancer had provided were vaguer than for
the two previous large-scale encounters. Tycon feared that the
wraith's illusions were far more dangerous than he was making it
out to be.
...
"(Why has the Flame forsaken us//The enemies are breaking

through
I long for the warmth in being surrounded by my kin//The enemies
are breaking through
They cast me and out and call me a witch//I am but a mother who
loves her children
Their hatred is stronger than my faith//Without faith, I am

nothing.)"
The White Lady drifted alone through a field of frozen statues,

tattered and translucent robes billowing in the cold winds. Her
lamentations echoed, a hundred spirits lending their voices to the
chorus.
The Tyrion Old Language was not something well-known to

modern Tyrions... the Dread Wraith's diction and inflection were
more aligned to Tycon's understanding than he had heard in
recent practical discussions.
She was from an age long past.
And judging by the transparent form the ghost took... she was
once human.
⟬ White Lady, Adamantine-Rank Dread Wraith Witch. ⟭
Upon the woman's head, she wore a peculiar metal contraption

that blocked her eyes and ears. It was an ancient device that had
fallen out of favor, once utilized by the Witch-Hunters of the
Church, and likely unfamiliar to anyone save himself and Hunter
Felinus. If the mask was corporeal, it would greatly weaken or
nullify the woman's ability to cast spells.
What was the significance of her torturous helm? Of what battle

did she sing? How much pain had she endured? How much hate
had she amassed to grow so much in power?
Tycon sighed and shook his head.
Ultimately, such things did not matter. There was no humanity left
in the Dread Wraith. Like the other undead the Brazen Guard had
encountered, she was no different-- naught but a visage of her
former self, her actions guided only by an instinctual hatred for the
living.
Tycon looked to Felinus. If anyone knew of the White Lady's

circumstances, it would be the well-traveled elf. The Elven Hunter
was shutting his eyes, visibly trembling as he circulated his
internal mana to calm himself.
That was not a good sign.
Combat engagements with the undead tended to be difficult to

gauge. Such creatures tended to emanate an aura of fear...
unnerving even the strongest and most powerful living
adventurers. Flinching against the swing of a heavy sword or a
stray arrow plummeting from the sky could prove fatal for even a
Gold-Rank. Even a sliver of fear in a warrior's heart could lead to
their undoing.
Worse was that the source of fear on the battlefield was not just
from the Adamantine-Rank undead flitting in the distance... but
was empowered by its class as a Witch.
Over a hundred ice-frozen statues were arranged in a field, each

serving as a testament of the Dread Wraith's deadly effectiveness.
Logically, each statue was once living, sentient being.
As worrisome as the encounter seemed, the Brazen Guard

collective had enough factors in their favor. They had four Gold-
Rank adventurers and plenty of skilled Iron-Ranks.
Then there was the fact that Holy Lancer Tanamar was confident
of their success.
Unfortunately, even he knew very little of the Dread Wraith's

abilities besides its illusions. There was only so much his
overpowered cheat was capable of. Casualties were certain--
Third and Fourth-Circle spells, even illusory, would wreak havoc
on the Brazen Guard.
Their victory was certain. The point of contention was how much
they had to sacrifice in order to grasp it.
Tycon had an additional trump card in that he was more-or-less

immune to illusions, as he could circumvent them with his System.
Further, he had a ⌈Mark of Pride⌋ inscribed upon his soul, which
prevented the effects of Domination-type spells cast at Fourth-
Circle and lower.
Still, Tycon prepared additional precautions. He had his crossbow

ammunition enchanted with blessed Spiritbane oils. He retrieved
his Decanus armor from Athena, the Tyrion steel slightly more
resistant to witchcraft than his mundane chainmail. In the same
vein, he also borrowed a Munifex helm and a medium-weighted
shield from the Brazen Guard armory. Most importantly, he swept
up a thicker, black, fur-lined cloak that he wore over his armor.
The cloak was so very warm... He did not look forward to returning
it.
Bundled up from the cold, shield and sword strapped to his back,
and with a crossbow in his hands, Tycon was a very comfortable
combatant. He thought he looked quite stylish with his red scarf
matching his black cloak, though he did appear somewhat thick
and cumbersome.
Then again... his peers consisted of adventurers, a profession

analogous to murderers and graverobbers. At the worst end, the
Stormbrands were a garish rainbow of nauseating colors. No one
on the field should particularly care how he looked. He could
afford looking... puffy.
"Brazen Guard!!!" Bannok raised his voice, lifting up his axe

overhead. "Engage the enemy!!!"
A collective shout of excitement rumbled through the collective as

the near-forty adventurers navigated through the field of statues
towards the Dread Wraith.
The floating ghost turned her head, near 270 degrees, her
transparent body turning and shifting to follow. It loosed a ghastly
shriek, swelling in power and size, growing to a height similar to
the Throned Giant they had encountered prior.
Ice and frost mana whirled around it and within moments, the field
was overtaken by a blinding-white snowstorm. The harsh winds
and piercing cold threatened to cut through Tycon's thick cloak.
He expected no less.
Adjusting his cloth scarf over his face, Tycon trudged forward
through the mounting mounds of snow, towards his next fight.
Chapter 367 Certainly An
Illusion
ycon slogged along in the white storm, stepping into snow banks
T
that reached his knees. He was somewhat miserable for being in
an illusion... but he tried not to let the details bother him.
He jostled his waterskin to ensure it wouldn't freeze too quickly,

taking a small sip from it. He rubbed his face to keep warm. He
thought of better times.
...and he thought of how concerned he would be if he were caught

in an actual blizzard.
Tycon continued walking forward in one direction. There was no

one else around, no footprints or other signs of life. There was no
shelter in sight-- no trees or valley walls, either. His only
consolation was in judging that the snowfall and the harsh winds
would soon calm.
The situation was absurd-- most certainly an illusion.
If it was a teleportation-type spell, there would have been some

sort of magical signature hinting at it-- there was not.
Failing that, he was caught in a formation... which was a field that

Tycon was supremely confident in. Utilizing his System, he could
identify and triangulate its weakpoint, where he would then... kick
it... or something disruptive to that end.
Time was immaterial in Tycon's snowy world. He could have been

wandering for minutes or bells or entire suns... not that it
particularly mattered. All things come to an end. Eventually, the
storm cleared as expected, granting Tycon vision of his
surroundings.
He found himself standing in the eye of a thick mist. Slowly, the
walls dissipated outward to reveal an ever-expanding field of
translucent, crystal flowers.
Tycon picked one with a gloved hand, snapping its stem with a
crack and rotating it in his fingers. It was marvelous, the way its
numerous petals reflected the light. It was a masterful illusion to
be so comprehensive, well-deserving of its Fourth-Circle rating.
Splotches of crimson marred the field in the distance. Humans. An

armored Munifex lay dead, his flesh cut and broken by the flowers
underneath. A large, ashen-grey humanoid creature the size of a
bear knelt over the body, feasting hungrily upon the fallen's
eviscerated abdomen.
⟬ Wendigo, Iron-Rank Undead. ⟭
Tycon was familiar with the creature-- that was comforting, all
things considered. It was a gaunt, bony creature with desiccated
skin and a hunger for human flesh, most common in the
mountainous regions between the Eastern States and the
Sleeping Country to the north. Their cannibalism made them grow
in power. Judging by its size and relatively weak strength, it had
not yet realized its potential.
Tycon prepared his crossbow and reload tool as he approached.

A single wendigo would be easy enough to defeat.
However, as the mists began to recede... more Brazen Guard

corpses were revealed... along with more wendigos feeding. As
before, with the Lake Eels, Tycon did not want to engage with
multiple Iron-Ranks simultaneously, if he could help it.
...Hm. No. Something was wrong. He chuckled to himself. There

was no need to defeat such illusory creatures.
« System, analysis: That creature. »
⟬ System response: Wendigo, Iron-Rank Undead. ⟭
« System.... inquiry: This is... an illusion, is it not? »

⟬ Negative. ⟭
Tycon grimaced as he felt his heart rate spike to an uncomfortable

pace.
« System, inquiry: Where am I? What is this place? »
⟬ System response: The Host is in a Reality Marble created by the

White Lady. ⟭
Tycon shut his eyes and cursed internally.
Stars and stones.
A Reality Marble was completely different from an illusion or mind-

control effect. Tycon was trapped in a magical world sustained by
the Dread Wraith that was, for all intents and purposes, quite real.
If his magical power was stronger than the caster, he could

forcibly break out. Unfortunately, concerning magic alone, he only
amounted to an elementary mage, not even First-Circle. He could
also feasibly brute force his way out if he was a higher level than
Gold-Rank... but he was nowhere near breaking through.
There was no shelter in sight. There was nowhere to run. He was

surrounded by enemies... and there was the likely possibility that
there were more, still hidden in the mists.
Tycon unslung his crossbow, "⌈Venomous Shadow⌋, support me, if

you would."
His white-cloaked shadowy doppelganger appeared beside him.

Tycon handed over his heavy ranged weapon, quiver, and reload
tool. The shadow accepted them, almost casually, inclining its
head lightly as it drew back the bowstring and loaded an
enchanted bolt.
...Hm. So the shadow could handle blessed bolts. It was a strange

existence.
The sound of the bowstring locking interrupted the nearest
Wendigo's meal. It lifted up its head, growling at the interlopers
with stained teeth, blood dribbling down its chin and chest.
Tycon sighed as he strapped his shield to his arm and drew his
enchanted short sword, "Let's... let's get this over with."
...
After Tycon had killed five wendigos, he was covered in blood.

The issue was that... the blood was not of the undead. It was from
the recently deceased. It somehow felt... dirtier, because of it.
Even though his cloak was stained horrifically, he had to convince

himself he was fine with it. It wasn't his.
With the goal of avoiding injury, Tycon used a moderate amount of

skills in the skirmish. He had used ⌈Tumble⌋ twice and
⌈Shadowfang Strike⌋ once. He even used ⌈Iron Dragon Rend⌋ to
cleave a crevasse in the ice, splitting the attacking forces into two
groups.
His ⌈Venomous Shadow⌋ disappeared after several crossbow

shots, which markedly wasn't *only* one as his System
suggested. He had no plans to correct his shadowy ally.
Thankfully, he was able to defeat each of the creatures, one-by-

one, quickly and only at the cost of his stamina. To reward himself,
he took a light sip from his waterskin and broke off a piece of
jerky. He was trying to ration well, as he was uncertain how long
he'd be stuck in the Reality Marble.
There would be some consciousness that he had to best... and if it

were to hide from him, he might very well waste away without food
and water.
A rumble and the shaking and shattering of various crystal flowers

heralded a greater creature. Tycon stood up and stretched.
Hopefully, whatever ridiculous creature appeared would be his key
to escaping his prison.
Chapter 368 Demon Blade
wendigo stepped out of the mists, standing thrice Tycon's size

A
and wearing an incredibly large antlered skull. Saliva dripped
down from its lipless mouth and jagged teeth, burning the white
snowy landscape a corroding black. Its long, lanky arms ended in
wicked, gnarled claws with bits of rotten meat, trapped beneath its
nails. It chortled in echoing laughter, the bones of its face
threatening to burst through its taut, leathery skin.
⟬ Ancient Wendigo, Gold-Rank Undead. ⟭
Hm. Tycon flourished his sword. The creature's appearance was

disappointedly predictable. Compared to the beast's lesser kin,
the Ancient was larger, stronger, and... would probably be faster,
due to the rank difference. Its weakness lied within the fact that its
attacks would be straightforward.
Not wanting to waste any time, Tycon charged forth. He stepped

to the side, dodging the creature's powerful fist smashing the
ground. He stabbed his blade deep into its forearm, and when the
creature retracted its arm, he allowed its momentum to launch
himself towards the creature's head.
"⌈Legionbreaker.⌋" Tycon thrust his mana-sharpened sword into

the creature's right eye, then launched a powerful slash at the side
of its neck. The maddened Ancient slapped the wound with a
clumsy, desiccated hand, but Tycon had already stylishly
backflipped off... landing behind the creature's... missing feet.
Tycon was in the kneeling, staring at where the Wendigo's feet

should have been. The creature was floating, bleeding from its
ankles down as if they were eaten by ravenous beasts.
His plan to sever the creature's tendons, forcing it to fall, was
doomed to fail from the start.
"⌈Taste the Demon Blade!!⌋"
The activation of a skill forced Tycon to move quickly. He

somersaulted out of the way of the falling Ancient Wendigo,
narrowly avoiding its crash and fall. Just to be safe, Tycon turned
away and shielded his face beneath his cloak to avoid the ice
flower shrapnel.
The wendigo's bloody, antlered head fell in the distance, a short

second after its body did.
Someone else was here.
And that someone cut the wendigo down with a demonic blade...
Tycon peered through the powder, searching for its wielder.
« System, inquiry: What class utilizes the ⌈Taste the Demon

Blade⌋ skill? »
⟬ System response: Samurai. ⟭
...No one in the Brazen Guard held such a class.
Tycon opened the flap of one of his combat pouches, removing

and quietly quaffing a healing potion. He doubted he'd have the
chance to use it, afterward.
A grey-skinned orc stood beside the corpse of the wendigo,

swiping his long curved sword to his side to fling the blood off...
then placing it in the crook of his elbow, wiping the blade clean
with his sleeve.
⟬ Gold-Rank Orcish Samurai. ⟭
The orc stood a full head over Tycon, as tall as Centurion Zenon,
except thrice as thick with muscle. A decorative knot of hair was
arranged atop its meaty head and thick tusks jutted out of its
broad grimace. It wore layered brigandine armor, its color faded
with time.
Samurai was a rare class originating from the Kogani Empire, an

ancient culture with tens of thousands of years of history,
predating even the Medusae. While that feasibly meant that the
orc was well-versed in the arts of close combat, the art of war had
come a long way since then. Any of the five nations in the Realm
would prove superior to Kogani war strategies-- most of them
drawing deeply and developing the latter.
For such an orc to be such a high-ranked Samurai... Could he be

tens of thousands of years old? No... If that were the case, the
Dread Wraith would have been far more powerful than
Adamantine-Rank.
It was likely that the orc was from a Hidden Sect.
Tycon stood and saluted with his sword, "My name is Tycondrius
of guild Sol Invictus, savior of the White Scale Sect, guest elder of
the Sea Wolf Sect, and friend of the Golden Crow Sect."
The orc's eyes widened and it bowed deeply, his deep voice like
gargling gravel, "I am known as Garock Heartrender, warrior of the
Screaming Silence...
"Forgive me, noble warrior," The orc flourished his blade, holding
it up by the hilt near his head. "But I have nothing to say to a
human of Tyrion."
"I'm not a human," Tycon responded automatically.
"Oh..." Garock's jaw twitched as he lowered his weapon. He let

out a heavy sigh, "My soul and that of my companions have been
imprisoned here for countless years... Each time we are called
back to defend our tormentor, more hopeful heroes are doomed to
join our ranks."
"That is very interesting, please tell me more," Tycon asked in a

flat voice. He had recovered his crossbow. Though he had to
forego his shield to wield it, he doubted a Samurai from a Hidden
Sect would be familiar with the weapon.
The orc nodded, his eyes shut, "Savior and friend to the sects... I
have... a difficult request to make."
Tycon pursed his lips to the side, loading his weapon using his
reload tool, "Is it to... release your trapped spirit from the grasp of
the Dread Wraith?"
"Wh...what?" The orc Samurai's eyes widened and his toothy jaw
hung agape, "How did you know?"
It wasn't difficult.
Tycon's expression grew solemn, "All warriors wish to die with

honor."
"Ah," Garock nodded. "It appears some things do not change over
the years."
Tycon smirked, "I don't suppose you would consider closing your
eyes and dying peacefully, without a fight?"
The Samurai shrugged, "I was planning on allowing my bloodline's

base instincts to take over, attacking you with reckless abandon
honed by decades of swordsmanship and martial training."
Empty night. This fight was not going to be pleasant for him.
Tycon liked orcs a bit more than he liked elves. Orcish culture
promoted honesty, valuing cunning in combat, rather than in
wordplay.
"Before we begin," Tycon's gaze drifted in thought, "I wish to ask

you if--"
Tycon interrupted his speech by firing his crossbow from the hip,
not taking the time to aim. If he'd wasted even a second, he'd lose
the element of surprise.
In a fight between Gold-Ranks, he'd take every advantage he
could get.
Chapter 369 Death Wish
arock thrust out his left to block the fired crossbow bolt with the
G
thick layers of muscle on his forearm.
"Tss," Tycondrius hissed in frustration, reloading another bolt. The

Orcish Samurai had Gold-Rank perception, the reflexes to match,
and reacted to the tiny projectile as much as a bear to a splinter.
It only seemed to anger him.
Tycon quick-fired a second bolt at the charging orc's center of

mass.
Garock ducked his head and dodged to the side, but his size
worked against him. The blessed bolt lodged deep into the orc's
right shoulder.
Tycon took solace that if he was going to die here, he'd at least be
certain his opponent would be greatly inconvenienced.
He held up his crossbow to block a sidewards slash from Garock's

heavy sword. It was slower than he expected... perhaps the result
of two steel bolts in the orc's musculature. Tycon threw his broken
crossbow away to redirect his opponent's kinetic force, granting
him the opportunity to counterattack.
Stepping to Garock's open right, Tycon drew his short sword.

Though he wanted to be nowhere near the raging orc, creating
distance would be largely disadvantageous to him due to the
Samurai's reach and his lengthy, overcompensating weapon.
Tycon slashed his sword at the orc's side... and Garock precisely
blocked the blade with the base of his own sword's hilt.
It was an unorthodox defensive tactic that required a high level of
precision, reflexes, and skill. Also, it was very upsetting.
Tycon dipped his head to barely dodge an Orcish backhand,

lunging forward to stab the orc in the chest.
Garock swung his blade up, parrying the thrust... the sheer force
of the strike nearly finding Tycon disarmed.
The orc brought his weapon down with a diagonal slash, which
Tycon swayed his body to avoid. He grabbed at the orc's large
wrist with his pitifully small hand and tried to cut a line across the
bastard's eyes.
Garock lowered his body to slip the strike, then swung his
oppressive blade with a roaring surge of strength.
Tycon braced his sword against his chest, the heavy blow taking
him off of his feet. Coursing through the air, he smashed painfully
into a pile of shattered flowers, rolling along... Thankfully, the
sharpened ice fragments did not pierce through his cloak and
armor.
Still, Garock's blade had bled the right side of his chest.
"Gahaha!!" Garock cackled as he approached, glass flowers

crunching below his boots. His eyes glowed red with mana, his
bloodthirst quite apparent, "'Ow many years 'as it been since dis
body's felt PAINNNN?!?"
"I do wish you'd grow tired of bleeding and-- DIE!!" Tycon

circulated his mana through his body to increase his speed and
dashed forward.
He slashed, he redirected his momentum into more slashes and

stabs, he kicked and elbowed, and he slipped Garock's slow,
heavy swings. The Orcish Samurai expertly blocked, deflected, or
counterattacked with fists and knees to nullify Tycon's sword at
every step.
Finally, Tycon's emotionally driven barrage of attacks rewarded
him with a ⌈Taste the Demon Blade⌋ slash across his chest. A
subsequent heavy kick to his gut sent him, again, sprawled and
skidding along the shattered-flower field... further ruining his
borrowed cloak.
Tycon slammed a gloved hand into the shards in frustration, then

kicked his feet and used the momentum to roll to the standing.
The orc lightly ground the tips of his sharp teeth, "'An 'ere I was...
'oping you'd finally be da one to kill me, Warrior Tycondrius."
Garock watched with an amused Orcish grin plastered on his

stupid tusked face.
Tycon spat to the side.
Blood.
Empty night.
"Oh really?" Tycon smirked to hide his uncertainty, wiping the

blood from his mouth, "Do you think this is the best I can do?"
« Do so. Death to the enemies of Invictus. »
Tycon had tested his limits and was found wanting. He was
outclassed in one-on-one martial combat against the Gold-Rank
Orcish Samurai.
The orc raised an eyebrow and re-assumed his defensive stance,

"Strong. Resilient. A good opponent."
« System, analysis: The material of Garock's sword. »
⟬ System response: Mundane high-carbon steel. ⟭

Tycon immediately formed a reckless plan, relying on the fact that
his sword was enchanted and Garock's was not.
"Tss. A ghost that refuses to die," Tycon scoffed. "Pretending to

have honor as he cuts down the innocent."
Tycon was not the smartest individual when it came to personal

combat. His actions were a grave taboo within the adventuring
community. He was purposely aggravating a 6 and a half fulm tall,
300 ponze Gold-Rank orc.
It was a thrice-damned death wish.
The effects were immediate, with the orc roaring to the clouded
sky. Blinded by bloodlust, Garock charged forward, crunching the
crystalline flowers underfoot and holding his sword back, ready to
end Tycon's reasonably innocent life.
Tycon held his sword across his body, opposite of how Garock's
sword was positioned.
If he wasn't concentrating, he would have soiled himself.
There.
Tycon threw the crystalline fragments he'd grabbed at the orc's

face, forcing Garock to slow and shield his eyes. It would have
been a great advantage if the Samurai was blinded.
The orc's eyes shot open, dripping blood and shining blood red
and bright...
Seven hells.
It didn't blind Garock. It only made him more terrifying.
The Orcish Samurai screamed, mana empowering the speed and

strength of his sword slash, "⌈Taste the DEMON BLAAAAADE!!⌋"
Tycon had attacks he could yell, too. He planted his feet and
rotated his body, swinging his sword at Garock's weapon,
"⌈LegionBREAKERRRR!!!!!⌋"
The mana-sharpened sword cleaved through the orc's steel, the
upper two-thirds of it flung away into the distance.
Tycon breathed a sigh of relief. His plan had worked.
Nice.
Then Garock stabbed the broken blade into Tycon's chest, right
underneath the shoulder.
Gods... DAMN IT!!
The orc smashed his thick forehead into Tycon's face then
slashed again-- which Tycon was barely able to block.
Tycon counterattacked out of reflex-- a horrid mistake. He found

his wrist grasped tightly by Garock's grey-green hand.
...He knew where he was going before he left.
Garock lowered his body while pulling Tycon close, then flipped
him up and over with a shoulder throw.
Chapter 370 Illusory Worlds
ycondrius' back smashed onto the ground, forcing him to expel

T
the air in his lungs and wish he had feigned injury and stayed at
camp. Falling back to his survival instincts, he activated his
⌈Tumble⌋ movement technique to pull his arm away, rolling to his
feet to barely avoid a skull-crushing stomp.
"Cunning..." The orc growled as he flourished what remained of

his curved blade. "You'd have made a fine Orcish warrior."
Tycon grabbed onto his dislocated shoulder and painfully jammed

it back into place, "Oh, shut the hells up, you green-skinned battle
maniac."
Garock chuckled as he raised his broken sword once more...

"Make peace with your gods, warrior Tycondrius."
"I'd rather not. I don't like him much." Tycon shook his head as he
circulated his mana for another skill, "⌈Shadowfang Strike.⌋"
Tycon disappeared in a cloud of smoke, utilizing his second

movement technique. Circling to Garock's side, he swung his
enchanted short sword at the orc's tree-trunk neck.
Predictably, the orc reacted as soon as Tycon reappeared,

blocking the strike with what was left of his broken blade.
Tycon undimmed his vision and redirected his mana to his eyes,
relying on the Samurai's Gold-Rank perception to be affected in
that brief moment.
⟬ ⌈Vexing Gaze⌋ activated: Ocular ability. Target takes damage

from an illusory poison, affecting both target's mind and body. If
Garock flinched.
While Tycon highly doubted the skill's poison alone would defeat
the orc, it was enough to bring about his downfall. Tycon charged
mana into his sword, changing its form to his segmented blade
whip. It carried its momentum from its strike, wrapping tightly
around the Samurai's neck.
Tycon hopped up, placing both his feet against Garock's chest.
"DIIIIIIE!!!!" He screamed, straightening his legs while yanking his

weaponhilt hard.
The metal shrapnel of the enchanted whip tore the orc's throat
open and exposed it to the cold air. Tycon smashed onto the
ground, rolling backward defensively... just in case the orc
survived.
Garock fell to his knees, clutching at his bleeding neck.
He... looked defeated.
"M-medusa bloodline..." He managed, before gargling for air and

collapsing to the ground.
Still on a knee, Tycon held his aching head. He had used too
many skills in too small a period of time.
Annoyed, he flicked his wrist to return his weapon to its short

sword form. Then, he stabbed the orc through the heart. And
again through the neck.
The satisfaction lessened the pain in his head very slightly.
"This..." Tycon choked and coughed more blood... "this isn't even
the best I can do."
« Yes... Please. And... thank you. »
⟬ Activating. You're welcome. ⟭

...
Tycon stood up from the kneeling, finding himself once more in

the field of frozen statues. In particular, he stood in front of a
frozen orc who was kneeling down, staring up in hopelessness.
It seemed that Samurai Garock's defeat had returned him to the

Brazen Guard battlefield.
"⌈Legionbreaker⌋," Tycon beheaded the statue.
After healing himself, his wounds had closed, but his mana
reserves were low and he felt like his head was stuck in a vise. He
was not proud of his sloppy victory. He only felt irritated.
The White Lady floated above the field, continuing to sing her
song about how pathetic she was and how she was wronged so
many years or epochs ago.
Nearly half of the Brazen Guard seemed to be under the effect of

the Dread Wraith's illusions, performing noticeably nonsensical
actions. A Warrior was swinging her weapons around in a circle,
screaming in the old Tyrion language. An Archer was firing blindly
at their surroundings. A Champion had collapsed, curled up in a
ball, and was bawling like an abandoned child.
The remaining survivors had turned into transparent ghosts, some

of them with their bellies eviscerated and their guts eaten. Were
they all dead? Tycon sighed, glancing in the direction of the war
camp. He was strongly considering abandoning the field,
withdrawing to camp to eat a meal and go to sleep.
A familiar corporeal form caught his eye... Tanamar of House

Vanzano materialized into flesh, holy lance in hand. The young
man took two steps forward, breaking a frozen statue by spearing
it in the chest. Immediately after, he rushed to a different statue
and placed his hand upon it, turning translucent and ghostly once
more.
How difficult. The adventurers that were not susceptible to the

Dread Wraith's illusions seemed to be captured by her Reality
Marble. Thankfully, as much as the White Lady above was
concentrating, she would prove relatively easy to defeat...
Tycon had only to find someone capable of shooting down a

creature fifteen fulms in the air.
...He immediately began searching for one of the Brazen Guards'

Gold-Rankers. Weaponmaster Bannok, Hunter Felinus, Priestess
Ariadne... each of them would do a better job of defeating the
Dread Wraith than himself.
"You took EVERYTHING from me!!" A woman shrieked.
Somewhat bemused, Tycon turned to the charging, screaming

Iron-Rank Adept... "I don't even know who you are."
The girl thrust her mana charged arms out to her sides, silvery
flames sheathing her fists. Though she faced Tycon, her eyes
were unfocused, looking at something far in the distance.
The Adept's interruption was slightly troublesome, but her

exaggerated attack-pose left her open.
Tycon hopped forward and planted a fist deep into her abdomen,
destroying her concentration and causing her spell to fail.
Grabbing her by the throat, he slammed her back against the
hard, icy ground before standing up and continuing on his way.
The battlefield was a chaotic mess, offensive spells and skills

activated at random. Even so, Tycon remained calm and
unbothered. With how steady his heart rate was, it felt like he'd
experienced hundreds of battles similar.
Walking throughout, he carefully dodged errant attacks, either

nullifying his attackers or circumnavigating them by keeping his
spacing around the frozen statues littered around the area.
While doing so, he hastily began to identify persons amongst the

Brazen Guard that were known to him... If he could disrupt the
illusions, victory would soon follow.
Chapter 371 Just Do It
any adventurers that Tycon was familiar with were still alive.
M
That was nice. Still, the ones he observed, save for Tanamar,
seemed to have their minds caught in their own illusory worlds.
Athanasius Mors, real name Tanamar, was fine. Immune or

resistant to the Dread Wraith's mind-domination effect, he went
about challenging various ice statues, breaking their frozen forms
afterward. Tycon hypothesized that in doing so, the Holy Lancer
was defeating the Reality Marble guardians to free the trapped
members of the Brazen Guard.
Since the silver-haired footman was busy... Tycon searched the

crowd for someone else reasonably able to help him defeat the
Dread Wraith.
He had a useful skill for the situation.
⟬ ⌈Desire Trigger⌋. Support ability. Targeted ally is compelled to

envision an existing incentive, moderately boosting target's ability
to resist detrimental effects. ⟭
It brought him to a different quandary... who among the Brazen

Guard would be most useful for him to use the skill on?
Tycon had two conditions.
First, his target needed to be powerful enough that together, they

could challenge the White Lady.
The second condition was the target only needed to be pushed in

order to defeat their inner demons. ⌈Desire Trigger⌋ wasn't
guaranteed to release someone from the White Lady's illusions, it
only increased the recipient's resistance.
As a bonus third condition, it would also be best if that person
knew and trusted him. Tycon's other support-type skills, notably
⌈Commander's Strike⌋, had a chance to fail, otherwise.
Tycon could not find the likes of the Brazen Guard's Gold-
Rankers... Though with their ages and experiences, he had no
doubt their inner demons were horrifying to face.
He saw Karodin cowering behind his shield, apologizing for his

mistakes.
⟬ Karodin, Iron-Rank Human Legionnaire. Guild Brazen Guard.

Willpower: Low. ⟭
The Legionnaire was not ideal.
The woman from the Snowy Village adventuring company,

Ptolema, ran past him. She was utilizing a movement technique to
boost her speed... running away from her past.
She skidded to a halt and turned with tearful eyes, "No, mother! I
refuse to marry that weakling! I'm going to be an adventurer!"
⟬ Ptolema, Iron-Rank Human Duelist. Guild Snowy Village.

Willpower: Low. ⟭
...She was also less than ideal.
Centurion Zenon was blasting a heavy boulder with a violent

stream of concentrated wind and debris.
"Yiff in the depths of the seven hells!!" He screamed, straining his

voice in doing so, "DIE, FURRY SCUMMMM!!!"
⟬ Zenon Skyreaper, Iron-Rank Human Librarian. Willpower:

Medium. ⟭
Tycon wanted no part of that... He did find it interesting, though,

that as tolerant Zenon was of non-humans, it seemed he was
extremely xenophobic towards furred persons.
He ignored it. Such hatred did not apply to himself.
Who amongst their number... would be so ridiculously arrogant

enough... to triumph against their deepest, darkest fears... and
against all reasoning?
Tycon took in a deep, haggard breath.
...A Stormbrand. He needed a Stormbrand.
Tycon weaved through the battlefield in his search. He took an

Archer's quiver and tossed it aside. He grabbed a heavily-armored
Champion by the arm, spun him around, and sent him crashing
into a group of his peers. He tripped a Rogue and used it to cut off
the string on their wallet.
The coin would be a small compensation for Tycon going out of

his way to save human lives. Why shouldn't he take it?
"Ah hahaha! Hur hur hurr!!" A human with long, unkempt raven-
colored hair was roving about with his dark coat unbuttoned.
Tycon grimaced deeply upon finally encountering one of... them.

He faced Cleric Occam, the Stormbrand healer who only seemed
capable of healing himself.
Occam continued to chuckle to himself, slowly creeping forward,

his hands raised up as if to capture Tycon, "Don't runnnnn, little
girrrrrrl... I've got... some candy for you to SUCK on..."
Tycon had originally thought everyone's illusions preyed on their

fears and insecurities. Whatever dreamscape Occam was trapped
in... he was thriving in it.
⟬ Occam, Iron-Rank Human Cleric. Guild Stormbrand. Willpower:

High. ⟭
Tycon slowly scanned the battlefield as he took in another deep

breath. Was there a better option? There had to be...
Occam licked his cracked lips with a long tongue and lunged
towards Tycon, "I GOT'CHA NOW!!"
Surprised and very much unwilling to be embraced by the filthy

human, Tycon drew his sword, slicing horizontally at Occam's
neck... which the Cleric blocked by lifting his forearms up to guard.
Tycon frowned, checking his sword for damage. It felt like he had
struck a rock. Though the fabric of Occam's sleeves were cut, his
attack only managed superficial red marks on the Cleric's
revealed skin.
He slightly regretted not using a skill when he attacked the

degenerate.
"Ooooh... Feisty...." Occam stuck his two fingers in a V over his

lips as his too-long tongue explored the space between his
fingers, "Yesssss.... I love it when you screammmm..."
Tycon's fatigue was quickly replaced with a sense of urgency. He

activated his ⌈Legionbreaker⌋ skill... but changed the shape of the
mana from a razor-edge to... broad and flat. The mana would
ensure the integrity of his sword as he slapped some sense into
the debaucherous wastrel.
...But the skill changed so much that Legionbreaker was no longer

accurate.
Tycon swung the flat of his blade at the side of Occam's head,
"⌈Cleric-smacker⌋." The Cleric's head whipped to the side, the
speed and force enough to break the neck of a lower-ranked
human.
That he still lived proved the bastard's incredible resilience.
Occam stumbled, dazed but not falling. He squinted his eyes,

peering all around him, "Eh? Where'd you go? Are you HIDING
from me, little GIRL?!?"
Tycon sighed, "⌈Desire Trigger⌋."

Clarity returned to the Cleric's eyes as he stood up and rubbed his

neck, "Oh, green-hair guy! Hey, you didn't happen to see a--"
"Not the time, Mister Occam," Tycon glared.
Occam calmly observed his surroundings, the sobs and

screaming, the bleeding and broken, all with the Dread Wraith
overhead, singing her mournful song, "Huh. Looks like
everything's gone to shite. Hurr hurr."
"Before we salvage the situation..." Tycon sighed, "--I'd very much

like if you could adjust yourself."
"Why?" Occam opened up his coat completely, baring the thin

tufts of hair on his chest, "Does THIS bother you?"
The Cleric then began to flex his defined pectoral muscles,

alternating between the left and right, "Bam. Bam."
Tycon cradled his face in his off-hand palm, "Ugh, nevermind."
Occam placed his hand on his chin, leering up at what was

underneath the White Lady's dress, "Alright, listen up."
Tycon's brows furrowed into deeply-set confusion, "I'm sorry?"
"I need you... to go like this," Occam squatted down, grabbing his
biceps and overlaying his forearms, "Then, I'm gonna run at you."
"...And that will do what, exactly?"
Occam grinned, revealing crooked, somewhat pointed teeth,

"When I step onto your locked arms, I need you to fling me up
towards the ghost b*tch."
Tycon averted his gaze in thought, "To clarify... You want me... to
boost you... in leaping to your certain death at the Dread Wraith
above?"
"Uh huh," Occam nodded.

"The Adamantine-Rank Dread Wraith."
"Uh huh."
Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin slits, "I'm not going to do that."
"Just do it!" Occam yelled, grinning madly. "Coward!!"
"Fine!!" Tycon shouted, "Come at me, then!!"
Tycon's eyes widened as he realized that he responded

emotionally as opposed to logically... But as he had already
agreed, he would not go back on his word.
Occam created some distance by performing an acrobatic

backflip, landing on a palm, then back on his feet. Then he
cracked his gloved knuckles and stretched his neck to either side.
...He made no motion to reach for the ridiculous warscythe

strapped to his back.
Tycon took a deep breath as he lowered his body and locked his
arms together, "Mister Occam, are you not going to use your
weapon?"
The Cleric charged forward like a bull, heedless of Tycon's advice.
Tycon did not like this man.
Occam jumped up, placing a spiked boot onto Tycon's forearms...
This bastard... Tycon angrily flung the human upward with the
mana-empowered force that his Gold-Rank physique allowed him.
The Cleric sailed majestically through the air towards the White
Lady. He cocked his right arm back, pointing forward with his left
hand in an offensive gesture.
"ONE!! PUNCH!!! IS ALL I NEEEEEED!!!!!!!"
The Cleric's unforgiving fist crashed into the White Lady's ghostly
face.
Oh. That's right. The Stormbrand Cleric had no issue touching
ghosts as if they were corporeal. The fool's plan had more
reasoning behind it than he had originally understood.
He still did not like the fellow.
The ghost's levitation spell immediately failed, seeing the two of

them plummeting to the ground. With her song interrupted, the
translucent members of the Brazen Guard began to materialize,
shaking their heads and coming to their senses.
"Ah... my back hurts..." Occam stood up and literally patted

himself on the back, "⌈Healing Touch⌋."
He turned around to face Tycon, breathing a sigh of relief, "Ahhh...

It's so hard to always be the one carrying the team."
Chapter 372 Close To Death
leric Occam had successfully disrupted the White Lady's song.

C
He immediately celebrated by removing his dark coat, flexing his
muscles, and screaming obscenities.
At whom the half-naked fellow was yelling to, Tycondrius had no

idea.
A short distance away, the Dread Wraith had recovered from her
fall. She had placed her ghostly hands together, condensing black
and purple mana into what appeared to be a Third-Circle
destruction spell. Mister Occam was about to be obliterated by a
soul-rending sphere thrice his size.
Of course, Tycon was far enough from the spell's path and its
subsequent danger. Though he wasn't willing to kill the Cleric, he
had no qualms in *not* saving him.
"Eternal Flame!! ⌈Protect! The! FAITHFUL!!!!⌋" Gold-Rank

Weaponmaster Bannok dashed in front of Occam, bracing his
shield. A thick veil of silvery mana formed in front of the two.
"⌈Divine Bulwark!!!⌋" Gold-Rank Priestess Ariadne's voice rang out

like a crystalline bell, golden mana reinforcing Bannok's defensive
skill.
The White Lady's violent spell collided with the barrier, causing
fantastical flashes of silver and gold, bouts of murky black
darkness, and a thunderous cacophony.
As the dust and debris began to clear, Gold-Rank Hunter Felinus

fired a barrage of blessed arrows at the Dungeon Boss, "Brazen
Guard!!!! Cleanse this abomination from our lands!! The balance
must be RESTORED!!!"
Tycon pursed his lips and sighed again, deeply.
He had underestimated the three leaders of the Brazen Guard.

Freed from the control of whatever effect they were stuck in, they
immediately closed in on the vulnerable Dread Wraith... saving
Occam from absolute annihilation.
Tycon quietly turned back towards the rest of the battlefield to

make sense of the chaos. All of the translucent members of the
Brazen Guard had re-materialized and were either actively fighting
the Dungeon Boss or had become corpses. Likely, those were the
ones caught in the White Lady's Reality Marble.
Several others were still caught in their illusory worlds, marked by

their unfocused actions. Tycon figured he'd relieve some stress by
protecting those persons from themselves... perhaps breaking a
few bones in the process.
...
"Stay away from me..." Zenon begged, his face marred by snot
and tears. "How could the Eternal Flame suffer people like you to
live..."
Tycon was somewhat taken aback by the rapid shift in Zenon's

dreaming. Earlier, he was being rather violent. That was far
preferable to the miserable state he had fallen to.
Zenon thrashed around with his tri-bladed claws, trying to fend off
whatever assailed him. Tycon dodged to the side, out of the way
of a clumsy cut. The follow-through crackled with lightning mana
as Zenon cleaved into one of the frozen statues.
With his opponent off balance, Tycon kicked out with a flat heel to
strike the tall gentleman's thigh, bringing his generally high
elevation down to ground-level. He then swiftly and decisively
mounted his back and... de-clawed him, unstrapping his forearm
weapons and tossing them aside.
When Tycon stood up again, Zenon sat up. Placing his head
between his knees, the grown man began to sob quietly, "Eternal
Flame... why... do bad things happen to good people?"
Tycon grimaced. Even though his friend could not hear him as he
was, he pat him on the back, "It is by mortal hands that our world
is forged, Brother-Zenon, and by mortal hands that can achieve
your vengeance."
If a friend of his sought revenge, there would be little reason not to

pursue it. Loyalty and friendship were worth such a price--
depending on the person. Of course, Centurion Zenon would need
the confidence to communicate whatever issues he was having.
Tycon would be waiting.
Zenon continued to rock himself quietly. That was fine. He would

be safe in his small corner of the battlefield.
The sound of metal scraping along the ice steadily drew towards
the two. Tycon stepped away, keeping between the Librarian and
his newest opponent.
A human grinned as blood dripped down his face and stained his
silvery hair... He was dragging his gore-covered greataxe along
the ground, marking the frosty dirt with a trail of blood, "You will
address me... as Orcus... god of battle."
A short distance beyond him was an adventurer lying in a quickly

growing pool of blood, convulsing as they bled to death. Tycon
expected no less from a Stormbrand, to be able to disadvantage
their mission to such an extent.
The Reaver hefted his heavy greataxe upon his shoulder, his eyes
raging red with either Iron-Rank mana or a severe bacterial
infection.
Tycon had feared this moment... but not for himself. He was
worried that he'd take the opportunity to murder Tanamar's twin
brother and Athena's... friend?
Associate? The two had known each other since childhood. What
was their relationship?
"⌈Charging Bull⌋," Tancred used a movement technique to close

the distance, attempting to check Tycon with his shoulder.
Too late to dodge, Tycon planted his feet and threw out a
grounded left straight. He felt the satisfying sensation of kinetic
energy transfer from the rotation of his hips, to the end of his fist,
and into the right side of Tancred's face.
Relatively undeterred, save for a bloody split near his eye,

Tancred swung his greataxe, "⌈Ravager's Strike⌋."
The disparity between Stormbrands was huge. Tancred and

Occam were as resilient as pests. In the previous fights, others of
their numbers were slaughtered like pigs.
Tycon had expended much of his stamina in his fight with Garock,
but his Gold-Rank perception and physique was still more than
enough to handle an unthinking Iron-Rank beast. He drew his
short sword and deflected the attack's force away, then redirected
his weapon, lacerating the Stormbrand's inner forearm.
Predictably, Tancred lost hold of his weapon... but Tycon had

failed to account for a chain that secured the handle of his
oversized hunk of metal to his wrist.
"I did this for you... Athena..." Tancred regained hold of his
greataxe, heaving it up for another strike, "Why. won't. you.
worship me?"
Tancred gnashed his teeth, the disgusting sound grating at

Tycon's patience, "I. am. a. GOD!!!! ⌈Unbridled!!!! WRATH!!!⌋"
The Reaver swung his greataxe down-- a painfully telegraphed

strike.
Tycon bobbed low and stepped to the side, easily avoiding it,
With a quick swipe, Tycon cut the weapon chain. Then, he quickly
jabbed Tancred with his sword through his thick bicep, before
grabbing the haft of the greataxe and tossing it away.
"GRAHRRR!!" Tancred threw a backfist, screaming like a petulant

child with his favorite toy stolen away. Though Tycon had nothing
to fear from such a weak attack, he danced away from it. He
would not give even the mind-dominated fool the satisfaction of
striking him.
Devoid of reason, Tancred Mors continued to give chase,

punching and clawing. Tycon conserved his energy, dodging the
human's frantic swings.
They were fast. They were powerful. However, as Tancred Mors

continued to attack without a plan, the Reaver's fatigue quickly
began to mount.
Tycon's one-on-one combat situation gave him no sense of

urgency. There were so many ways to win... or rather, to not lose.
Tancred was slightly faster and moderately stronger, having the

advantage of being a Martial Class... and the fortune of not-having
to fight a Gold-Rank Samurai.
However, Tycon had a keenly superior sense of perception. He

could predict Tancred's attacks with ease... not that the fellow did
not try. The Reaver's tempo and attack patterns had great variety,
but there were only so many variations of 'I will run at you and put
my hands upon you.'
A few minutes in, the effectiveness of Tycon's tactic became

apparent. Constantly evading attacks with efficient movement and
breathing control kept his stamina reserves high. Conversely,
Tancred's breath grew ragged and his movements slowed as his
fatigue mounted.
Tycon remained patient. All he had to do was remain cognizant of

the threat his opponent posed and not fall for their tricks.
If he took an errant attack and became injured, he'd withdraw. He
had the speed and agility for it. Perhaps he'd enlist the help of
another adventurer... or attack with the advantage of stealth or an
armor-piercing crossbow.
He could also use one of his trump cards. His ⌈Vexing Gaze⌋
ability came to mind. If Tancred choked to death on his own blood,
the murder would be difficult to trace back to him.
Or perhaps Tycon would convince someone else to kill him?

Tycon wasn't so arrogant that he needed to defeat each of his
opponents in single combat. Mission completion was always more
important than a one-on-one duel.
The thought of it didn't even threaten his pride.
Tancred was a piece of shite, unfit to lead. Tycon did not need to
kill him... or even prove himself by besting him. Between them,
Tycon was the better human.
...But then again... why shouldn't he kill him?
Tancred was of no use to him. If either or both Tanamar and

Athena had an issue with it, he could claim it was more
advantageous for him to have offed Tancred than not. They would
move on. There were more pressing issues House Vanzano
faced.
Tycon flicked his wrist, segmenting his sword into its whip-form.
He needed to inflict severe mortal injury to Tancred, with no hope
of survival, even with Priestess Ariadne's healing in mind.
And for added personal benefit, Tycon would ensure it was as

painful as possible.
Chapter 373 Spoils Of War
he low thrum of a battle horn resounded through the battlefield.

T
The sound of sword and steel grew silent... and was soon
replaced by celebratory cheers of victory.
Tycondrius looked over his shoulder. Guild leader Bannok had

climbed atop a large boulder in the distance, where he raised his
axe in a victory pose.
"The White Lady had been defeated!! The honors go to the

Brazen Guard collective!!!"
The adventurers still caught in illusions slowly began to regain

themselves. Even Tancred, sopping wet with the blood and gore
of his allies, stopped his flailing about, staring blankly with his
eyes unfocused.
Tycon clicked his tongue as he turned to walk away.
Though the battle had been won, an inkling of regret remained in

his heart. He prayed that the decision he made this sun would not
haunt him in the future.
...
The Brazen Guard's elite forces suffered six deaths, total. All of
the other casualties were able to be saved, as Priestess Ariadne's
magical healing ability was nigh miraculous.
Tycon recognized several of the bodies. He had witnessed them

in various states of being devoured by cannibalistic wendigos.
He wondered if he could have done more to save them. Tanamar

had sought out and defeated the frozen statue guardians as well
as he could.
Tycon did not do that, nor did he wish to. He had his fill of singular
combat, fighting a Gold-Rank battle maniac.
The Brazen Guard guild leader, Bannok of Kasydon, gathered the

various group leaders together to divide the battle's spoils.
For their merit, Bannok granted the highest priority to Tycon and
Tanamar-- with the rest of the Stormbrands to choose afterward.
While this displayed clear favoritism, none of the other
adventuring companies gave great objection.
If Tycon was guaranteed reward for throwing garbage-humans to

their certain deaths, he would do so more often.
Numerous adventuring companies had fallen to the White Lady

over the years. Enchanted weaponry, armor, trinkets-- there was
plenty to choose from. Granted, Bannok was particular about
adventurers only choosing items based on their class.
Tycon spent some time analyzing the various gear laid about.
His first priority was to find a spatial storage item... which was
notoriously absent from the loot pile... It was so troublesome to
carry heavy gear around on his back instead of an easy-to-
transport magical bag.
His second goal was to find an enchanted set of armor... or failing

that, a weapon that was either more versatile or more powerful
than his blade-whip. He found nothing substantially superior in
those categories.
Ultimately, he chose an item his System identified as having a

hidden feature.
⟬ Sturdy Scabbard. Elementary Transmutation. Warning: This item

contains a Gold-Rank sentience. ⟭
The scabbard was for a two-handed, curved blade, peculiar in that

it was reinforced with adamantine, one of the most durable metals
in the Realm. The craftsmanship was superb.
It made sense. Only a master smith would be capable of working
with the magical material.
While he did not prefer such a large weapon... the enchanted

scabbard resonated with him. The etchings upon its non-metal
parts were Orcish in nature, granting Tycon the strong suspicion
that it once belonged to Samurai Garock.
That it still held sentience... or a Weapon Spirit, as the Hidden

Sects called it, was something Tycon wished to investigate.
Upon choosing his reward, Tycon was mentally prepared to be

contested. A lengthy sword scabbard was not particularly
beneficial to the Tactician class and claiming an item that
belonged to an orc was certain to be met with suspicion.
However, it seemed the members of the Brazen Guard collective

were relieved that Tycon hadn't taken anything of actual value. It
was likely that only him and perhaps Tanamar could sense that
the scabbard's sentience had more worth than a Second or Third-
Circle item.
...that and none of the Tyrion humans had recognized its

markings.
Tanamar chose an ostentatious Second-Circle war-spear... of

which the Stormbrands hailed and congratulated him for.
Tycon knew better. Tanamar's mana-created holy lance performed

as well as, or better than his chosen item. Clearly, he was
planning on selling it. The small fortune he would gain would tide
House Vanzano's coffers for another moon or two.
Tancred Mors picked up a crimson belt that would look very

handsome, worn on its own. However, adding that to his already
colorful set of armor tempted Tycon to gouge out his eyes.
Cleric Occam chose an enchanted set of armguards once

belonging to a Martialist. Notably, he ignored a few choice pieces
of gear that would increase his mana reserves or empower his
healing ability.
Tycon ignored the fellow's inefficiency as well as he could.
Zenon chose a unique pair of trousers that slightly increased his

affinity for protective spells. While it slightly increased the efficacy
of his ⌈Wind Barrier⌋... it didn't do much else for him. Tycon did not
stop him, as he didn't identify anything substantially better that
could be worn in tandem with his Centurion armor.
"Hah! HAHA!! The Lighthouse!! Hahaha!! What're you gonna do

with that, sell it?!" A Stormbrand Champion openly mocked him.
"Hurr hurr hurr," Occam chuckled. "Peasants do as they please--

he probably just picked it because he liked the way it looked."
Cleric Occam made a point to sneer at Tycon, afterward.
Tycon was again taken aback by the cluelessness and hypocrisy

displayed by the group he associated with.
Athena was amongst the last of the Stormbrands to choose.

Tycon's heart tightened as he watched her pick up a set of
enchanted heavy-steel armor, far too large for her to ever hope to
don herself.
"It's... it's a lot of material. It'll... it'll cost a lot," Her bottom lip
quivered terribly as she averted her eyes away from Tancred and
Occam. The pain in her voice was apparent.
Occam crossed his arms and grinned, "It's a cool set of armor,
Athena."
"It's a good choice," Tancred nodded.
Though the various Stormbrands were directly supportive of the

young lady, they could not take back the carelessness of their
earlier words.
Athena Vanzano could not smile about her family's situation. But
though she faced hardships, she continued to do her duty,
seeking every advantage to grant to her family.
As miserable as she must have been feeling... she refused to cry.
Athena was a good girl.
Tanamar stood by her side, silently wrapping an arm around her

shoulders. The young man was likely the only consistent
relationship that Athena could truly rely on.
Both Tanamar and Athena deserved better.
That was what Tycon was fighting for.

Chapter 374 Waterfall Cave
he Brazen Guard had enough supplies to remain another four

T
suns, leaving two suns for convalescence and another two for
exploration. With the major threats in the Icingdeath Dungeon
dealt with, the various adventurer groups could explore the
various parts of the mist-covered valley forest, murdering the
dungeon denizens and looting as they pleased.
Bannok's group would be searching for the Dungeon Core, of

course. As they had three Gold-Ranks amongst them, they would
reasonably encounter little resistance. If they did, they'd call for a
full withdrawal, reporting back to the Tyrion Adventurer Guild,
where another quest would be opened.
Tanamar sought to venture into a cavern system he had

discovered near the lake waterfall. To that end, he gathered a few
volunteers from the Brazen Guard collective along with all the
Stormbrands who could still fight.
Athena was very insistent upon accompanying them, leveraging

the fact that she hadn't been allowed to participate in the
encounter against the White Lady.
Centurion Zenon absolutely did not want to support the

Stormbrands.
Tycon just wanted to go home.
Still, his conscience bade him to accompany the young lady to

ensure her relative safety. He and Zenon would keep the back
lines, only intervening if necessary.
"Hey! Tanamar! Tanamaaaar!!"

A certain armored human was the last adventurer their group was
waiting for. The clumsy fellow had somehow dented his shield in
the previous battle, making him seem far more pathetic than he
actually was.
⟬ Karodin, Iron-Rank Human Legionnaire. Guild Brazen Guard. ⟭
"Tch, Karodin of Ember-shite," Cleric Occam glared. "What in the

seven hells do you think you're doing here?"
"Occam, chill." Tanamar rolled his eyes, "I invited him. You know
we're lacking in defensive classes."
"Pfff. Well, alright." Occam swept back his raven-black hair, "As
long as he doesn't get our guys killed like that Lighthouse guy."
Centurion Zenon crinkled his mustache at the insult, both of his

fists clenched in annoyance. Tycon tapped him on the shoulder,
shaking his head.
"Th-thanks for agreeing to bring me along, Tanamar," Karodin

confided.
"Don't worry about it, man." Tanamar smiled, "Just don't let what
these guys say get to you."
"Ehehe..." Karodin scratched at his dark-blue hair. It seemed he

had yet to replace his helmet, "I just hope I don't make any
mistakes."
Empty night. The man was an Iron-Rank Legionnaire-- and an

armored class that the Stormbrands could sorely use. He could
use a bit more confidence.
Tycon and Zenon flanked Athena as they entered the cave

system.
...
The first sign of trouble was when Tycon's System alerted him of a
noxious Elementary poison spread throughout the caverns. While
relatively harmless to the Bronze-Ranks and above, it was
plausible for it to affect anyone who became grievously injured.
Tanamar didn't seem to notice it. If he did, he made no mention of

it. Tycon was particularly sensitive to the existence of poisons...
but as the other transmigrator showed no concern, neither did he.
The second sign of trouble came when Athena's teeth began to

chatter. She wore Tycon's open-sleeved Decanus armor, and
absentmindedly shivered, rubbing her bare arms.
Two suspicious factors should have been enough for Tycon to

elect to abandon the mission. Athena had an artificial Yin Body,
which made her all but immune to the cold. As the temperature
hadn't drastically decreased in their surroundings, there must
have been a different, not-yet-apparent explanation.
Within a half-bell, the cave's denizens revealed themselves to

defend their territory.
Low-rank frost demons. Mostly Bronze, a few Iron. They were

either summoned by the Icingdeath Dungeon Core or they had
managed to escape from the hells whence they came through an
insignificant hole, deeper in.
It was their unnatural cold auras that managed to affect Athena--

though she still resisted their effects greatly.
Tancred and Occam led the battle. Tanamar supported them with
ranged attacks. Zenon ensured Athena's safety... and the young
lady slew her first demon.
Good for her.
The Stormbrands elected to largely ignore Karodin, even more so

than when under the scrutiny of the rest of the Brazen Guard
collective.
Even with the Legionnaire's recent breakthrough, the young man

took a deep-cutting claw injury fighting three Frost Demons at
once. And of course, once injured, he collapsed in a near-
paralyzed state, affected by the subtle poison in the air.
Karodin was going to die.
...But then Tycon realized he could possibly use the Legionnaire's

dying-state to his advantage.
Immediately after the frost demons were defeated, Tycon hefted

the immobile Karodin of Emberhold onto his shoulder.
"Uh, Brother-Tycon," Zenon grimaced. "Our training dictates that

the injured shouldn't be moved so easily."
"Oh, this?" Tycon raised an eyebrow, "He's fine."
"The pain....." Karodin groaned.
"Sir Tycon..." Athena pursed her lips. "Mister Karodin doesn't

sound fine. He's... he's bleeding all over your cloak."
"Thank you for your concern, young lady, but don't worry," Tycon
smiled politely. "It's not mine."
Athena placed her hands on her hips, "Well, that's not very funny,
Sir Tycon! Mister Karodin's really hurt!"
Tycon shook his head, "Nonsense, young lady. But still, let us
escort him to the infirmary tents to ensure that he lives. This is not
the best he can do, after all."
Readjusting the human on his shoulder, Tycon turned and started

towards the cavern entrance. Zenon followed without argument,
surely glad to leave the Stormbrands behind.
After a short conversation between Tancred and Tanamar... it was

decided that Team Athena would travel back to the Brazen Guard
camp. The Stormbrands and remaining others would continue
onward.
Athena hurried after Tycon reluctantly, along with Tanamar and
Victorius.
Tycon breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that his forceful attitude

had its intended effect. As much as Athena wanted to venture
deeper into the caverns, the young lady would prioritize a team
escort mission when a life was theoretically at stake.
« Please activate the skill now, thank you. »
⟬ Activating. You're welcome. ⟭
"S-sir Tycon... I think... I'm feeling... a little better," Karodin

wheezed.
As Tycon had advanced to Gold-Rank, his healing ability had

increased in efficacy.
For his situation, a fully-healed Karodin just wouldn't do.
"Miss Athena, did you say something?" Tycon spun around, facing
the young Athena with an incredulous expression. Simultaneously,
he bashed Karodin's Iron-Rank head against the cavern wall.
He'd live.
He may have received a traumatic brain injury, but he'd live.
"N-no, Sir Tycon?" Athena frowned. "But... I think you just hit
Mister Karodin's--"
"He's fine," Tycon insisted. "I'm going to increase my pace. Are

the four of you prepared for a short run?"
"C-can... we not?" The dazed Karodin softly pleaded.
"No objections? Excellent. Don't lag far behind."

Chapter 375 Golden Fortress
⟬ Frost Demon cave, several bells later. ⟭
The sleepy Archer knelt down, pricking one of the fallen Brazen
Guard members with his hunting knife, "This one's dead too."
"We called for a retreat. Look at us! We're just fine! Har hurr hurr
hurrr," Cleric Occam chuckled before he spat on the cold
cavernous ground... "Pathetic."
"It looks like only our guys survived..." The Stormbrand Archer
yawned, casually kicking the side of a different body, "Oh, this one
moved just now. She can still be saved."
Occam swept his hands through his hair, "⌈Healing Touch⌋... What
was that?"
"Nevermind," The Archer shrugged. "Should we go back and get

more guys? There's no way we're killing that demon on our own."
"No need!" Tancred called out, "I'm pretty sure I found the artifact."
The Stormbrand Reaver returned to the field of slaughtered

adventurers. A new two-handed greataxe rested on his right
shoulder, its haft a ridged, skeletal spine. The heavy, dark-metal
dual-blades of the axe-head sprouted from a metallic snake skull,
its eye sockets emitting a rust-colored smoke.
"Ohooohhhhh!!" Occam stared in awe, "The Snake Spine Rod!

Haha harr!! So those cultist bastards were right."
"Tsk," The Archer clicked his tongue, "An axe, huh? I expected a
staff or maybe a bow."
Tancred draped the weapon over his shoulders, "It's a weapon
suitable for Orcus, god of battle."
...
⟬ Several suns afterward. ⟭
Having recovered proof of the White Lady's defeat, the Brazen

Guard was set to turn in their quest to the Tyrion Adventurer's
Guild. Each group in the collective received vouchers for their pay.
The creation of the Banking Guild was one of the most wonderful
inventions in the past thousand years.
The Brazen Guard would then rotate back to Kasydon, the

Stormbrands as part of their collective.
Though Tycon had grown fond of Bannok and the other Gold-
Ranks, he was more thankful to be farther away from Tancred and
his goons. He was even happier to descend the Icingdeath
Mountains, eventually returning to the relative warmth of the
coastal city of Silva...
The suns of harsh training resumed without incident, until...
"S-sir Tycon!!!!" Victorius burst into Tycon's kitchen, his breath

ragged from the rush. "There's some people here to see you!"
"Oh?" Tycon raised an eyebrow. He had just placed a heap of

bread dough into the oven, "Thank you for... letting me know."
"Sir Tycon!!" Victorius shouted.
Tycon shut his eyes and breathed in deeply. Whatever the issue
was, he doubted it was worth him abandoning his current mission.
Baking was a process not to be taken lightly, "Yes, Mister
Victorius?"
"Th-they say they're from Sol Invictus!!"
Oh... Was that what this was about?

Athena climbed into the kitchen through the outside window. Her
frost-blue hair was in disarray, matted to her forehead from
perspiration, "Wait wait wait-wait-wait!!! Sol Invictus has come to
visit? The legendary arena guild?"
"Yes," Tycon forced a polite smile, "My guild... and Miss Athena,
please use the door like a proper human."
The young lady's eyes shot open as wide as they could go, "Hold
on!! S-s-s-sir Tycon?!? You're a part of Sol Invictus? Th-the only
guild that beat my brother's arena team, Sol Invictus?!"
Tycon gingerly removed his oven mitts. He didn't understand what

the sudden panic was about, "Yes... I believe I told you I worked
with your brother, Maximus. While he was adventuring in the
Kingdom, he sought me out and I signed him on."
"Wait!! Hold on!! WAIT!! You're the LEADER of Sol

Invictus??????" Athena's excitement somehow immediately
transformed into frustration, "Why didn't you TELL me, Sir
Tycon?!?"
Tycon frowned... "I... I just did?"
"Why didn't you tell me EARLIER?!?" She yelled, before pouting.
Tycon sighed, shaking his head. He sensed that this was not an
argument he would win, "Invite them in. I'll introduce you... and we
can have fresh bread and that apple butter you like."
With the promise of bread and sweet butter, the young lady's
anger was quickly appeased.
...
"Oya oya?" A woman reclined on the cheap seating in the

Vanzano receiving room, "Is this the Athena Vanzano that I've
heard so much about?"
Tycon briefly checked his System's information on the woman.

⟬ Sorina Capulet, Bronze-Rank Human Calculator. ⟭
Sorina's appearance had changed somewhat since he'd last seen

her.
Her skin had tanned from training in the sun and her light-brown
hair had grown longer, styled into a side-ponytail that was curled
to resemble a drill. She wore a sleeveless white tunic, a royal blue
skirt the color of the Kingdom's flag, and knee-high traveling
boots. She wore an expensive-looking, thin golden chain upon her
neck and golden bangles were clasped onto her upper arms,
befitting of her status as a wealthy merchant.
Most interestingly, an enchanted cube the size of a fist rotated

around her forehead. Tycon's System identified it as a multi-
functional spell focus. Judging by that and the fact that she had
lost a healthy amount of weight and her revealed arms had some
tone and definition, she had been trained well.
"Good afternoon, Miss Capulet," Tycon lightly inclined his head.

"It's been a while, has it not?"
"Yo," Sorina grinned. "Nice to see you, Boss."
Athena stood, gawking at the Calculator, "By the Flame... she's--

you're so pretty!!"
"Good afternoon, young mistress. I am Sorina Capulet, fufu fuu~"

The woman chuckled, "A pleasure to meet you, girl."
Victorius hid his crooked hand behind his back and bowed deeply,
"And it's a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, milady. My name
is Victorius."
"Sorry, Vic," Sorina winked coquettishly, "I hate men. They should
all die."
"You seem to have grown stronger," Tycon nodded.
"Oh, for sure, Boss," Sorina's grin widened. "I'm a peak First-
Circle mage, after all."
Tycon smirked in amusement, "Show me."
Sorina stood up from the couch, then thrust both of her hands
outward, "Maverick One!! Engage!!"
Tycon crossed his arms, patiently waiting. Who was she talking
to? Her magical cube?
After a short start-up time, the small box that floated around
Sorina's head emitted a soft yellow glow. In a flash of light, thick
brass metal armor covered Sorina from head to toe. It looked
incredibly heavy and cumbersome, even thicker than Zenon's
Centurion armor, and nigh impossible for someone like the lithe
Calculator to be effective in.
It appeared that Sorina's arms, her fists covered with thick

gauntlets, were the only body parts she was capable of moving.
...if any.
"Behold!!" Sorina's voice echoed from somewhere within her

clunky cage, "I am the walking GOLDEN (brass) Fortress!!"
Tycon pursed his lips., "Walking, you say?"
The hunk of metal shifted slightly... "Behold!! I am the not-walking

GOLDEN (brass) Fortress!!"
"So... cool..." Athena's eyes shone.
Tycon shook his head, lamenting that he had set his expectations
too high for a member of his guild. He was hoping for a display of
her magic, not a fantastical change of dress, "How... much did that
cost?"
"Four lifetime contracts of blacksmiths under indentured

servitude," Sorina's voice echoed. "Oh, and death doesn't null the
paperwork."
"...Very well."
With Sorina Capulet on the task, House Vanzano's had the best
financial advisor they could possibly hope for.
She had a Business Degree, after all.

Chapter 376 Crush
ith Sorina Capulet and Athena Vanzano conversing about...

W
mage things... or womanly things... Tycon sought to greet two
more Sol Invictus members, Corporal Horse and Private Jeremy.
The Vanzano stables were sorely in need of repair. Tycon would

see to it that the two noble and loyal steeds would have access to
some of the servants' mattresses by evening, as well as proper
food and fresh water.
"You look well, Horse," Tycon patted his companion reassuringly

on the neck. Horse was a strong and handsome chestnut-brown
stallion and one of Sol Invictus' senior members.
"(Snake!! Yes. We are well,)" Horse whinnied. "(I was wondering,

though... Do you know where a fellow can get some cocaine?
Asking for a friend.)"
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "You might need to dissuade your

'friend' from such habits... And you, Mister Jeremy, have you had
any difficulties?"
The cream-colored stallion nervously glanced to his left and right,

"(Oh, me? S-sorry, Boss. I'm still unused to two-legged persons
talking to me.)"
"(T-tell him that you need the good stuff,)" Horse urged. "(--and
that you need it realllll bad!)"
Tycon felt the corner of his mouth twitch, "It's fine, Mister Jeremy.
Give me a report, concerning your travels."
The two horses turned their head to gaze at a woman standing

near the stable entrance.
Tycon followed their gaze... and approached her cautiously.
The woman of the Kingdom wore a white blouse with dark

horizontal stripes and a conservative black skirt, her fiery red hair
topped by a black beret. She appeared to be wearing dark
eyeliner and other makeup... though the scent of it was
mysteriously absent.
"Miss Seldin Korr... I almost didn't recognize you," Tycon chuckled

to himself.
Korr was a former adventurer and one of the most powerful

mercenaries he had encountered in the Kingdom. She was also
the fourth and final member of Sol Invictus' reinforcements that
had arrived with Sorina Capulet.
"Leader..." Korr whispered, her cheeks reddened. "H... hi."
Curiously, the long scar that covered half of her face had
vanished. Her blind eye was open, with a matching iris to match
her opposite. Tycon utilized his System to identify the cause. The
young lady was hiding her physical imperfections with
Elementary-Rank glamour magic.
That wouldn't do.
"I would prefer if you didn't use such glamours." He tapped a

finger upon the young woman's cheek, easily dispelling the low-
rank spell, "You are beautiful as you are, Korr."
A sudden chill ran down Tycon's spine while conversely, the

immediate area around Korr began to rise in temperature. What
was going on? Was she going to attack him?
Korr stared at him with wide eyes... her cheeks flushing to a deep
crimson. She wanted something... but what?
Did she want to fight? Tycon shifted his body weight, gaining
some consolation that he felt his short sword on his back. He was
stronger now. He wasn't afraid of her.
⟬ Seldin Korr, Gold-Rank Human Raging Flame Knight. ⟭
Abort mission! He was not stronger than her! He was very afraid
of her!
The woman violently thrust her arms out to the side. Was she
going to charge an attack? A soul-rending sphere of obliteration?
A ⌈Hyper Beam⌋?
No, that was ridiculous.
Based on her class, it was probably a fire-based attack.
"H... hug..." Korr threatened in a quiet voice.
Was she going to crush him to death?!
She was blocking the doorway! Unable to escape, Tycon's brain

operated at its maximum calculating speed.
Was she upset that he dispelled her glamour? Did she need a
raise in pay? Was he supposed to have purchased a gift? He
hadn't... and that blunder was about to cost him his life.
No... there was a chance. There had to be something he could

use to appease her rage.
Was she... hungry? Women became violent when they were

hungry. It was one of the few things Tycon knew about the
capricious creatures.
"K-korr..." Though Tycon's heart trembled in fear, he forced

himself to smile, "H-how about we get something... to eat?"
"L-leader and me?" Korr gasped. She dropped her eyes to her
feet and fidgeted with her hands. "Just... the two of us?"
"...Yes?"
The temperature continued to rise, causing some of the hay on

the stable floor to smolder and ignite. Had he miscalculated? The
notion was inconceivable! The promise of food assuaged all forms
of aggression!
"Hey, you guys talkin' about food?" Centurion Zenon popped his
elevated head into the stables. "Ooh, it's warm in here."
Tycon was saved! "Yes! Yes, Centurion! Absolutely."
He turned to Korr...
The woman was gone... while unobserved, she had retreated to

beside Horse and Jeremy, leaving a bit of smoking hay where she
stood. Tycon casually snuffed out the flame with his boot.
Sorina popped her head in, just below Zenon's, "You guys goin'
out to eat? I've always wanted to try authentic Tyrion cuisine."
"Oh, yeah?" Zenon smiled, "I've got this great place for just that!
It's only a few streets down from here."
Tycon smiled nervously, "Wonderful. Let us leave, immediately."
...
Sol Invictus and Team Athena ate a late lunch at Zenon's favorite
restaurant, Olea Garden.
Athena and her two footmen ordered conservatively. They didn't

seem to like the restaurant much.
Zenon ate his fill-- mostly eating the complimentary breadsticks.
Korr looked generally unhappy until the meal was served. Then,
she ate ravenously from both her own plate and Tycon's.
Tycon was just happy to be alive, so he surrendered his meal

without contest.
Sorina Capulet suffered a case of food poisoning and needed to

be carried back.
Victorius volunteered for the task, likely for lascivious reasons.
After Athena beat her footman with her sheathed sword, the task
was assigned to Korr. The red-haired Knightress slung Sorina
over her shoulder, rear-facing-forward, allowing the Calculator to
freely expel the contents of her stomach as she pleased.
Upon returning to the estate, Athena insisted on providing Sorina

Capulet and Seldin Korr guest rooms, unwilling to assign them to
the servants' quarters.
...which also made him realize that he and Zenon were not given
the same offer.
It was fine. There were so few servants in the estate that he had
taken an entire room for his own use.
When Tycon returned properly, he expected to work throughout

the evening. He needed to request a few more favors from his
associates to ensure the smoothness of House Vanzano's
reestablishment.
Chapter 377 Popoto
Politeness
fter discussing the matters with Athena Vanzano and Sorina

A
Capulet over the evening meal, it was decided that Sol Invictus
would focus on two major projects to elevate House Vanzano's
name.
The first was to increase the profits from their businesses. For
that, Tycondrius unreservedly trusted Sorina with the task of
rooting out whatever flaws she could find... And, in her words, she
would subsequently administer an Armor Gauntleted ⌈Cross Chop
of Market Equilibrium⌋ to ensure scaling profit could be achieved.
Sorina displayed the skill in its full glory at the dinner table, going
as far as to offer to teach it to Tycon and Athena.
Tycon refused to learn such a stupid skill and forbade her from
teaching it to Athena.
...though he was fairly certain the two of them willfully ignored that
order.
The second was to reestablish House Vanzano's strength through

military force. Tyrion nobles were allowed a small private army,
within certain size and strength parameters. While, in theory, they
currently sponsored Guild Stormbrand... but no such paper
contract existed, nor was there substantial funding invested to hint
at such a contract.
According to Tyrion law, the Stormbrands were undeniably an

independent adventuring company.
Tycon found no other hireable group in or near the city of Silva
worth his investment, the Stormbrands included.
Thus, he decided to make a new one.
It did have the small issue in that Tanamar had wasted so much of
his coin and effort in supporting his brother's guild.
He'd get over it.
With the sun declining past the horizon and businesses closing
around the city of Silva, Tycon finally returned to the estate. He
had taken half-a-bell of time, purchasing food from a popular
outdoor stall. Though he could not undervalue the complimentary
breadsticks that came with a meal at Olea Garden, he needed
meat in his diet, else he'd go hungry.
He'd barely finished his own meal when a visitor arrived at the
Vanzano Estate, a member of the Courier's Guild.
A young Popoto wearing a red uniform tunic entered Tycon's

room, holding her uniform hat in her tiny hands. Popotoes were
short, humanoid creatures generally the height of Tycon's waist.
Their ears were pointed, their skin was bronze, and their noses
looked like beady black buttons.
This particular Popoto was a brunette wearing two high pigtails

and a shy expression. On her back was a bag, containing a
bundle of scrolls and what appeared to be a lengthy sword,
wrapped in leathers.
She introduced herself as Potata Pota, which Tycon found

aesthetically pleasing. Popotoes tended to have lovely rhyming
names.
"S-sir Tycon? Right? I have... some missives for you. You're the
biggest delivery, so I get to go home after this."
He gave her an encouraging smile, "Ah, yes. Thank you, young

lady. I have been waiting for these responses for quite some
time."
The young Popoto responded with a sudden growl... or rather, her
stomach did. She blushed deeply in embarrassment, hiding her
face with her oversized hat, "I apologize, Sir. I... I haven't eaten
supper yet... And it smells so good, in here."
Tycon raised an eyebrow, his gaze drifting over to the remainder

of his meal. He had ordered more than he could eat, having fallen
prey to a nefarious 'Buy One, Get One Free' offer.
It was fortunate for him, though. He would give her food instead of
paying coin for Potata's faithful delivery.
"Here," He handed the young Popoto the bag, "I believe this is
skewered, marinated lamb; flatbread, chickpea paste, and a small
salad. Oh, and there is a delectable garlic sauce for the lamb."
"Oh, no, Sir, I really shouldn't..." Potata said... even as she gazed
longingly at the offered food.
How polite.
"Please," Tycon stood up and pulled out the chair at his desk,
gesturing for her to sit, "I insist."
"Well... okay..." She relented almost immediately.
Potata climbed atop the chair and seated herself as Tycon pushed
her seat in. She opened up her box meal, her eyes glowing
greedily at its contents.
...
Seated on the bed, Tycon leaned back, tossing away the first
missive in frustration.
"What's wrong, Sir Tycon?" Popoto Potata Pota asked.
She pouted as if she was the letter's author.
Tycon sighed, "I had requested the Patriarch of the Ivory Judge
Hidden Sect for training advice concerning a woman with a Yin
Body... a frost-mana soul, in layman's terms."
"H-hidden sect? F-frost-mana soul?" The young lady's eyes
widened in confusion, "Do those things really exist?"
"They do."
"...Oh." Potata used a fork and knife to cut meat off of her lamb-
skewer. It looked like a great deal of work. She politely dabbed at
the corners of her tiny mouth with a napkin, "What did he say?"
Tycon shook his head, "Useless drivel. He suggested that Miss

Athena gain experience through continuous fighting."
The logic was sound, but woefully simplistic. If an athlete wanted

to train to throw a javelin for distance, some would opt to improve
by throwing hundreds and thousands of javelins. Such rote
practice would also fully ingrain the athlete's errors and bad
habits.
If he were the athlete on task, Tycon would elect to research and

practice proper form, and to perform targeted exercises to
strengthen the muscles involved in the throwing motion. Such a
skill relied on the core muscles, legs, hips, arms, and back... Only
then would he elect to practice throwing. Practicing with a
fundamentally strong base would be far more beneficial than
without.
Close combat dueling also came with the high probability of injury,
which would slow or even regress Athena's development. Tycon
had a healing skill he could use... but she also had no peers able
to fight her evenly.
She had a mental inability to fight Tanamar. Both Zenon and

himself far outclassed her in magery and physical combat,
respectively. Either she would gain no injuries or have to
convalesce for several suns after she was thoroughly trounced.
Conversely... he could reasonably find the young lady some

training partners from their guild recruitment drive. Patriarch
Kimura Daigo was an idiot, but even an idiot's advice could be
useful from time to time.
He explained his thoughts to Popoto Potata Pota. The members
of the Courier's Guild were under a magical contract of
confidentiality, so he wasn't worried about revealing the existence
of Athena's Yin Body or the fact that the Hidden Sects were more
than mere myth.
"Well..." Potata took a sip of her wine (she watered it down,

herself)... "There's the... the martial tournament in Caeruleum in a
few moons?"
Chapter 378 Lord Ranger
o there was a martial tournament in the trade city of Caeruleum?

S
That wasn't too far from Silva. It would be a suitable goal for
Athena and the others to work towards. Having both a goal and a
deadline would improve the efficacy of their training.
"Ohh?" Tycondrius raised an eyebrow, "What can you tell me

about that, young lady?"
The young Popoto kicked her legs whimsically in her chair, "Oh,
I've been to the arena, but I didn't watch any of the fighting. I don't
really like to see people get hurt."
Tycon's mouth twitched... "Why did... you go then?"
The young lady bared her tiny teeth in a grin, "They have um... a
horse grooming competition?"
Tycon crossed his arms and nodded. He could use that, as well.
He had two very capable stallions that he could arm and armor to
fight against other horses... or compete in whatever types of
contests they held.
Horse had access to the skills ⌈Heavy Slam⌋, ��High

Horsepower⌋, and ⌈Double Kick⌋... He could reasonably teach him
⌈Giga Impact⌋ as a trump card by the time the tournament came
around.
Jeremy was not naturally as strong, but in traveling with Sol

Invictus, he would certainly outclass at least half of his opponents.
Hm... Would the competition test for illegal drugs? Tycon was not
100% certain that both of Sol Invictus' horses would qualify, if so.
Sensing the footsteps approaching the room, Tycon crossed over
to the door to the servant's quarters. He allowed Seldin Korr time
to knock before opening it.
The Raging Flame Knight, Korr, had changed into more

comfortable clothing from earlier in the sun. She wore a
comfortable tunic and trousers, with her long, flame-colored hair
hiding her scarred eye.
Tycon was more used to her in casual dress and met her gaze
with a smile, "Good evening, Korr. Come in, I was just--"
"Who...?" Korr's eye narrowed suspiciously as she sniffed the air.
Tycon pursed his lips as he gestured for Korr to enter, "This is

Popoto Potata Pota, a member of the Courier's Guild."
"H-hello!" Potata greeted. She hurriedly placed her box meal onto
the desk, stood atop her chair seat, and bowed politely.
Immediately, Korr's gaze softened... "Oh."
The uniformed Popoto looked nervously to Korr, "Should I... leave,

Sir Tycon? I don't want to be a bother."
The young lady's polite consideration warmed Tycon's heart,

"Nonsense. I'll be writing another missive soon... and I insist you
at least remain until you finish your meal."
Tycon kept the door open as, soon after, the miserable Sorina
Capulet trudged into the room. Seeming to match her nauseated
tempo, her Armor Cube magically rotated around her head in a
wobbly fashion.
"I don't know what makes me more sick, Boss..." She groaned,
"Mister Greer's balance books or Olea Garden-- Oh, a member of
the Courier's Guild?"
Tycon nodded, "This is Popoto Potata Pota."
"H-hi," The young Popoto twisted her lips to the side, bowing
again.
"Nice to meet you, Popoto Potata Pota," Sorina greeted, lightly
inclining her head, her Armor Cube matching her movement.
"Popoto Potata Pota..." Korr whispered as she sat upon one of the
beds and hugged a pillow, "Cute..."
Potata pursed her lips, looking wronged, "Can... can you guys
stop saying my name like that? Please?"
Tycon and the other members of Sol Invictus immediately

apologized.
...
⟬ Several suns prior, in a cell in the maximum security prison,

Turrim Orientem. ⟭
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark crossed his muscled arms as

he reclined back in his chair and kicked his dirty feet up onto the
nearby table.
"The letter is to be addressed to Sir Tycon of Sol Invictus," He

explained.
The wizened old scribe with the grey beard nodded as he penned
the missive's header. It was a good beard, but Lone had gotten
used to having his beard trimmed or going clean-shaven like the
other members of Sol Invictus.
Lone idly scratched at the edges of the scar on his cheek, thinking
about what exactly to put into his missive... "Tell him... that I'm
safe. I led a dungeon group into the sewers... where we took care
of a massive rat problem."
The scribe scratched more words onto the parchment... "How

many rats were there, Lord Ranger?"
Lone pursed his lips, "Just one. It was massive."
The old man's mouth twitched, "I... see."

"Well, there were more parts of the dungeon, too. Maybe I should
start from the beginn--"
The cell door burst open as a young man entered with an arrogant
grin, "Lone Shadowdark! You Flame-taken criminal! I knew I'd find
you here."
Lone furrowed his eyebrows as he took his feet off the table and
leaned forward... "Well, yeah. I live here. Cell assignments don't
really change, Kleitos."
"Sword!!" Kleitos shrieked as three of his goons filed in after him,

each much larger and more impressive-looking than their lanky
noble charge.
One of them handed Kleitos a sword, which he unsheathed,

throwing the scabbard away, "I've had enough of your shite-
talking, kid!"
"What the hells did you say?" Lone stood up, offended to the core,
"I'm definitely older than you are!"
Kleitos bared his teeth in an annoyed scowl, "How about I put a

few new cuts on your ugly face?"
Lone narrowed his eyes as he circled to his opponent's left, "How

about you give me a sword? Then I can put a few new cuts on
YOUR ugly MOM!"
Yeah. Got 'em.
The scribe trembled in fear as he retreated to the relative safety of

the corner of the room, "G-guards?! Where are the guards!?"
"Hahaha! Shut up, scribe," Kleitos cackled. "I've paid off those
corrupt bastards. There'll be no one here to save you,
Shadowdark."
"Well, that goes two ways," Lone cracked his neck from side to
side... The pressure was enough, as Kleitos' three men hesitated
to step forward. Everyone knew what he was capable of in the
prison dungeon. It was why everyone called him the Lord Ranger.
Lone grinned, trying to look as crazy as possible, "--the easy way

and the hard way."
"What?" Kleitos furrowed his brows.
Lone pursed his lips. He was trying to say something impressive,

but it came out wrong... Yeah. It was definitely wrong.
"Nevermind. Let's just fight."

Chapter 379 Kill Switch
leitos had a weapon and Lone did not. One would think he was
K
at a disadvantage.
Those people would be correct.
But it wasn't a 100% advantage. It was more like a... a half

advantage. Or a less-than-half advantage.
The reason for this was that Lone had a secret weapon, a trump
card-- something he'd been hiding that he was very good at. That
would give him an advantage. That would cancel out Kleitos'
advantage.
So... what was really happening was Kleitos had a 0% advantage.
Lone was a fighting genius.
"It's gonna feel good putting my hard steel into your soft flesh!!"
Kleitos yelled, lunging forward with a two-handed sword swing.
Lone dodged the attack easily, using the momentum to fall onto
his back, "Come at me, bro!!"
He pointed the soles of his bare feet at his opponent, ready for the
next attack.
"Lord Ranger..." The scribe looked on with worry, "What are you
doing?"
"Not now, Mister Scribe. I'm in a fight."
Lone was supremely confident on his back. He had attained a

magical item in the Kingdom that increased his power level by ten
or twenty times as long as he did so.
...He also had stronger magic items, weapons in particular. The
rope was the only magical item that the guards let him keep.
But that didn't matter! Lone was immortal!
...He should have counted that as part of his advantages, earlier.
"How DARE you insult me!!" Kleitos screamed. Raising his sword
high above his head, he charged once more...
--just as Lone had planned.
Lone curled up his entire body like a wound spring, then

connected a full-powered kick with his opponent's chin. Kleitos'
head snapped back and his body dropped to the cell floor like a
sack of meat falling from a meat-sack tree. Rolling forward, Lone
immediately mounted the downed man's chest, even before
Kleitos' sword clattered harmlessly on the stones.
Lone's heart beat painfully in his chest and burning mana coursed
through his body like mountain rock giving way to molten lava.
He had fully switched from human to weapon. There were other

people in the room beside him, but they didn't matter. Nothing
mattered. He couldn't even see their faces anymore.
The only existences that mattered were himself... and the enemy.
"GRAHHHHH!!!" Lone roared at the top of his lungs, raining down

a barrage of fists on Kleitos' face. With his knees and feet planted
on the ground, he rotated his body to maximize the force of his
blows.
He brought his fists down, again and again.
His opponent spat blood. Then teeth. Then words... begging for
mercy.
Tears welled hot at the corners of Lone's eyes. He wished it was

that easy.
Mercy.
That was not something he could grant...
A chill of terror ran down his spine... He knew the feeling

intimately.
He was being watched.
Golden eyes were watching him from behind. He wanted to turn,

to face that person, to plead for mercy on behalf of his enemy. All
at once, his instincts rallied together to warn him not to. If he
questioned the man with the golden eyes, he would only find
suffering.
He knew better than to grant mercy to the enemies he faced. The

men and women of Sol Invictus who guarded his back would not
give him the same opportunity.
"Again..." Lone whispered. He was tired... but still, he hammered

his fists down at a bloody and broken human face. As tired as he
was, he could still use gravity to assist his strikes.
"Again," He used his sharp elbows to cut and batter his

opponent's face, drenched in blood.
"AGAIN!!!!" He screamed as he slammed both hands down,

furious at himself for his mounting exhaustion.
"Is this enough?!" Lone sobbed, "Are you tired yet??"
Lone grabbed the man by the sides of his head. Lifting him up, he
smashed that person's skull against the hard stone floor.
"Not enough..." Tears and sweat dripped down his head and face,
"I can't... I can't stop until I have permission. I'm sorry... I'm so... so
sorry..."
He lost track of time-- had it been seconds, minutes? Entire bells?

Lone half-collapsed onto whoever-it-was... and following his
instincts, he began launching knee strikes into his opponent's
side.
"Again..." He cried. It was too much. Everything hurt, leaving only
the feeling of numbness, depression, and rage. He wasn't human,
anymore.
He was only a weapon.
"AGAIN!!!" Lone screamed with a hoarse voice, smashing his

knee as hard as he could into the unmoving sack of flesh that lay
beneath him.
"Lord Ranger... Lord Ranger!!" The old scribe cried out, "Please!
That's enough!!"
"It's NOT enough!!" Lone yelled helplessly, "It will NEVER be

enough!!! Not until the DEATH of the enemies of SOL
INVICTUS!!!"
...
The Lone Shadowdark's murderous fury was almost palpable.

None of Kleitos' men moved to stop him. It was a death sentence.
The Lord Ranger was the strongest existence in Turrim Orientem.
The old scribe stroked his beard thoughtfully, quietly watching

three men carry out the lifeless body of their charge. According to
the inmate protocol, the young master's corpse would be thrown
into the dungeons below. The guards avoided the depths like the
plague, assigning prisoners to delve deep below to cull the
monster population.
No one would miss young master Kleitos. Turrim Orientem was a

place where people went to disappear.
The Lord Ranger had attracted trouble since his first sun. Here, a
man that gave off a sense of weakness would be preyed upon.
Lone gave off all the signs of prey... seeming patient at first
glance... polite, almost.
Everyone had a breaking point. Lone's was... unpredictable. When

he broke... he said inexplicable things. He yelled his attacks
before he brutalized his opponents. He praised the dead guild that
was Sol Invictus. He adamantly believed he was immortal.
When most people broke, they became sniveling cowards.
When the Lord Ranger broke... people died.
As the suns passed, both the prisoners and the guards of Turrim
Orientem learned that Lone was not prey. He was a predator.
As mentally unstable as the man known as the Lone Shadowdark

was, the scribe would not seek to challenge him... he would do his
duty, scribing as requested. Blood still stained Lone's split fists as
he again seated himself and continued dictating the contents of
his missive.
The Lord Ranger spoke respectfully of two things... the ominously

named adventuring company, Sol Invictus, and its leader, an
existence he only referred to as 'Boss'.
Whosoever those people were... to so brazenly tout themselves

as the undefeatable gladiator team... they were a dangerous
existence that could not be underestimated.
The scribe shivered at the thought.

Chapter 380 Prince Of Vralkek
⟬ Present time. ⟭
Tycon finished reading the missive from Barza Keith, the Lone
Shadowdark, "It looks like Mister Lone has earned a merit in
Turrim Orientem."
"Tch," Sorina Capulet rolled her eyes. "I hope he rots in there
forever."
Tycon sighed. It seemed she hadn't yet forgiven him, "His prison
sentence has been reduced, down to twenty years."
"Oh?" Popoto Potata Pota gasped in surprise, "That's really good,

actually! He must have gotten a lot of merits!"
"Miss Capulet," Tycon raised an eyebrow. "You have frozen his

pay, yes?"
"Of course, Boss," Sorina responded while absentmindedly poking

at her levitating Armor Cube. It responded by lighting up in a X_X
design.
Tycon opened another missive, quickly scanning over the

contents.
"The... seal of the Kingdom..." Korr whispered.
"Correct," Tycon nodded. "This is from the Admiral of the Sea Wolf
Fleet... It appears that one of their Lieutenants is headed here, via
ship... Shao Ran, formerly of the Golden Crow Sect."
"Xiao Ren..." Korr frowned, "I'd like to fight her..."
"Shao Ran is uh... male," Tycon pursed his lips.

"...N-nevermind," Korr turned away, returning to her pillow-
hugging.
Tycon began to unbind a folded poster, "And it appears my friend,

Miss Rico, has sent us a gift."
Korr's gaze sharpened again, "Who is Rico?"
Tycon revealed the poster's contents, revealing a slop of paint on

the parchment. Though misspelled, it was clearly supposed to
read, 'I love you.'
For those who could not read, the stylized ♥ should make the
message clear enough.
The Raging Flame Knight's gaze softened once more, "Aww...

How old is she?"
"Four, I believe."
"Cute..." Korr's gaze dreamily drifted up, towards the ceiling.
Whatever she was imagining, it seemed... positive.
"Miss Potata, are there any other missives with the Kingdom's
Royal Seal?" Tycon asked.
"Oh, no~ I'm sorry, Sir Tycon. There's only the one," Potata
frowned, seemingly sad that she had not met his expectations.
Tycon forced a smile to hide his disappointment, "Do not feel

troubled. Truthfully, I had not expected one."
He had not heard back from his former lover, Princess Aurala, in
several moons. It was just as well, though. People move on.
...
⟬ Port City Vralkek, the Free Nation. ⟭
Ambassador Blacktooth gnawed at his wrist. It was a nervous

habit he'd never grown out of, even though it marred his arms with
patches of lost fur. He was old and ancient amongst his gnoll
peers, nearly thirty years old. It was sometimes frustrating to deal
with his long-lived non-gnoll allies, the titanbloods, the harpies, the
medusae...
Their worlds changed so slowly.
At least Merchant Prince Droghan Ashlord belonged to the latest

titanblood generation. In Blacktooth's nearly three epochs of
experience, the young more readily saw reason. Unfortunately,
Droghan's cruel and violent reputation preceded him, so perhaps
it wouldn't be so easy.
The Gnoll Brotherhood had purposely never clashed ideologies

with the titanbloods of Vralkek. In the Free Nation, logic and
reasoning often had to be reinforced by strength. If Blacktooth or
his pack offended the prince, it would be their own fault that they
were killed.
The heavy doors to the prince's chambers crashed open, taking

Blacktooth by surprise and finding him yelping for cover and
reaching for a crossbow he did not have.
The Titanblood Prince was naked from the waist up, a crimson
mane atop his head, impressive for his species. Though his
furless body was devoid of spots, it was battle-scarred and rippled
with lean muscle. The young prince was a warrior, not a wastrel--
as was ideal for War Princes in the Free Nation.
Blacktooth was tall for a male gnoll... and the prince stood a full
head taller. It made him slightly uncomfortable looking up... In his
culture, exposing one's neck was a sign of obeisance, and he had
to do so involuntarily to meet the Prince's gaze.
Prince Droghan wiped a thin trail of blood from his nose, grinning
broadly in a show of aggression, "Whoa hoh!! Someone from the
Gnoll Brotherhood! What's up, man? You're a guy, right?"
Blacktooth saluted by nodding upwards and showing his

vulnerable neck, before averting his gaze out of respect. The
Prince did not return the salute, as expected of his rank, "I am,
Prince Droghan... I..."
"Nope!" The Titanblood Prince smirked.
"...Prince?"
The red-maned titanblood clasped a muscled hand onto

Blacktooth's shoulder. The Prince had five fingers, an alien and
bothersome concept, compared to his own four-fingered hand.
"You call me Dragan." The prince's face loomed over Blacktooth,

"All my friends call me that!"
Blacktooth felt his mouth twitch, "Ehehe... I... I understand, Prince

Dragan."
"Walk with me," Dragan sauntered past, "I thought the Gnoll
Brotherhood remained neutral in the Free Nation. Kinda weird that
you're here to talk to me... what was your name again?
Blockteeth?"
"That will be fine... Prince Dragan," Blacktooth did not have the
social standing to contest his new given name. He followed
quickly and stated his business. "I hear the whispers of my
Silverstreak Pack and am here to show our concern in good faith."
Dragan scoffed, "Tch. Good faith? I liiiiiike it! I like all you guys and
gals. You're polite. I like that."
The titanblood stopped, shaking his head and chuckling to

himself. More blood dripped down his nose, which he casually
wiped away.
A tall humanoid appeared from the shadows of one of the palace's

ornate columns, "So the Merchant Prince of Vralkek has been
hiding from me to indulge in drugs, wine, and women. Really,
Dragan, I'm offended."
Blacktooth lips curled back to bare his fangs for the briefest of
seconds. The ogre was even taller than him and Prince Dragan,
wearing a thick, braided mane, as well as rich, flowing red robes.
Such attire marked him as another visiting ambassador, just like
himself.
The ogre ambassador carried a gnarled wooden staff... and he

reeked of demonic magic. The Gnoll Brotherhood turned away
from those dark paths, generations ago. Disdain for those people
had been ingrained in him since he was a cub.
"Oh, yeah?" Prince Dragan grabbed the ogre's magical staff and
wrested it away with surprising ease from the larger creature.
The ogre mage furrowed his brows, "What do you think you are
doing?"
Blacktooth felt very unsafe, seeing the look in Prince Dragan's

eyes...
Chapter 381 Looking For A
Fight
rince Dragan raised the ogre mage's staff into the air... an action
P
that made no sense to Ambassador Blacktooth. The ogre was
larger and... surely stronger than the Prince-- holding the fellow's
staff away at arm's length was pointless.
As strong as the Vralkek Faction was, the Oni Faction was not
something his own pack or any Warband would dare to offend.
"⌈Blastback.⌋"
Unable to hear Blacktooth's worries, the Titanblood Prince

smashed the wooden staff atop the dark mage's skull. A peal of
thunder split the air, so loud that it deafened him in both ears.
The massive ogre dropped to the palace's stone floor so hard, its
head literally bounced.
The Prince had used a Second-Circle magical attack using a

weapon as a focus. He was an Iron-Rank... and he was at the
very peak of Iron-Ranks.
Ambassador Blacktooth very much wished he had not

surrendered his weapon out of courtesy. Without it, he was
shaking so badly that it felt he was going to shed.
The Prince was so young! How did he grow so powerful? From

what Blacktooth knew, only humans were capable of growing in
strength in so few epochs of age...
The Prince did not stop, mercilessly felling the staff again and
again. The ogre, unable to stand, helplessly covered the back of
his neck with his five-fingered hands.
"Who!!??? THE F*CK?!?!? Do you THINK??? YOU ARRRRE???"
Dragan bellowed in rage, "I did NOTTTTT!!! Become. the
PRINCE. of VRALKEK. just. to be called. DRAGANNN!!!"
Blacktooth gulped painfully. His mouth was so very dry. He

thought fondly of his home... of his mate, his cubs, and his
grandcubs. He hoped they were doing well. He wasn't certain he'd
be returning to that place.
Prince Dragan firmly gripped both hands upon the mage's staff
and smashed it downward with the force and fury of the titans of
ages past. It was enough that the mage focus shattered, emitting
a purple flash of light, a pathetic pop, and inflicting magical third-
degree burns.
Dragan kicked the unconscious ogre in the side, flipping him over
with the impact... then he got to his knees and began to strangle
the ambassador with his bare hands, "You. will address me. as
PRINCE DROGHAN!!!"
The sounds of boots approached rapidly. Thankfully, the

commotion was heard... Blacktooth had been too stunned to even
think of calling for help.
Eight titanbloods arrived at the scene, covered head to paw in the

golden armor of Vralkek's Elite Guard. Though they all looked
large and powerful... each of them was smaller and weaker than
the Prince they protected.
It was like the guards were Dungeon denizens that had to be

defeated in order to gain the right to challenge Prince Dragan, the
Final Boss.
The guard with the largest crest on his helmet grimaced as he

approached, "Prince... is there a problem?"
"Yeah, there's a f*cking problem!!" Dragan stood up, placing a

boot on the ogre's face. "I want this pigf*cker hung up on my walls
by his gods DAMNED entrails!!"
A younger titanblood stepped forward, "But... Prince? This is an
ogre mage from..."
The lead guard held out his hand to stop the cub, "The wishes of
the superior are commands to his subordinates."
"Tch," Dragan stomped down with enough force to loose more

than a few ogre teeth, "Get it done. I'll take responsibility."
""We hear you, Prince!!"" The guards saluted in tandem.
"And hang him by his stick, while you're at it," Dragan tossed the
broken pieces of the magical staff onto the ground, "Or jam it up
his arse. Whatever's easier, I don't care."
One guard picked up the remains of the staff and two picked the
fallen ogre up to drag him away.
The ogre quietly accepted his fate.
Blacktooth's ears flattened, hoping deep down that the mage was
already dead. Being hung by one's own entrails did not seem like
a pleasant experience... nevermind the fate of their staff.
"Sorry you had to see that, Ambassador Blockteeth," Dragan

grinned innocently, almost as if he didn't just beat a larger,
stronger humanoid to death. "Seven hells! Some people can be
soOoo rude, y'know? Not like the gnolls! I love the gnolls!"
Blacktooth voluntarily raised his head, again revealing his soft,

vulnerable neck to the powerful Prince. His wrist itched terribly
and his palms were slick with perspiration, "Y-yes... Ehehe..."
...
Cillian, the youngest Warrior in Prince Droghan's personal guard,

hurried to the outdoor training area, keeping well ahead of the
Prince and the gnoll Ambassador.
"Brothers and sisters!" He yelled, "Look alive! The Prince will be

here shortly!"
Immediately, everyone doubled their efforts, climbing the stones,
pulling themselves up onto reinforced metal bars, wrestling in the
pit. The Prince was always diligent with his own training,
especially in front of his men. Slacking off would have grave
consequences... though admittedly, it wouldn't be so bad as being
made to hang from their own entrails.
Vralkek's elite forces were varied compared to other parts of the

Free Nation. In the training gym were orcs, minotaurs, other
titanbloods like himself, and even humans.
One human, however, stood out in particular.
A lithe girl was training, wearing rough linen trousers, her muscled
chest wrapped in cloth, and with her silvery hair styled into two
high-pigtails. Like the others, she had just increased her training
load, lifting and carrying a rough-cut boulder above her head.
While the act in itself was no cause for alarm, the rock was as big
as Cillian himself... which meant it weighed well over half-a-tonze.
The human girl was a few years younger than Cillian, was barely
above half his height, was far below half his weight... and was
undeniably stronger than he was.
Her name was Taree Kimura. She was a member of the legendary
guild, Sol Invictus, just like the Prince, himself. And in the span of
less than a year, she had solidified her status as one of the
strongest hand-to-hand combatants in Vralkek.
Definitely the strongest human, though.
Taree tossed the weighty rock aside with impunity. The sound of it
and the resulting dust cloud implied that it was even heavier than
Cillian had initially judged.
"Hey, Little Cill. 'Sup?" The cheeky girl grinned, "You look like you
wanna fight?"
Chapter 382 Final Form
illian pursed his lips and shook his head, his helmet rattling as
C
he did so, "I'm... I'm working right now."
Taree Kimura wiggled a tiny finger, "I'll give you permission to take
a break. Maybe a leg this time?"
"I'll pass," The back of Cillian's neck was soaked in sweat. A few
moons prior, he had underestimated the teenage girl's strength.
His arm was nearly torn out of its socket.
Even with magical assistance, it took him over a moon to heal.

Because of that incident, he had been planning his training times
specifically to avoid overlapping with hers.
Taree shrugged, her smile as bright as polished ivory, "The best

way to get better is to get your butt kicked. A lot."
Cillian grimaced, involuntarily taking a step backward.
While the girl's words sounded like it made sense, that was
absolutely not true when the butt-kicker was Taree.
Each time Cillian sparred against her, he'd find himself, bells later,
in an infirmary bed. From frequent visits spanning the past year,
he became known by face and name to the entirety of the palace's
medical staff.
He really didn't want to go back. There was an Orcish Shaman all

too happy to measure his temperature by way of an enchanted
silver sphere... rectally.
Two double doors crashing open interrupted his line of thought.

On the opposite end of the gym, over a dozen gnolls stepped in,
baring their fangs in growls and sniffing at the air.
Gnolls.
And from the way they were posturing... they were looking to start
trouble.
Gnolls were some of the furriest creatures in the Free Nation,

save maybe the Iredar. They were as tall as titanbloods, with
hunched maned backs that ended in hyena-like maws, sharp
teeth and all. Their legs were bent backward like a dog's and they
had vicious four-fingered claws, useful as secondary weapons in
combat.
While the Iredar were known for their loyalty, the gnolls were
known for their savage and reckless battle practices. They were
fierce warriors and good allies, but they were prone to being as
headstrong and troublesome as humans.
The largest of the gnolls skulked forward, gesturing at the smallest

warrior on the palace grounds... Taree Kimura.
"What the hells is this?" She asked in disbelief, sniffing at her

general direction before baring her teeth and growling
aggressively.
Gnolls were a matriarchal people, as the females were vastly

larger and more powerful than the males. The huge, hostile gnoll
was likely the pack leader.
Taree gasped and held her chest, "Seven hecks! That's amazing!!
Cillian look!!"
Cillian furrowed his brows. He was absolutely certain Taree had

seen a gnoll before. Though there were none in Prince Droghan's
Elite Guard, there were plenty in the city of Vralkek, proper,
serving as mercenaries.
Taree grinned, stepping forward to look up at the gnoll towering

over her, "I found a hyena b*tch that wants to lose all of her teeth!"
"Youuuu.... DAAAARE??" The gnoll roared. She slammed a
powerful fist against the nearby boulder, nearly splitting it in two as
a deep crack formed down its center.
Such strength belonged to a Peak Bronze-Rank... maybe even

Iron! Taree was going to get hurt. And Cillian was somehow going
to get punished for it!
He preemptively placed his body between Taree and the gnoll

leader, "Lady Taree is under the protection of the Prince of
Vralkek. Please, this is not the place to--"
"Out of my way, male!" The gnoll swiped a boulder-breaking claw

at Cillian's face.
This was the way of things. Cillian closed his eyes and accepted
that he was going to die doing his duty. Reasonably, he wouldn't
be punished for it in the afterlife.
Hopefully.
Death did not come. When Cillian again opened his eyes, Taree
had somehow found her way in front of him, her leg kicked
upward in a vertical split. Her bare foot had stopped the gnoll
female's heavy strike.
"Tsk tsk tsk," Taree waved a finger at Cillian. "Sorry, little Cill. I
can't have you standing up for me. I already have someone that I
like."
...That was not why he did what he did.
Cillian felt his cheeks grow hot as he wondered if it would have

been better to have just been killed.
The gnoll pulled back, cradling her fist, "You... you broke my
hand? H-heal me! Immediately!!"
"As you command, Lady Stonefang," A robed gnoll waved his

staff, "⌈Cure.⌋ Ehehe..."
The light green glow of the restoration spell sheathed the woman's
broken claw, healing her injury.
"You'll pay for that, human runt," Stonefang growled, saliva

dripping down her maw. "How dare you contest me with your
measly size."
Panic set into Cillian's expression. He turned to the various

warriors in the circle that formed around the altercation,
"Someone? Anyone? Help me stop this!"
He was only met with jeers and pitying chuckles.
An old, bearded Titanblooded Sentinel shook his head, "Little Cill,

you have no idea how useless you're looking..."
"Hue hue hue... You's underestimatin' da li'ul wun," An Orcish

Slugger mocked.
"HAR HAR HARRR!!" A metal gorgon cackled, "BABY CILL is

STUPIDER than ME IS!!! HAR HARR!!"
Cillian disagreed... particularly with the gorgon.
Taree kept her balance as she gracefully lowered her leg, "Oh,
yeah. I guess you don't know about it, Little Cill. This isn't my final
form, anymore."
What?
WHAAAAAAAT?!?
Final form?! Humans only had one form!!
Cillian didn't... know anyone at all that had more than one form
that wasn't a Wizard or a Druid. But... Taree Kimura was a
Warrior...
Wasn't she? Any other answer was inconceivable!!
Taree stepped forward towards Stonefang, who eyed the young

human warily. It seemed she was somewhat affected by the
crowd's musings.
"Wh-what do you think you can do?" The gnoll snapped. Though
her words were brave, her voice was uncertain.
Taree crouched forward... "Death... to the enemies of Invictus...

⌈Berserker.⌋"
The human girl's back began to bulge with thick, corded muscles.
Her arms grew just as thick, sculpting her muscles to definitions
that would put any body-building titanblood to shame. When her
body stopped transforming, she stood taller than the gnoll, with a
flat, barrel chest thicker than her heavy boulder, and with arms like
tree trunks. She might have even been bigger than Prince
Droghan...
The surrounding circle of warriors went wild, cheering and

hollering at the display.
"This..." Taree grinned wickedly as she loomed over the female

gnoll, tiny in comparison, "This is my final form."
Stonefang pissed herself.
Cillian might have, as well.

Chapter 383 You Know The
Rules
"What-- WHAT IS THAT??!" Ambassador Blacktooth yelled.
A behemoth monstrosity had appeared where a human girl once

stood. It was bigger than a titanblood or a troll... it was even
bigger than an ogre!
Prince Dragan lazily picked the inside of his ear, "Oh, that's
Kimura Taree. She's my human friend."
Blacktooth pointed a shaky finger at the thing that was beating the
living hells out of his pack's strongest warrior, "That is NOT a
human, Prince!!!"
Dragan raised an eyebrow. The smile on his face had frozen stiff.
It was the same way the Prince looked at the ogre ambassador,
moments before he cracked their skull open with their own
magical staff.
"Ahem," Blacktooth coughed, trying his best to compose himself...

"N-not to question your judgment, Prince... but I find it difficult to
believe."
"Okay. That's... reasonable," Dragan shrugged, "Taree! That's

enough!"
"'Kayyyyy!" The human sang in response as she forcibly pulled

out a bloody fang from Stonefang's jaw.
Prince Dragan patted Ambassador Blacktooth on the back, "So

there you have it. Your pack was worried that there was a human
not pulling her weight. That human is uh... pulling out your best
girl's teeth. Any problems, bud?"
Blacktooth took a deep breath to still his beating heart, "Ehehe...
N-no, Prince Dragan. No problems, at all! I will send word to the
other packs that Vralkek's strength has never been stronger."
...
⟬ A missive addressed to Prince Tycondrius of Charm, Leader of

Sol Invictus. ⟭
...So that's how it is, bud.
The little whelpling, Kimura Taree's finally made her breakthrough.

According to the class crystal in Vralkek, she's an Iron-Rank Titan
Berserker, now. Though, knowing Quay's kid, Pale's probably
Gold by now. Taree's doing good, though.
The entirety of the Free Nation's been trying to rebuild since the
Lycan Purge, which is a pretty shite issue. The Holy Country's
built military bases all along the eastern side and the pressure's
made the Warbands start fighting again.
As you know, showing weakness to occupying technically-allied

forces is the worst strategy ever, but hey, you can only control
your own Warband, right?
The biggest thing about that is that your sister's made a name for
herself as a War Princess. She's got a lot of military
accomplishments, and even got a no-casualty victory against the
minotaurs. The medusas are saying she's the best thing since
toasted bread.
The harpies are starting to say it, too. I'm not racist, but you know
how much they love toasted bread.
Then, of course, in Bael Turath, General Raelion's having all that

trouble with the Plane of Fire. We promised him and Lulu that
we'd rotate north to help if things went to shite. Like a big level of
shite, not a small one.
All that said, we're not really in a good position to help you in the
Holy Country. The gnolls have promised to pray to their gods for
your success, though, so you got that going for you.
Lulu said you gave up your weapon to her after she did
unspeakable sex things with it. I sent back something that should
hopefully help with whatever you're doing.
Give Sorina and the others my regards. And tell Horse to not do a
repeat of 'Jacksonville'. He'll know what I meant.
Sincerely, your pal, Dragan.
PS. If you need to break Lone out of prison, let me know. I have
an Orkish Kommando with a Krew of freelancers that owes me a
favor.
...
Tycondrius summarized the missive's contents to his three female

companions, Sorina Capulet, Korr, and Popoto Potata Pota.
"So Mister Dragan's doing well. That's good," Sorina nodded. "I
wonder what... Jacksonville means."
Korr was wheezing rhythmically, having fallen asleep on the bed.

Tycon sighed internally. Instead of sleeping in his own room, he'd
likely opt to sleep in the male servants' quarters, the same as
Victorius and Zenon.
"Wowww... your sister is a Warrior Princess, Sir Tycon," Potata

beamed. "That's awwwwesome."
Tycon smiled politely. As Dragan had specifically mentioned the

fact, it must have been significant. Unfortunately, he had no idea
what that significance was. From the fragmentary memories he'd
gathered of his sister, he assumed his relationship with her was
positive at best, neutral at worst.
Throughout his adventuring, Tycon had done the best he could to

avoid being tracked too closely by outside parties. He wasn't
certain... but he had an inkling that the party he wanted to avoid
the most was his mother's faction. Logically, his sister would be
part of it.
That she was growing in power and influence meant it was safer
for them to move aggressively... Still, even if his sister wanted to
actively sabotage his mission, she had no plausible way to. She
was in the Free Nation and Tycondrius was east, halfway across
the continent, in the Holy Country.
"I wish I was in an adventuring guild as cool as you guys's,"

Potata sighed. She had finished her boxed meal and daintily
wiping the corners of her lips with her napkin.
Sorina Capulet leaned over, grinning at the young Popoto girl. The
armor cube floating by her head flashed in mana, forming a ^_^
shape in glowing lines, "How about you join my guild?"
"Ahem," Tycon coughed, "Our guild."
Sorina shrugged flippantly, "You say Popoto, I say Potata."
"Oh, no, I can't. I really shouldn't," Potata flailed her arms about in
embarrassment. "I... I'm not really good at adventuring."
"Well, I'm THE BEST!!!" Sorina declared.
Tycon smacked the back of Sorina's head out of reflex. She was
easily the worst adventurer in the guild.
"I'm PRETTY GOOD!" Sorina declared, just as confidently as

earlier.
Tycon narrowed his eyes to thin, judgmental squints.
"I could always be better," Sorina relented. "Anyroad, it doesn't

matter. You have to contract with us now, Miss Potata."
Potata gasped, "I... I do?"
Tycon pursed his lips. She does?

"Yep," The sly Calculator nodded. "You ate our food. It's in the
rules."
It was not.
Potata wrung her small hands in embarrassment, "It... it was really

good, though."
That was also untrue. It was mediocre, at best.
Sorina Capulet immediately produced a contract for the young

Popoto to sign, "Here you go! As long as you're not doing Courier
Guild duties, you belong to us, now!"
Tycon felt his lip twitch. None of that would be true unless Potata
actually signed the contract.
The Popoto courier stood up on her chair and grabbed the ink pen
from the desk nearby, "Um. Okay. Where do I sign?"
Tycon held a palm out, "Hold, if you would. Please, think about
this, Miss Potata."
"Don't worry about it! There's nothing to think about!" Sorina

insisted, "It's in the rules."
The Calculator had been so insistent that Tycon began to doubt

his own correctness. He didn't remember any rule like that... but
he also gave Sorina free reign to work with contracts, both
mundane and magical.
Tycon shook his head before glaring at his Chief Financial Officer,
"At least tell her who we are."
Sorina shrugged, "Fine. We're Sol Invictus, legendary Ezyrian

arena guild, blah blah blah."
Tycon placed his face in his palms, "Please take this seriously,
Miss Sorina."
"Sol Invictus??? THE Sol Invictus?!" Potata gasped, starry-eyed.

As the young Popoto went over the contract, Sorina pulled Tycon
close, "See? Now we have a contact in the Courier's Guild and we
can get a discount on mail for the rest of forever."
Tycon averted his gaze. He could not deny the usefulness of

those advantages.
...
In the mere span of a week, the Vanzano estate had transformed

from an empty-furniture shell with no denizens to... an empty-
furniture shell with a constant flow of business-persons and
adventurers.
Calculator Sorina Capulet was gone for most of each sun, visiting
House Vanzano's businesses... often returning, upset and unruly.
Korr accompanied her as her guard, though would often return
with worrying signs of violence. Once, she came back with her
traveling cloak completely drenched in blood.
The only explanation she offered was: "I fell."
As Tycon judged the blood to not be hers, he chose to not

question it.
The visiting suppliers and contracting companies came, eager to

work with the East Charm Trading Company and House Vanzano.
In Sorina's absence, her assistant, Maeva Leserre, signed or
rejected them.
The adventurers were attracted by the promise of training and

fantastic pay, especially considering the low bar of entry
advertised. Tycon, with the help of Zenon and the others,
screened them for character and potential.
If the Stormbrands could recruit a ragtag group of trash and could

call it a Tyrion adventuring company, then he could do the same...
And as expensive as it seemed, Tycon expected less than half of
the recruits to pass his strict requirements after their training was
completed.
Within the moon, his forces would also be padded by adventurers
pulled from his other assets: Guild Staghorn in Nice and the Iron-
Blooded Butchers in Merylsward.
They were already being paid, so there wasn't a real loss.
Tycon also looked forward to the arrival of a particular Sea Wolf.

Lieutenant Shao Ran of the Kingdom's Royal Marines would be
the head instructor of his new guild. Further, the gentleman was a
Hidden Sect Martialist and could advise Athena Vanzano on
cultivating her martial abilities in tandem with her Yin Body.
Tycon had high expectations for his allies.
...which also meant he needed to improve himself, just as well.
He had recently grown in power, reaching Gold-Rank... the

highest established pinnacle for human adventurers.
However... he wasn't human. Gold was neither his limit nor was it
enough to allow him to rest easy.
This was a world of Titan Snakes and Calamity Beasts and

Gorgon Idiots. If he wanted to succeed, he couldn't afford to stop
growing in strength.
Chapter 384 Kept For
Amusement
ycondrius had found an interesting synergy in two of his magic

T
items.
The first item was the Sword of Venom.
⟬ Sword of Venom. Third Circle Magical Katana. Target injured

may be afflicted by severe poison damage. Soulbound to host. ⟭
Sol Invictus member, Dragan, had sent a long, curved blade via
the Courier's Guild, delivered by the newest member of their guild,
Popoto Potata Pota.
The weapon was originally stolen from a slaver in the Kingdom

over a year prior. At the time, it was enchanted with frost magic. It
seemed that Dragan had the silvery blade re-enchanted, as now it
was coated with a waxy sheen of debilitating injury poison.
While functionally the same, Tycon was not keen on using a

sword enchanted with frost mana. Cold made him uncomfortable.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, he had a natural disposition
towards poisons.
...Tycon wanted to use the weapon, solely based on personal

preference.
The second item was the Sturdy Scabbard, an enchanted weapon

sheath reinforced with durable adamantine. He had chosen it as a
reward from his dungeon delving with the Brazen Guard.
⟬ Sturdy Scabbard. Elementary Transmutation. Warning: This

scabbard is inhabited by the Orcish Samurai, Garock. The
weapon spirit may possess the user. Soulbound to host. ⟭
He had discovered a strange phenomenon after he had placed
both the sword and scabbard within his spatial item, returned to
him by Sorina Capulet.
⟬ Ring of Holding. Third-Circle Conjuration. Opens into a

nondimensional space of 10 cubic yalms and up to 250 ponze. ⟭
That was stolen, too.
A few suns prior, Tycon had summoned the Sword of Venom,

intending to perform basic maintenance. Upon doing so, he found
the sword snugly sheathed inside of the scabbard.
This was odd for two major reasons. First, he had not directed his
System to perform any kind of item sorting or consolidation.
Second was that the scabbard fit the blade suspiciously well...
which meant that the previously Orc-sized scabbard had
transformed, slightly in shape and moderately in size.
His first hypothesis for the phenomena was that the sentience
within the scabbard was stronger than he'd initially given credit.
Such would be easy enough to verify. Tycon would just ask

Garock, himself.
On a training off-sun, he asked Zenon to guard him as he...

cultivated.
In the privacy of his own room, Tycon opened his palms, mentally
summoning the Sword of Venom. It appeared as before, sheathed
in its scabbard, and resonating with mana.
Holding it in his hands, Tycon felt like... the weapon wanted to be

wielded.
Tycon pulled the blade out of its catch, examining its integrity.
Masterful craftsmanship. Sharpened. Well-oiled and cared for.
Beautiful.
⟬ Warning: The weapon's spirit is attempting to establish
communication. Accept? Y/N? ⟭
Tycon sighed, internally making last-checks on his gear. Even if

he were to be drawn into an illusion, he would treat the endeavor
as if it was an actual combat scenario. Such preparations would
only help and not hurt his performance within the dream-state.
Better still, likely Garock's spirit would be weaker than when he

was empowered by the Dread Wraith. That meant he'd be
vulnerable to the injury poison on his crossbow bolts.
Tycon could not deny that he was looking forward to shooting the
fellow.
« Accept the communication. »
Immediately, Tycon fell into a daze... and his mind drifted

elsewhere.
...
Tycon discarded his overcloak, basking in the warmth of the sun.
« System, inquiry: This is an illusion, this time, yes? »
⟬ Affirmative. ⟭
Wonderful.
Tycon had been transported to a hot and humid swamp... likely

somewhere in the Free Nation.
The weather was overall enjoyable and the scenery was pleasant,
if a bit... archaic.
Nearby fields were planted with rice in neat rows. Orcish hovels
had been erected in the distance, made from woven bamboo and
roofed with thatch. Those homes rested upon stilts, implying that
the area was prone to flooding.
Most interesting was that the area underneath some of the houses
were fenced in. Though the pens were empty, they were suitable
for keeping livestock.
...Tycon would have loved to raise chickens or pigs at the

Vanzano estate, as his quest was nowhere near being finished.
Unfortunately, besides a stablehouse in need of repair, it was far
too much work to be worthwhile.
Anyroad, the stench of it would likely be bothersome, as the

estate was deep within the city of Silva.
Red standards were planted in the areas around the settlement.

Each of them bore the image of an open-mouthed, tusked face,
shoddily painted in white.
He recalled that Garock belonged to a Hidden Sect called the

Screaming Silence. The wild areas of the Free Nation were
unexplored enough that it was less likely they were purposely
'hidden' but more likely... forgotten.
And for those who were aware of the Orcish tribe's existence, the
standing faction banners would protect them from local Warbands
scouting for places to raid.
A War Prince capturing a neutral village would incur the wrath of a

confederacy of neutral forces. Or worse... an Orcish War Chieftain
could use the incident as an excuse to unite several tribes. The
Blood for Blood principle was perhaps the most respected 'law' in
the Free Nation.
Tycon felt the slight vibration of a heavy bipedal creature

approaching from behind him.
"Is this your home, Warrior Garock?" Tycon spoke aloud.
Turning around, he found a stunned Samurai scratching his cheek

in embarrassment.
Garock wore a simple farmer's tunic, wooden sandals on his feet,

and a broad-brimmed bamboo hat upon his head. The grey-green
and tusked orc's massive sword hung on his side from a cloth belt.
It was flipped upside down in its sheath, to make it harder to draw.
As Tycon expected, the sheath was identical to the adamantine

scabbard that he held in his own hand.
He appeared not-so-much a fearsome warrior, but more of a... a

retired adventurer, relegated to a backwater village.
"It is... or it was, anyroad... long, long ago." Garock smiled politely,
"I, alone, remain... a single warrior who should rightfully be
surrounded by a loving family and a sect of hundreds..."
Tycon nodded. Garock was a ghost of his former self. Whatever

force of will that was powering his existence was strong enough to
evoke a location: rice fields and hovels, sun and sky. It was not
enough to create illusory companions...
The Samurai sighed and shook his head... "How many years has
it been since we last met, Warrior Tycondrius?"
Tycon shrugged, "It's been a few weeks since I defeated your

spirit in the Icingdeath Dungeon. I was wondering why you didn't
pass on to whatever afterlife you believe in."
The Orc shifted uncomfortably, "I believe the current me is a

vestige of what I once was. My sole reason for existing is to pass
on my sword skills to a worthy successor."
"Well, that sounds... nice."
It was an interesting concept. Samurai Garock's peculiar

defensive sword style was difficult to deal with in melee combat
and had nearly gotten Tycon killed.
As beneficial as training in the orc's weapon arts would be, Tycon

didn't currently have any two-hand sword users in Sol Invictus on
hand.
He supposed he could gift the scabbard to Dragan... or perhaps

the young Pale, the youngest human member of Sol Invictus. Pale
picked up new training methods quite easily.
Tycon pursed his lips as he turned around to leave, "I'll be going

then."
"Wait! Wait!!" The Gold-Rank orc moved swiftly... clumsily running

in front of Tycon, holding his palms out in a panic.
Tycon narrowed his eyes at the lonely orc, "Yes, Warrior Garock?"
"I... uh..." The orc clasped his hands together, inclining his head,
"Do you have any snacks?"
Oh. Tycon had forgotten. Garock had asked for snacks when they
last met.
Spirits, in general, go for long bouts of time without the simple

pleasures that most living persons take for granted, eating and
sleeping, in particular.
Tycon summoned a small lunchbox from his spatial ring, still warm
and delectably fragrant, "Fried potatoes with cheese and sour
cream. It's my charge's favorite dish, so I made some extra for
you."
Garock took the small box, cradling it as if it were a high-rank

spirit treasure, "My... deepest thanks, noble warrior."
Was he going to cry? How droll...
"Tss. Don't be thankful," Tycon scoffed, "This is not treatment

reserved for an honorable opponent, but more like a pet kept for
my amusement."
The orc's eye visibly twitched... "I'd have liked it better if you
hadn't provided the comparison."
Tycon rolled his eyes, "I'd prefer it better if you passed on

properly."
Garock crossed his thick arms, sighing in defeat... "Is it possible...

for you to listen to this old orc's tale?"
"You are aware of my medusa bloodline, Warrior Garock. I am
older than you are-- or were, when you were still alive."
"It would honor me greatly," The orc bowed deeply at the waist.
Tycon took a deep breath, "I'm very busy at the moment.

Conversely, you are a spirit with little concept of time. Your
personality may degrade over the years and epochs, but the skills
you have to offer will remain."
The orc lightly raised his head, grinning sheepishly, "Time flows
differently in this dream. I believe it has only been a few breaths of
time in the outside world."
« System, inquiry: How much time has passed outside? »
⟬ System response: Thirty-seven seconds. ⟭
"Hm..." Tycon mulled the thought over. He supposed he could

spare the orc some of his time, "Very well. Are you going to invite
me into your home, or are we going to stand outside all sun?"
Chapter 385 The Worth Of Salt
(Part One)
ithin the moon, Lieutenant Shao Ran of the Kingdom's Sea Wolf
W
fleet arrived in Silva.
In theory, Tyrion officials would not be pleased to receive a military

vessel from another nation at their port. However, the Spear of
Selene was... not a typical warship.
Her deck was woefully devoid of cannons or... anything that made
it war-like... The crew of thirty-something Marines and Sailors
forewent their uniforms and did not at all appear as proud and
noble members of an elite fighting force. They looked like
degenerates and pirates.
Besides that, the ship was in such a sordid state of disrepair that
no one would believe it was part of the Kingdom's Royal Navy.
Ran could even declare it outright and not be suspected.
...As headstrong and straightforward as the gentleman was, he

probably did.
Shao Ran wore gaudy golden robes, carrying a long hafted

halberd over his shoulders that he called Ferocity. His sandy
blonde hair flowed in the sea breeze and the side of his face
suffered burns from dark magic-- which only added to his wild and
somewhat feral appearance.
Ran was afflicted by what the Hidden Sects referred to as the Sea
Wolf Curse, a form of lycanthrope. Like all Lycans, their strength,
agility, and perception were greater than that of normal humans.
Also, when exposed to seawater, Ran and his crew could recover
from even critical injuries, their wounds healing at a visible pace.
The strongest amongst the Sea Wolves could even transform their
bodies into four-legged, four-tentacled aquatic beasts.
Tycondrius found it amusing that their Sea Wolf transformations

looked as much like wolves as the Spear of Selene looked like a
warship.
"Welcome to the city of Silva, Lieutenant."
"I hear you have some pups for me to train?" Shao Ran shook
Tycon's hand, sporting a wide grin, "Seven hells, it's nice to hear
your sweet, melodous voice, Tycon."
Melo...dous. That wasn't a real word. Tycon decided to ignore it,

as to not spoil the mood.
"Indeed," He nodded. "Thank you for coming, Ran."
"Gahahaha!! I'll show these Tyrions how real men fight! Blood and
thunder!!"
"Victory at sea," Tycon smirked.
The arrogant prick hadn't appeared to have changed since their

last meeting.
⟬ Shao Ran, Iron-Rank Human Golden Halberdier. ⟭
Ran had a powerful, high-tier class, having been raised in the

Golden Crow Hidden Sect, apparently known for super-heated,
fire-type skills and spells.
Though Ran's fiery personality found him constantly... challenging

his peers, Tycon held a deep respect for the man. Shao Ran was
hailed as the strongest one-on-one duelist in the fleet. Such a title
afforded him arrogance, yet also had to be cultivated by hard
training, determination, and a superhuman sense of
stubbornness.
The Sea Wolf Lieutenant informed Tycon of events since Sol

Invictus left Port Saint Guinefort.
Pale, the youngest human Sol Invictus member, had completed
officer training at the top of his class. Over thirty percent of
applicants failed such training, usually by injury or death. Pale was
special in that he was one of the very few who had foregone the
Sea Wolf curse and thus did not have access to a superhuman
healing factor.
The young man also managed to hold the highest record for a
first-year Marine or Officer on the three-malm obstacle course. At
first, this didn't seem impressive, as Pale could literally run on
water.
Shao Ran explained that the Fleet Admiral, Lang Hai, had forced
Pale to run the course without his water-walking boots. Though
his swim speed suffered, his target clearing speed more than
made up for the loss.
Ran also lamented that they lost Sol Invictus member Tarquin
Wroe. He had mysteriously disappeared on a night of a ghost
siege. Tycon assured him that Wroe was very likely not dead,
more probably having gone on some sort of quest... concerning
dark magic or the like.
He was too stupid to die, so easily.
Shao Ran agreed to train Tycon's new guild, the Letalis Serpentia.
Ran, along with the help of other instructors from his small crew,
would stay for up to half-a-year, preparing the various adventurers
for martial combat and to work as a cohesive unit.
Tycon and Zenon had recruited over 200 adventurers for it. Miss
Athena had vehemently argued against the wanton use of funds...
not that she had a say. Guild Letalis would be supported
financially by Sol Invictus until House Vanzano's revenue could
support them on their own.
Discussing the matter with Ran, they agreed that it would be

fortunate if a third of the initial 200 were capable of passing their
combined high requirements.
The more adventurers culled, the less Tycon would have to bleed
in coin.
...
Cecil Salt was a nervous wreck.
It had been over a year since he'd met his employer, Baron
Tycondrius. He had a privateering vessel, once, long ago... but
when that ship sank, so did his prospective career. The Baron
found him and his crew of the Salty Selkie in the countryside of
the Kingdom. Back then, they were living a pitiful existence, forced
to highway robbery to survive.
Instead of slaughtering them and leaving their corpses for the

crows, the Baron gave Cecil and his men purpose. They were
sent to the city of Merylsward, where they fell under the command
of Monsieur Reynard of the Iron-Blooded Butchers.
There, they were armed, armored, and paid handsomely for

imposing their wills upon weaker men. Cecil learned better how to
lead... how to leverage his strength and his connections to get
what he wanted. He learned how professionalism could win him
respect from both his subordinates and his enemies.
When they received word that the Baron was collecting people for
a highly-trained unit of elites, Cecil immediately volunteered. He
could have stayed where he was... well-paid, well-fed, and
respected by all.
But that's not what the heroes in the legends did.
In Cecil's old life, he was a respected Captain, contracted by the

Kingdom. At his lowest point, he was little better than a murderous
thief. Reborn, he was a leader of men, feared by his enemies and
praised by his allies. Over the suns of constantly having to assert
his physical dominance over other Merylsward factions, he had
even grown in strength... maybe even making it to Peak Bronze-
Rank.
He owed it to Baron Tycondrius for rescuing him. He owed it to
himself to not settle for mediocrity. And so, he sailed to the City of
Silva, hoping to pay his dues, just one of several volunteers from
the Iron-Blooded Butchers.
...But seven gods-damned hells and angel shite in a bucket, that

man was terrifying.
Chapter 386 The Worth Of Salt
(Part Two)
ecil Salt had looked forward to meeting his savior, Baron

C
Tycondrius.
But somehow... he'd forgotten his fear.
The Baron was young... appearing like a youth barely in his

twenties, at most... but his demeanor was like he'd walked a
hundred battlefields unharmed. His medium-length, but neatly
trimmed hair was colored an uncommon green... and his sharp,
golden eyes passed over Cecil like that of a judgmental god.
Though Cecil had once seen him in silvery Kingdom armor along
with the royal blue cape of his homeland, the Baron inspected the
adventurers while wearing the ornate sculpted-armor design of the
Holy Country.
Was he a Paladin, too?
Even as strong as Cecil was, it felt like the Baron was infinitely
stronger. He had to will himself to stop shaking in his boots. One
wrong word... maybe even a hint of weakness would result in the
Baron immediately executing him for heresy against the Tyrion
god, the Eternal Flame.
Baron Tycondrius approached Cecil and the other adventurers,

walking alongside another fearsome existence.
The training instructor's reputation preceded him, whispered

amongst the adventurers that had gathered for House Vanzano's
cause. Lieutenant Ran was a monster in human skin, an officer
belonging to the Royal Navy's Sea Wolf Fleet. The Sea Wolves
were known for transforming into immortal god-beasts, hunting
down pirates, and tearing them limb from limb.
The worst part about the old sailor's tales... was that they were all
true. And one such being stood by the Baron with sandy hair and
an arrogant sneer.
"Ahh... Mister... Cecil," The Baron mused. "I see you've opted for a
fresh haircut and a clean shave."
"Tch," The Sea Wolf scoffed. "That's a minimum requirement--

nothing to be impressed by. Ridiculous."
Tycondrius raised an eyebrow, "Credit must be given where it is

due, Brother-Lieutenant. This fine gentleman has improved in both
strength and professional appearance since last we met."
"We'll see..." Shao Ran glared with eyes that looked like a fire
burned within them. "You. Who the hells are you?"
"Ahem," Cecil cleared his throat. "H-hello, sirs-- err... gents. My

name is Cecil Salt, and I'm a--"
"Stop," Ran ordered. "I don't gods-damned ask for your life story,
now did I?"
The golden-eyed Baron narrowed his gaze, "You were contracted

as a Privateer for the Kingdom for several years, were you not?"
Cecil's eyes widened. Baron Tycondrius had given him a chance...

a hint... Even in social circumstances, there was a correct way to
act in order to garner respect. He had been so terrified of meeting
with the Baron again that he nearly forgot all of the courtesies he'd
learned during his sailing suns.
Cecil gathered his pride, straightened his back, and rendered the
sharpest salute he'd ever performed in his life, "Good morning,
gentlemen! Petty Officer Salt, reporting as ordered!"
The corners of the Baron's lips curled up in a sly smirk.

Shao Ran raised an eyebrow, "Ho~ly. Shite. This one might be
worth something, after all."
Cecil had yet another thing to thank Baron Tycon for. That small
action had earned the tiny bit of respect he sought.
"Hm. As we are in the Holy Country, perhaps it would be more

appropriate to assign him the rank of Decanus?" Tycondrius
offered Lieutenant Ran.
"Nah. That sounds stupid," Ran waved off the notion. "You've
given me responsibility for these recruits, Lieutenant Tycon. We'll
go by Kingdom terms, the leaders as Corporals, and only those I
deem capable as Sergeants."
Cecil's heart pounded in his chest. The Baron was an Officer of

the Kingdom, too? What else was he hiding?
Tycon nodded, "Sergeant Salt... Yes, I find the title aesthetically

pleasing."
"Hahaha... Yeah. Not bad, not bad! Not quite the level I want-- but
work hard, Salt, and you'll rate soon enough." Ran sneered,
"Brother-Lieutenant, what does the scouter say about his power
level?"
The Baron shut his eyes and waved his hand. There was a
magical ring on his finger. From the way Lieutenant Ran was
talking, the ring was probably a Class Scanning tool. Those things
were so rare and so costly to maintain, that only large
organizations could afford them... or someone as rich as Baron
Tycondrius.
"Iron-Rank Gunner," Tycon smiled. "Your thoughts, Brother-

Lieutenant?"
"Ah! Hahaha!!" Ran cackled in glee, "Very well! How about you
introduce us to the other recruits, SERGEANT Salt!?!"
Iron-Rank...
His heart bursting with pride, Cecil saluted once more, "Aye aye,
Sir!"
...
Tycondrius was pleasantly surprised by the growth of Sergeant

Cecil Salt. He had lost weight, grown from Bronze to Iron-Rank,
and had recovered his dignity as a professional mercenary. In
order to further solidify his reintroduction, he had his hair cut to the
Royal Navy's regulations, and wore a handsome set of leather
armor with two well-maintained pistols holstered onto his belt.
Upon first meeting the former ship-Captain, Tycon had taken a

chance to invest in him... which bore fruit in Merylsward. The Iron-
Blooded Butcher leader, Reynard, was exceptionally grateful for
Cecil's assistance, along with the few Bronze-Ranks in his crew.
It seemed that Cecil wanted more... whether it was out of gratitude

or self-improvement, it would serve Tycon just as well. He
expected great things from the Sergeant.
Cecil introduced Tycon and Ran to the other notable personalities

from Sol Invictus' allied guild, the Iron-Blooded Butchers. He
recognized a few Thieves, Ruffians, and Archers that would serve
well as scouts. As they were raised on and around the rougher
districts of Merylsward, they would perform especially well in
urban environments.
The large, very polite, bruiser of a man, Mister William Lawrence

hadn't ranked up to Iron like Cecil. However, his class had
changed to Heavy Gunner. That was promising.
He along with a number of Cecil's former crew all had gun-related

classes, something sorely underutilized, save in the northern
reaches of the Kingdom and their Royal Navy. A barrage of pistol
shot and cannon fire provided a similar result as concentrated
spellcasting from a cadre of same-ranked mages.
Several elites from the Kingdom adventuring company, Guild

Staghorn, had answered the summons. As a traditional guild,
many of their number came from noble or knight-lineages.
Raphael of Cannes was one such gentleman. He had
experienced Sol Invictus' effectiveness, having suffered a defeat
against Tycon and his allies in the Mosswood Wilds. The human
was a curly-haired Axe Warrior that had fought alongside
Maximus of Ezyria. Though he was saddened by the news of the
dovahkiin's death, he was thrilled to fight for the honor and glory of
the Vanzano name.
Though not an adventurer under Tycon's and Ran's purview, a

young lady named Maeva Leserre had also arrived in Silva to
serve as Sorina Capulet's assistant. The blonde woman dressed
and acted professionally and respectfully... which made Tycon
want to question her blood-relation to her brother, Emilien Leserre,
the leader of Guild Staghorn.
Tycon did not. That would be rude.
He reviewed the paperwork that Maeva had compiled and

provided to him, "Sergeant, are you familiar with the Circle Mage
that Wizard Clemont had recommended to us?"
"Ah, yes," Cecil chuckled to himself.
The way he responded aroused Tycon's suspicion, "Is there

something amiss, Sergeant Salt?"
"Ahaha... Her name is Radia! She's a very attractive woman. And

I believe she is not yet married," Cecil leered.
Tycon struggled to find the reason Cecil would mention such

things. An adventurer's attractiveness was not indicative of their
usefulness.
...It could improve morale, perhaps?
"That's great news!" Ran pulled Tycon close, "Let's get you two
introduced, Brother-Lieutenant! I'll start out by telling her some
war stories about how awesome I am!"
Whatever was going through Cecil's and Ran's heads, Tycon was
completely oblivious.
The trio approached a small collection of female adventurers. As
the mercenary profession was male-dominated, women
associated with each other to provide support and
encouragement. It was a type of clique that Tycon had no issues
with, as he could only see additional means of psychological
support as a boon.
At the center of the circle was a youthful girl with honey-blonde

locks of hair spilling from her hood. Especially noteworthy was the
fact that her hood had two triangular points atop it-- space for
pointed ears.
According to Wizard Clemont, Radia was actually a Weretouched

Fox girl. She seemed to have excellently integrated herself in with
the Tyrion humans, assumedly having used glamour magic to hide
her ears and tail-- pointedly non-human features.
"I mean, I just hate people who are super-entitled," Radia

complained. "Especially when they abuse their subordinates."
A few of the girls responded to her positively. It made sense.

Tycon also disliked such people.
The fox girl shrugged, "Arseholes being arseholes for no reason! I

hate it."
Cecil and Ran had both abruptly stopped.
Ran looked around... almost nervously, "Maybe we shouldn't go

over there."
Cecil coughed, "Y-yes... How about I introduce you fine gentlemen

to some of our logistics personnel?"
Tycon crossed his arms, "Very well."
He didn't quite understand the shift in plans but decided not to

question it.
Chapter 387 Art Form
edousa twiddled her thumbs nervously, sitting opposite the busy

M
woman at the desk. Lady Leserre was finishing inking something
to paper and she knew that nobles hated being interrupted.
Doe couldn't help but be a little intimidated. They had so very little
in common.
Her own ashen-blonde hair was cut painfully short, barely going
past her ears... not that she was ever able to style it properly,
anyroad. After her 'vacation stay' in the Galanis dungeons, her
hair looked like dingy, overgrown moss. It was better that it was all
gone, now... even if she did cry during the haircut.
Maeva Leserre was absolutely gorgeous. Her bright gold, healthy

hair somehow managed to have the perfect amount of waviness,
her makeup looked almost natural, and she used just the right
amount of gloss in her lipstick.
Even though she was now seated, Maeva wore stockings and tall
heels to elevate her height. She was the perfect example of a
modern, business-fashionable noblewoman.
When Doe wore heels and stockings, she ended up just looking
like a whore.
She wore flats... and an Alizeaun maid outfit, resized to fit her.
It was on loan from her friend, Kleio. She wasn't 100% sure it
looked good. It was, however, 100%... frilly.
Doe had washed and dried it thrice over. Only the Flame knew
what unspeakable acts Kleio had used it for. And even then,
knowing her, even the gods might have turned a blind eye to it.
Finally, the businesswoman returned her pen to its inkpot.
"Miss Doe, as you might have guessed..." Maeva steepled her

fingers, leaning forward, "I am originally from the nation of Alizeau
and am from House Leserre of the Staghorn Crest. No one in this
estate is more qualified to judge a potential maid than I am."
Here it was. Doe gulped.
With the help of Madame Virgil and the other girls at the Massage
Parlor, Doe had bust her arse off to learn everything she could
about being a maid. She learned the proper way to clean, sew...
and basic repair on most everything. She found that she was
really bad at cooking, so that was a bust. She did find she was a
natural at speaking formally and how to appease the ego of a
short-sighted noble.
Kleio insisted that Doe brush up on pleasing men (and women) in

bed.
That was really stupid and Doe highly doubted it would be useful
for anything at all... but she was always bad at saying no to her
best friend. That particular subject was the only thing Kleio was
really, really good at, so she was really proud of herself.
...Doe ended up learning a thing or three. The art of whoring was

not something to underestimate.
Who knew?
But overall, Doe had learned to be prim, how to be proper... how

to ignore the itchiness of her maid uniform... and how to not sound
like a *complete* idiot.
And so, she applied to House Vanzano as a maid... and was

being reviewed by Maeva... a woman from the Kingdom... where
being a maid was an art form.
Doe was doomed before she even started her application

process.
It was disheartening to fail her job interview... but she immediately
started making plans in her head. She'd make a stop at the good
bakery and pick up some sweetbread for the girls. Then she'd go
back to Kleio and have a nice long cry.
...Maybe instead of going back to a life of prostitution, she'd be a

barista or something?
Taking a deep breath, Doe stood up and curtsied as she was

taught. She had to leave the room before she cried in front of the
noble... "I understand, Lady Leserre."
"Do you?" Maeva snatched her pen again, scratching some more
lines onto her paper, "Wonderful. Do you have a place to stay or
would you like to be assigned your own quarters? I have contracts
prepared for either case."
Doe's heart stopped... but just for a second. And she had to close
her mouth because she was staring like a mushroom-brained fool,
"Um. What?"
Maeva covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a laugh, "Miss
Doe, you are more than adequate to serve as a maid to Miss
Athena."
"I... I am?" Doe's head was spinning so hard she had to sit back
down. If she were in heels, she was sure she'd have broken her
ankle or fallen on her face. That's why she wore flats.
"Indeed," Maeva smiled. "More important than your actual skill,

Miss Doe, is your work ethic... your heart. We, of the East Charm
Trading Company and its parent group, Sol Invictus, do not
believe in mere servanthood, but in self-empowerment.
"From what you've told me, you're not here for some get-rich-
quick scheme. You're here to perform your duty respectably,
honorably, and with steady pay... and, of course, to work for an
employer with the same ethics until you move on or retire."
Oh. Ohhh... Those all sounded like very nice things. Doe wanted
that. Doe definitely wanted those things!
"Y-yes! That's right!" She exclaimed, clenching her fists tight. Her
head was still woozy and it was hard to think straight. But... she
got the job!
Maeva giggled lightly, "And besides, you look very chic in your
little maid outfit! I am stunned by your beauty, 'chere'! You'll be
working for Miss Athena, herself, and I'm positively certain she'll
be thrilled to have you."
Warmth gushed in Doe's heart. Some of what Maeva said was in

the Alizeaun language... but it sounded like it was good! It was
one of the best feelings in the world... to be complimented by a
woman that was so much prettier than she was.
"Thank you, Lady Leserre!" Doe stood up, curtsying again. It was
so embarrassing to cry in front of her employer... but she was just
so happy, "I won't disappoint you!!"
"Awwww, little Doe... don't cry." Maeva stood up and pulled her
into a polite embrace, "Come now, dry your tears. I will show you
around ze manor."
Chapter 388 Bed, Bath...
aeva accompanied Doe, catching her up on the craziness that

M
was going on in House Vanzano.
Apparently, Maeva's boss was another Alizeaun woman named

Sorina Capulet... which was a really Alizeaun name, if there was
one. She and her guard had been quite busy going around Silva
and the surrounding cities to House Vanzano's businesses and...
correcting things.
In Doe's previous profession... 'correction' tended to be a

dangerous and violent task. The two of them sounded really scary.
When Doe had last been to the estate, there was never anyone
around. As of recent, it had turned into a bustling hub of
adventurers looking to join the adventuring company sponsored
by the East Charm Trading Company... as well as business-
persons looking for Lady Capulet.
Maeva admitted that she was taking her time because she was
tired of the wandering eyes of those rude people... more the
business-persons than the adventurers, though. Maeva said
something like: if they want something from me, then they will wait
for me, not the other way around.
Doe liked Maeva a lot. She had never met a woman so strong or
confident. Were there more people in the East Charm Trading
Company like her?
She was introduced to Lady Athena... who was so much nicer

than Doe had imagined.
They had met briefly before, but it didn't look like the young
Mistress recognized her. Doe had changed a bit since then--
mostly because she was literally homeless and looked the part.
And her hair was moss.
Doe could tell how kind Athena was by the way she treated the
adventurers in the training area-- there were lots of them, too. She
returned every greeting with a radiant smile and struck up random
conversations with anyone, no matter their social status and no
matter how rough they looked.
...There were a lot of really rough-looking men. And high-level

adventurer women. Scary. If House Vanzano had these kinds of
adventurers a few moons ago, House Galanis would have never,
not in a million years, tried to challenge them.
From everything Doe knew about nobles, how Athena acted really
didn't seem... noble-ish... She asked Maeva about it, who told her
about... the 'Pride of Nobles.' The nobles exist to protect and
serve the people. Otherwise, they wouldn't be nobles.
It sounded like it made sense, even if it was a bit simple. Doe had
heard far too many stories of corrupt nobles than not, but the
thought of it was nice. At least Athena seemed to have that pride.
That was enough.
Before Doe started her duties, she was given two last pieces of
advice.
The first was to stay away from Lord Greer.
Doe already knew that one. The lecherous Lord Greer had a piss-
poor reputation in Silva and was even banned entry from Madame
Virgil's Massage Parlor. They called it the 'Square Peg incident.'
Kleio had offered to give her the details. Back then, Doe had
declined because she'd just eaten.
The second thing Maeva advised was... that if anything was to

ever go wrong, if she was ever unhappy with how she was
treated... she could look for a green-haired man named Baron
Tycondrius of Charm.
It made sense... her pay was coming from the East Charm
Trading Company. If she had a problem, she could complain to
Maeva... or her boss, Lady Capulet... or her boss, Lord...
...Tychon?
Baron Tychon? A Baron? As in a noble title from the Kingdom?
Tycondrius of Charm?
As in the East Charm Trading Company?
Whew. Doe had dodged a lethal arrow.
She was actually planning on looking for Sir Tychon to thank him.
But with their new change in status, he was now her boss's boss's
boss. That would just be awkward.
There were lots of things to clean in the Vanzano Estate. It looked

like whoever was doing it before wasn't really thorough... with a lot
of dirt and grime in the corners and behind empty shelves and
furniture.
There was also an inconceivable amount of dust. There were so

many adventurers that walked through the manor to the kitchens
or to the training area... and even the stables. There was dust,
dirt, bits of hay, and too-often, blood on the floors (and it was
really suspicious finding blood in the stables!) Doe had to sweep,
mop, scrub harder and faster than she ever had in her life.
On the bright side, she'd always have something to do.
After a few bells of doing maid-ly duties, she was dismissed to her
own time. Dead-tired... but satisfied from a hard sun's work, she
skipped dinner, fully intending to head straight to bed.
According to Athena, it had been over a year since their last maid
left, so she had the maid quarters all to herself. In particular, there
was a single-person room that was supposed to belong to the
Head Maid... or the only maid. That was her.
She had a room all to herself! Muhuahaha!

Doe took a look at it earlier in the sun. The bedding looked so soft
and everything was so tidy, like they kept it clean just for her.
There was some adventuring stuff in there, too, neatly on display,
or for storage purposes.
Before she got to bed though, footman Victorius mentioned that

the servants had access to a heated bath. Her muscles were
probably going to be a bit sore from her cleaning, so that sounded
perfect.
Hot bath. Bed after.
...
Doe poured a bit of a cute-looking bottle into the bathwater.

Ooohhhh. It smelled so nice...
The bath was everything Doe ever wanted... and more.
Was that a bottle of wine? Oh. There wasn't a cup.
...No one was around, though.
That meant no one could judge her negatively for naked-wine-

drinking! Straight from the bottle! It reminded her of her younger
suns...
And now... Doe was living the life of her dreams... not that she
was creative enough to imagine such a high-class life, bathing
with scented oils and drinking sweet, top-shelf wine without a cup.
She relaxed in the tub, idly tracing the old scars on her inner
arms.
She had come... such a long way...

Chapter 389 ...And Beyond
**Content Warning: Descriptions of nudity**
Doe had a good job. She had a safe place to stay. She wasn't
worried about starving or getting robbed or having to do weird
cult-y things. She didn't have to do anything shameful or need to
give herself to anyone.
And the bath... was just lovely.
She spent a few minutes crying. It was a good cry. She decided
that the following sun, she'd take a break after work to visit
Madame Virgil's. She wanted to thank her and the girls... it was
because of them that she finally got the courage to... be better.
Most of all... she really wanted to thank Sir Tychon.
He really was in a class, all his own, though. Back then, he said
she owed him nothing. Doe thought he was just being nice... but it
turned out, it was because he already had everything he wanted.
He had so many titles: Decanus, Baron, Church Official, Guild
Leader... He was so important to so many people... and
apparently, he was really, really rich too.
And she'd offered to warm his bed.
Ah.
Ahhhhhhh! That was so embarrassing!!!
There were probably a hundred different girls way better than she
was, leaping at the chance to whore themselves out to someone
that was pretty much royalty.
If only she'd met Tychon before settling for her last ex...
Augh! No! She couldn't think like that!
Doe was a strong independent woman who didn't need no man!
She dipped her head in the water, bubbling in frustration.
...She did want to thank him, though. And because he was nearby,
she was sure she'd get the chance. Maybe he'd still remember
her? He did before... but there were so many people in the estate.
That nagging feeling in the depths of her heart... it was definitely

her wanting to express her thankfulness.
...
As Doe entered her room, the first thing she did was lock the latch
behind her. If someone came to get her in the morning, they could
knock.
She tossed her clothes to the side-- it was a bit messy, but this
was her room! Doe does as she pleases!
And what she really wanted was to crawl into those nice, clean
sheets, fresh from her hot bath.
The room was dark, but not too dark with the starlight pouring
through the window. Doe had spent too many suns rotting in a
cage without so much as a candle, so the threat of absolute
darkness made her heart race just a little bit.
It would be fine. She just had to hurry to bed.
Ouch! Ohhh. Ahhhh~
Doe stubbed her toe on the room's one and only desk chair. It was
pushed into its desk, too. Doe cursed her own stupidity and
clumsiness.
Maybe it was the wine. Yeah. It wasn't her fault, it was the wine's.
Oh, sweet, delicious wine, how could you betray me like this?
Kneeling down and applying pressure to her smallest toe, she
stared outside at the light of the mocking moon.
Her brain was telling her the room was safe... There weren't any
other maids beside her. The door was double-locked and there
was no other easy way in or out. The estate barracks had dozens
of adventurers that wanted to prove their worth to House
Vanzano, too! ...And it wasn't like there was a possibility that the
city guard would batter down the doors of the manor.
There was something about Doe having her own room that didn't
feel right... but she knew it was temporary. She experienced the
same sensation when she slept in the back room at Madame
Virgil's. It took her only two suns to get over that... Surely, it would
be the same thing, here!
It's not like she was out in the wilds, where a snake could get her
if she chose the wrong place to sleep.
And so, she stood up, and immediately leaped into bed, throwing
the heavy blanket over herself. Nice, naked, warm. It was
everything she ever w--
"Good evening, Miss Doe."
"AIIIEEEEEEEEEEEE!!" Doe screamed at the top of her lungs,

covering her chest with her arms.
Sir Tychon sighed as he sat up in the bed. His naked upper-body

clear was to see in the dim blue light and his green hair was a bit
messy from lying on a pillow, "Please control yourself, young lady.
This is not the first time I've seen you naked."
"YOU!!!" Doe gnashed her teeth growling, "You..."
What was HE doing here?! Had he snuck in?? Doe should have
listened to Kleio and the others! Sir Tychon couldn't be trusted,
after all!! Scum! Thief! Criminal!!
Tychon narrowed his golden eyes, "What are you doing in my

room?"
Doe's eyes widened as she jammed her finger into Sir Tychon's
hard chest, "YOURRR ROOM??!"
"Mind your volume, young lady," Tychon chided, casually brushing

Doe's finger away. "People are sleeping."
Oh. He was right. DOE was the one being COMPLETELY

INCONSIDERATE.
She lowered her voice down to a lioness' growl, "Grrr... what do

you mean *your* room? This is *my* room."
"...I believe I see where the misunderstanding is," Tychon sighed,

shaking his head, "You must be the new maid Maeva mentioned."
"And just because I'm the new maid doesn't mean you can take
advantage of me," Doe huffed.
"Miss Doe..." Tychon pursed his lips. "I have been living in this
room for the past several moons."
Doe hesitated, "I... But I..."
No! That didn't make sense! Athena said-- oh, but the Lady of the
house wouldn't be constantly inspecting her servants' quarters?
Oh... oh, no...
This... this explained why there were weapons and armor stands
in the room... Why was it so clean, though? All men are slobs?
"Perhaps it would be better if I lit a lantern," Tychon offered. "At

least you would avoid injuring yourself on more furniture."
Panic struck Doe like a carriage hitting a pothole, "N-n-n-no!! No!

You can't!"
Even though Tychon had seen her naked before, she absolutely
did not want to be seen again! Doe tugged hard on the blanket,
trying to cover herself up as the noble was reaching for a match.
"Miss Doe, what are-- ah?"

With a tumble and a crash to the wooden floor... Doe found herself
on top of Sir Tychon. With the blanket on the ground, the man had
cushioned her fall... and he was even cradling the back of her
head with a hand.
But... the position they were in...

Chapter 390 Taking
Responsibility
Doe supported herself with her hands pressed onto Tychon's

bare, muscled pecs. She wasn't wearing a single thing... and while
Tychon only wore a very thin pair of shorts, it was the only thing
between...
Doe's heart was beating out of her chest. The heat in her face and
cheeks had started to spread to her arms and chest, too.
Her plan to not let Sir Tychon see her naked again had failed...
spectacularly. All of her scars were plain to see, the starlight
through the window like a beacon illuminating her nakedness.
"Are you injured?" Tychon asked. Though his words showed some
concern, he looked almost annoyed.
Doe wanted to hit him so badly. Why was she the only one
embarrassed? He was technically naked too!
Two solid knocks on the door stopped her before she physically
assaulted her boss's boss's boss.
"You alright in there? Sir Tycon?" A muffled voice asked.
"Yes, everything is--"
"Everything is FINE!!" Doe shouted... before realizing she had

made a mistake.
The voice belonged to Footman Victorius, one of the other

servants.
...and he was asking for Sir Tychon... because... everyone else
probably knew this was his room...
"Oh, uh... sorry for bothering you two," Victorius said through the
door. He audibly turned and walked away, "I'm uh... I'm leaving
now."
...And because Doe opened her big, stupid mouth... Victorius now
knew that she was also in his room...
Doe collapsed, just wanting to faceplant against the hard floor...

but her face and damp hair plopped onto Sir Tychon's chest
instead.
"...Have you been drinking, Miss Doe?"
Doe rolled her head to the side, "Yes. I don't want to talk about--
eh EHH?"
Immediately she sat up in a panic, "Sir Tychon!! Y-you!"
Tychon rolled his eyes, "I have a beautiful woman pressing her
naked body against mine. This is a physiological human
response."
Doe felt her heart stop... honing in on Tychon's words...
Beautiful. Did he really think that? He was so... very, very wrong.
She was pathetic... she had so many scars, physical and...
emotional.
But her heart made her want to believe it so badly. The wine, too,
sped her thinking towards terribleness.
She lowered her face close, staring into Tychon's golden gaze...
Feeling a bit naughty, she ground her hips, just like Kleio had
taught her to. That was the wine, not her.
"Sir Tychon... D-do you really think I'm beautiful?"
The green-haired noble smirked. He gently pulled her close,

kissing her deeply. She thought her hair was too short to grab...
but Sir Tychon proved that it wasn't.
She liked it.
Sparks and explosions lit up in Doe's head, leaving her in a daze.

A deep second kiss... and again, a third... found her mind
absolutely empty of anything except wanting more.
"The faint sweetness of the wine remains, Miss Guardian." Tychon

chuckled, "Your kiss... is so very delicious."
Doe shivered as Tychon's hands brushed down her lightly

perspiring back, finally resting firmly upon the sides of her hips.
With a quavering voice, she willed herself with more bravery than
she knew she had, "Sir Tychon... Do... do you want to sleep with
me?"
"Tss..." The noble scoffed, "That depends. Have you found the
courage to live?"
"Yes... I think... I think I have."
...
"Good morning, Monsieur le Baron," Sorina's assistant, Maeva,

greeted Tycondrius, her daily itinerary tucked beneath an arm.
"I've noticed our newest maid had trouble sleeping last night."
⟬ Maeva Leserre, Unranked Human Expert. East Charm Trading

Company. ⟭
"Indeed," Tycon nodded. He could still remember the faint taste of

wine on Doe's lips, "She was very insistent that our late-night
meeting be... prolonged."
Maeva shook her head, "Forgive me, but I do not see it as proper.
You are a noble of the Kingdom, Sir Baron. You cannot sample
every maid I hire on."
"I will take responsibility, should her duties suffer because of it..."
Tycon pursed his lips. It was rather suspicious of him... "And I
assure you that the pairing was consensual."
The woman sighed, "Sacred gods... Just... be more private about

it, will you? The female adventurers-- zhey have been submitting
both complaints AND requests to see you. It 'as been non-stop
since early in ze sun."
Tycon looked away from Maeva's burning gaze. The woman's

frustration with him was almost palpable, "I... uh... I apologize.
Please deny those requests."
Maeva huffed before blowing away a lock of hair that had fallen
over an eye, "I've already done so."
After Maeva's personal complaints, she provided her reports of

the week. A number of recruits had been injured, some outright
dismissed by Combat Instructor Shao Ran. Tycon agreed on
Maeva's decision to grant the dropouts their last paychecks and
send them off as soon as they were able to walk.
The special weapons order had yet to come in. Maeva showed
curiosity to the source, intending to contact the supplier. Tycon
could not provide it.
The order was from a forgemaster in Bael Turath, recommended

to him by Sol Invictus member Lulu. As many demons and
demon-bloods as there were in that nation, both Tycon and Sorina
agreed it was best to not have the source written down on paper.
If a Tyrion official or a rival of House Vanzano were to find out, the
resulting line of questioning would be uncomfortable to answer.
A set of custom armor had come in, shipped from the Dwarven
Krakhammer clan. Based on designs made by Centurion Zenon, it
was the prototype basis for the armor for which he would equip his
new adventuring company, Guild Letalis Serpentis.
The armor was made of resilient, dwarf-forged steel with a

blackened metal finish. Also, there were... spikes on the shoulders
and chest area, more appropriate for a gladiator than for a
legitimate military force.
Tycon did not like it. They were in the Holy Country, not the Dark-
Spiky-Overlord Country.
"Maeva, what... is the general consensus of our high-ranked

adventurers, concerning the armor design?"
"Overwhelmingly positive," Maeva pursed her lips. "However, I will

give credit to the emblem on the shoulder."
Tycon nodded. The symbol painted on the armor's shoulder plate

was a snake skull atop a backdrop of a stylized lightning bolt. It
was clear that Guild Letalis was backed by House Vanzano and
their lightning crest.
It would do.
Chapter 391 Dreams Of
Underhoof
ne of the most welcome developments Maeva reported was

O
receiving a letter from the Brazen Guard adventuring company.
Guild Letalis was formally invited to their collective.
Word had traveled quickly, largely due to the channels Sorina

Capulet had used for advertising in the Holy Country. Publicly,
House Vanzano was behind the guild's development. By now, the
noble houses understood that the East Charm Trading Company
stood behind them.
The Brazen Guard also had the advantage of insider knowledge--

that both Tycon and Centurion Zenon were assigned to restore
House Vanzano's name. Guild Letalis was more than a desperate
noble's attempt to regain relevance or a Kingdom organization
trying to gain power in the Holy Country. It was an effort backed by
Archbishop Natalya Crucis, herself.
There was little to lose from allying with House Vanzano. In fact,
Tycon was surprised that the Brazen Guard was the only guild
that reached out to them. Dozens of businesspersons sought out
Sorina because they had the gold-sniffing senses to recognize a
good opportunity.
...It was doubtful they sought her out in order to win her favor.
Tycon asked Maeva to reply formally, accepting the offer, and

inducting Guild Letalis into the Brazen Guard Collective.
The most distressing of Maeva's matters were the reports on

Athena's parents... The incidents around the manor were not few.
Athena's mother, Lady Marigold, was a constant visitor to
Instructor Shao Ran's training area. There, she'd spend her time
flaunting her corset-lifted cleavage, gawking at the male
adventurers, and attempting to... woo the Sea Wolf Lieutenant.
The noblewoman had no idea how futile her attempts were.

Marigold had a penchant for wearing strong perfume and thick
makeup to hide her middling age. For persons with overly keen
olfactory senses, her very existence was offensive. Tycon avoided
breathing in the woman's general direction. As for Ran... he had a
keener sense of smell than he did.
Athena's father, Lord Greer, was reported to 'accidentally' wander

into the female servants' area where a number of female
adventurers had taken residence. There had even been multiple
reports of sexual harassment and the mysterious theft of
undergarments.
The concept had initially baffled him. Why were Bronze and Iron-
Rank adventurers being taken advantage of by sentient trash?
Maeva explained that Lord Greer was not outright killed out of
respect for their employer... which was ironic because Tycon
would have absolutely no issues with Greer being killed by the
first woman scorned.
Stealing ladies' undergarments... Really... How absurd.
Anyroad, the bothersome Lord and Lady of the estate needed to

be taken care of.
Tycon assured Maeva that he would handle it.
...
By mid-sun, Tycon had equipped the two Sol Invictus horses,

Corporal Horse and Private Jeremy, with a handsome carriage.
The bindings that they were to pull were modified for their comfort.
He consulted the budget with Maeva and she agreed to grant Lord
Greer and his wife a stipend to spend on a short vacation. The
coin involved with that along with the purchase of the better-than-
average, refurbished carriage made Tycon's heart bleed.
Still, the temporary removal of the Vanzano Lord and Lady was a
worthwhile cost.
The cream-coated stallion, Jeremy whinnied nervously, "(Y-you

sure about this, Boss? Just the two of us?)"
The horses did not consider the two humans they'd be escorting
as part of their number. That was fine. The unreliable and
lecherous Greer and his extravagant strumpet of a wife were poor
examples of humans.
Tycon frowned, "Yes. You have both proven trustworthy

individuals and this mission is well within your capabilities."
"(Don't listen to him, Snake,)" Horse huffed. "(We'll be fine!

Everything that'll happen will happen! Nihihii...)"
The cackling neigh of the chestnut-colored Horse was somewhat

worrisome, but Tycon decided to ignore it... "Private Jeremy, state
your orders."
"(Uh...)" Jeremy fidgeted, clopping his front two hooves as he

thought, "(We take Lord and Lady Vanzano to the Kingdom city of
Passage. And... and we're not allowed to let them mistreat us.)"
"(It's a looooonnnng way to Passage,)" Horse reared up in

excitement. "(I figure we can take a detour and take them to
Underhoof.)"
Tycon grimaced at Horse's suggestion. Escorting persons to

Underfoot-- or Underhoof, as it were, was Invictus code-speak for
murdering witnesses quietly and without alarm.
"Belay that order," Tycon insisted. "I only want them gone for a
moon or three. There are too many variables affected if they were
to be found dead on the side of the road."
"(But... I want to kill again,)" Horse neighed quietly.

Tycon sighed, mulling over the thought, "If there is an *accident*...
I suppose I'd forgive it."
He shook his head. He wasn't going to ask a member of Sol

Invictus to do something he wouldn't do, himself, "Bah! Just bring
them back in one piece!"
"(You can count on us, Snake,)" Horse declared proudly. "

(Humans have lots of pieces.)"
"(Corporal...)" Jeremy shook in complaint... "(No... No, they do

not...)"
...
Combat Instructor Shao Ran looked forward to the sun's training.
As of recent, general training bothered him. Dealing with regular

humans was... difficult. Part of it was due to the training areas
were so... boring. Silva didn't have ravenous, flesh-eating sea life
in their waters-- even the sharks kept to the depths, far away from
humans. There were rocky beaches, sure, but the rocks weren't
sharp enough to draw blood. Making the recruits run on mildly
uncomfortable surfaces brought him no joy.
Was Port Saint Guinefort formed into existence by a sadistic god?

Or was Silva just... so incredibly soft?
Shao Ran was also having difficulties accounting for the durability
of a 'normal' adventurer. They had a bit of First-Circle healing, but
that was limited. He was accustomed to training Sea Wolves...
and all of his men and women could heal from their training
injuries on their own. And besides that, these adventurers were
also slower and weaker in nearly all aspects compared to a proper
Sea Wolf! Outrageous! Absurd, even.
But this sun... this sun would be different!
Ran had been tasked to train just two people: the Yin Body
Frostblade, Athena Vanzano, along with one of her classmates. In
six short weeks, they both set to compete as a duo team in the
upcoming Caeruleum Martial Tournament.
Chapter 392 Hero Training
s Athena was Tycon's focus, Shao Ran had already visited her,
A
checked her skill level, and assigned her some training exercises.
He hadn't used a hands-on approach with her, though... mostly
because Tycon explicitly disallowed it.
Anyroad, Ran figured he could be tougher on the boy.
He was far better at training one rather than whole groups. Whole
groups had to be trained according to the median person. The
weakest person often held back everyone else's development.
In single training, Ran only had to set the pace and goals for the
one. And that one person was very strong! That person was
meant to be, for all INTENSIVE purposes, a HERO of Tyrion!
The kid looked like a Hero, too! He had bright red hair, styled
upward, and carried an enchanted sword on his waist. Though it
was nowhere near the strength of Ran's heirloom halberd,
Ferocity, it looked decent... maybe four or five generations old.
Shao Ran knew everything about fighting. He was the best at it!
That made him the best at training, too! Training... by FIGHTING!
It'd be the easiest job he'd ever signed up for, since joining the
Royal Fleet.
"Alright, kid!" Shao Ran grinned, "The first step in training is... the
reason. What makes your heart BURN like the sun?"
The young hero saluted proudly, "It is my solemn wish to cleanse

evil from the lands of Tyrion with my own hands."
Nice.
"Good! But not GOOD ENOUGH!! Aha haHA!!" Ran laughed, "In
order to achieve that wish, you gotta be strong, pup! Like me!
Ahaha!"
"Yes, Sir!!" The hero shouted at the top of his lungs.
Ohhh, that was good volume. Perfect!
"Alright, now what was your name again?"
"It's Chaleb, Sir! The strongest male combatant in the Academy!!"
Ran chuckled to himself. That was good. He could use that.
It was misleading, though... The strongest warrior in the Academy

was actually the young Athena Vanzano, which meant that Chaleb
was the second strongest overall.
SECOND was the FIRST-PLACE LOSER.
Still, the kid both knew the pain of training to be strong, and at the
same time, he had an almost insurmountable goal in front of him.
From the way he talked, he might have had a thing for Athena,
too. All in all, it meant the kid'd be able to handle Ran's not-so-
gentle style of training.
"Ahh, I wasn't listening!" Ran snorted, "You gotta earn my respect

before I treat you better than the shite the fish puke onto the
sands!"
"Yes, Sir!! This, I swear on the name of House Moretti!!" Chaleb

yelled... adopting a wide grin.
Arrogant! Ran liked that. Thinking back on it, that's probably why
he liked that Tycon nerd, too. He did look forward to wiping the
smile off this particular noble's face, though.
"I like your answer, kid, "Ran planted the base of his halberd into
the beach sand, gesturing Chaleb forward. ��Now... show me
your strongest move."
The boy was nothing but a goldfish in a pond. There were
adventurers dozens of times stronger than the young pup... and
even the newest crewmember on his own ship, the Spear of
Selene, could trounce the boy with both hands tied behind their
backs. Chaleb had to look well beyond besting Athena Vanzano.
The kid had to want to be the biggest, baddest fish in the sea.
Ran would show him that power... He'd strip him of his
confidence... He'd open his eyes to the world of strength beyond
human understanding... and after breaking him, Ran could re-train
him from the ground up.
Chaleb drew his sword and flourished it in an arc. It glowed with

divine power, surely from his deity, the Eternal Flame. He was a
perfect Tyrion warrior... and Ran would mold him into a warrior
that could fight the heavens and hells as he saw fit.
"Here I come, Instructor!!" Chaleb roared as he charged. "I am

VENGEANCE given FLESH!!"
"Hah! Too slow pup!!"
Charging mana into his legs, Ran dashed forward, spilling sand
behind him with the sudden burst of speed. Chaleb was forced to
attack early, swinging with the sloppiest sword swing Ran had
ever seen in his life.
Ran slipped the attack and grasped onto the fire mana in the air.
With flames trailing his fist and forearm, he powered a punch deep
into the boy's abdomen.
Weaving elemental mana into physical attacks was one of the

major concepts that Lieutenant Tycon had asked him to impart to
Athena Vanzano. With Chaleb Moretti's natural talent, the boy
would be able to learn it, as well-- this was the power he'd get
after training!
Shao Ran had reached the highest levels of fundamental mana

manipulation in his Golden Crow Hidden Sect. There was no
better teacher than him!
Ran's strike took the kid's breath away and sent him tumbling
backward for several fulms before stopping, half-buried in the
sand.
Hah! He'd even dropped his sword! Chaleb had left himself open
for his all-in attack, not a single thought going to defense. That
was good-- but one wrong move against a stronger opponent was
fatal.
If Ran could train the boy's speed and strength to even a half-step
higher, he'd be able to win the Caeruleum tournament without little
Athena lifting a finger.
Shao Ran picked up the sword and walked towards his fallen
opponent, "Now let me tell you where you screwed up. I, Shao
Ran, your father, am the strongest single duelist in the Royal
Navy!"
He laughed aloud, "It'll take you another hundred years to defeat

me. But we'll start you off with a new daily training regimen. I was
thinkin' a 10 klick run, 100 push-ups, 100 sit-ups, and 100..."
...Ran stared at Chaleb Moretti, face-down in the sand.
"Hey, uh... kid."
The young hero didn't move... even as Ran prodded him with the
end of his halberd.
...No. Haha...
No.
Kneeling over, Ran gently shook the boy, "Hey. Hey, kid... Hey!!
Boy!!."
His shaking grew more frantic as his panic steadily began to rise,
"Chaleb. Hey. Get up!"
"Lord Moretti?!" Ran flipped the boy over, cradling the body in his
arms, "Sea god's socks! Wake up, boy!! Please, wake up!"
Chapter 393 Without Fail
ieutenant Shao Ran returned to the Vanzano Estate a few bells

L
afterward...
He had tried his best to resuscitate the kid, but his basic training
never taught him how to un-kill a boy punched so hard, his insides
exploded. He ended up burying the body in the depths, a few
malms off the coast-- underneath some heavy rocks, too. No one
would find him there... not unless they were able to breathe
underwater like he could.
He sterilized the kid's heirloom sword with a burst of his Golden

Crow flames and left it in a trash heap behind an Olea Garden. No
fingerprints, no mana signature, no witnesses. No one would be
able to track the murder back to him...
Ran had done a lot of questionable things in his life, and this was
easily in the top ten...
The top five, at least.
Maybe top three.
"Lieutenant Ran!" A voice called out for him.
Sea god's shitebox.
Ran resisted the urge to run away and dive back into the waters.
The Sea Wolf fleet was known for their speed, having the fastest
ships in the Royal Navy. He could be half-way back to Port Saint
Guinefort by now...
He could swim there without his ship if he wanted to.

Ultimately, it didn't matter. Either he'd be crucified in the Holy
Country or he'd sail back to the Kingdom to be keelhauled by the
High-Captain...
With a reluctant heart, Ran turned to the voice. As he thought, it

was Tycon, the green-haired, golden-eyed noble... and the only
Lieutenant in the Fleet that was paid less than he was.
He took a deeeeep breath.
"Fancy seein' you here, Ty!" Ran laughed heartily, just like a
normal, not-suspicious person would, "Ha ha ha! I'm so surprised
that I'm laughing! I'll do it again: Laugh laugh laugh!"
"Right..." Tycon narrowed his eyes... "And please do not call me

that. I prefer my friends and close allies call me Tycon."
"Sure, sure! Yeah! My bad! Ha! Haha!" Ran was laughing so hard
and so not-suspiciously that tears formed at the corners of his
eyes.
The noble pursed his lips, "Walk with me, Brother-Lieutenant. I

wish to discuss Athena's training."
That was fine. Athena's training was fine. Athena was a genius.
And she was alive, too.
Shao Ran walked alongside Tycon as they headed towards the

training area, "I gave her a training regimen in the morning. She's
good. She's real good."
The back of his neck was drenched with sweat. He thought those
same, exact thoughts about Chaleb Moretti.
"Concerning Athena... remember to train her hard, but to avoid

injury." Tycon warned, "You recall that most humans do not have
the regenerative capabilities of a Sea Wolf?"
"EEEEEEyeahhhhhhh!!!" Ran spoke up... much louder than he

intended.
"Excellent," Tycon nodded. "Ensure she has a proper rest cycle,
as well."
Shao Ran clenched his eyes shut, "Y-yeah. I sent the other kid to
uh... rest."
Permanently.
"Very well..." Tycon grimaced... "As you know... Sol Invictus' goal
is to restore the name of House Vanzano. The young lady winning
the upcoming martial tournament is imperative to our plans. It will
both boost Athena's popularity and grant our financial officer,
Sorina, a strong foothold to open new business locations. From
what I've been told, Trade City Caeruleum's influence is not
small."
"Y-yeah. We'll win, for sure," Ran laughed uneasily. "Death to the
enemies of Sol Invictus! We're the best! Unmatched, even!"
Tycon chuckled, shaking his head and smiling. The two walked in
silence for a moment... which felt like ages to Ran.
He was glad Tycon didn't have a heart-reading ability or anything

like that. If he was facing Lieutenant Eilian, the High-Captain's
second-in-command... by now, he'd have been pierced throat-hole
to other-hole by a water spear thicker than a ship mast.
"Brother-Lieutenant, I wish for Miss Athena to not only be the best

in her class... but the greatest that both Sol Invictus and the Sea
Wolf Hidden Sect are capable of producing. For all intents and
purposes, I want her to be able to carry her house's name by her
own power, alone."
Ran nodded slowly... It was what any teacher wanted for their
students... to be better than they are.
The green-haired noble sighed, "It has been very difficult to rely
on anyone else..."
Tycon stopped and abruptly turned, placing his hands on Ran's

shoulders.
Ran's mouth twitched. Had he been found out?
No, there was no way. Tycon was still smiling...
"Brother-Lieutenant, I have seen you fight. I have seen your heart.

And above all, I am proud to name you as kin."
Ran gulped as his heart pounded in pride... and thrice-harder in

guilt. This situation was all wrong!
"There are three people that I trust unreservedly in this estate..."

Tycon confided, "There is Sorina Capulet, who I trust on all
matters concerning business. There is Athanasius Mors, who I
trust to defend Athena Vanzano with his very life..."
Tycon grinned, placing his fist upon his chest, "And there is you,
Lieutenant Shao Ran... Brother-Ran. You are the only one I can
trust to train our Guild Letalis... with the honor of your sect and the
professionalism of your station as an Officer of Marines."
Ran bowed his head deeply, "Brother-Tycon... I... I...."
He had to tell him. He just had to!
Tycon shook his head, chuckling derisively, "Honestly, if I didn't

have at least one person I could rely on for this, I'd have
considered leaping off of one of Silva's rocky cliffs."
"Blood and thunder..." Ran saluted crisply... though his voice

quavered in uncertainty and his volume was pathetic.
He couldn't tell Tycon the truth-- not anymore. His eyes stung from
the threat of tears. He felt like crying, he really did.
"Victory at sea, Brother-Ran," Tycon patted Ran's shoulder before

returning the salute. "And thank you for listening to my complaints.
Only you, I have full faith in, to execute and complete your mission
without fail."
"Y-yeah... I got'cha, Tycon." Ran averted his gaze, "Without fail.

For sure..."
Chapter 394 Throw
ycondrius led the way, Ran trailing slightly behind. The gravity of
T
the Golden Crow's task seemed to weigh on the fellow... but
Tycon had no reason to doubt him. As difficult and... somewhat
disorderly as the Sea Wolves tended to be, they took training very
seriously.
The training would transform every single member of Guild Letalis

into skilled, resilient warriors... provided they survived it, of course.
After asking for Athena's whereabouts, the two navigated their

way throughout the outdoor training area. As they walked past a
weapon rack, Tycon nonchalantly picked up a Tyrion pilum.
Ran didn't ask any questions. It seemed he already knew what it

was for.
Tycon looked off into the distance. He had a clear shot to where
Athena sat in tandem with a few other female mage adventurers.
They were meditating together, likely concentrating on the
circulating flow through their mana circuits.
Hefting the weighted pilum into his main hand, he aimed... and
threw. While he did not empower the throw with mana, he aimed
at Athena's center of mass and did not hold back in his strength.
Immediately drawing his enchanted short sword, he sprinted

forward to follow up on the attack.
Athena's eyes shot open, recognizing the danger. With a wave of

her hand, she deflected the projectile with a chantless ⌈Ice
Barrier⌋.
Good. Very good.

Tycon leapt up, sailing through the air with his sword poised to fall
upon her frost-blue head. It was a straightforward attack, highly
telegraphed... but very, very fast.
Athena clapped both hands together, shattering her ⌈Ice Barrier⌋

and reforming it into three ⌈Frost Blades⌋. Thrusting a palm
forward, one sword sped rapidly towards Tycon. The two
remaining blades levitated at her sides, ready to either follow-up
or to be retracted defensively.
Reaction speed. Concentration. Effectiveness.
Everything was flawless.
Tycon shut his eyes, consigned to his defeat. He had no hopes of

dodging the blade while mid-air, "Ran."
Golden flames wreathed Tycon's body. As he landed, oppressive

wings of heat fanned out from his back. He stood up, crossing his
arms and grinning...
Shao Ran had stood in front of him, wielding his halberd, Ferocity.
Ran had deflected Athena's initial counterattack, the blade
impaling the dirt, mere ilms away from cutting Tycon's thigh.
Even with the oppressive heat of Ran's Flames of the Golden

Crow, the surface of Athena's ⌈Frost Blade⌋ still held a semblance
of its form.
Most impressive. Her concentration on her spell effects had come

a long way in a few short weeks.
"Full marks, Miss Athena!" Tycon declared, clapping his hands

together. "Well done."
Athena's small group of adventurer friends applauded, one

whistling raucously-- a grinning twin-tailed girl. Athena turned and
bowed politely at the crowd, "Th-thank you."
"Thank you, Ran," Tycon dispelled his ⌈Flame Shield⌋, eyeing

Athena with interest. Her mana reserves had seemed to grow and
stabilize... more resembling that of a Second-Circle caster than a
First, "Young lady! Have you undergone another breakthrough?"
Athena nodded, her smile brighter than any of Ran's fire attacks,
"The wind... the water... the ice and chill... It's all the same. And I
am the same as them."
That was one of the stupidest things Tycon had ever heard.
"Well done. Very well done." Tycon smiled, truly proud of his
young charge, "As a small reward, what would you like me to
make for dinner?"
If Athena could visualize her spells and will them to do as she

pleased, whatever thinking had gotten her to that point was quite
acceptable.
...
⟬ Over a week later. ⟭
"Sir Tycon! Sir Tyconnn!" Athena Vanzano waved frantically as

Tycondrius passed by the training area.
"Good afternoon, young lady." Tycon smiled politely. He drew his

sword and swiped it slightly above her head.
The young woman tapped the sword with a finger, forming a thin
⌈Ice Barrier⌋ to casually deflect the attack, "Good afternoon. I was
wondering about Mister Chaleb."
Tycon was dreading this moment. Athena didn't seem to enjoy

training with males her age. Of course, Tanamar was an
exception. However, her results training with that fellow were so
inconsistent that he eventually forbade it.
Shaking his head, Tycon resheathed his blade, "Speak your mind,
Miss Athena."
"It's just... I haven't seen him for awhile?" Athena tilted her head in
bemusement.
Tycon felt his eye twitch. How bothersome.
The young noble, Chaleb Moretti, was one of the adventurers that
answered the recruitment call for Guild Letalis. Thinking
objectively, Athena and the boy were excellent complements.
They belonged to the same class at the Military Academy in Silva,
so were very similar in age. On the subject of martial combat, they
were rated as the top two students in the academy... thus, they
had competing levels of skill.
Their social statuses were similar, as well. House Vanzano had

fallen in favor over the past few years, while House Moretti was a
noble only in name-- an ancestor a few generations past had won
favor in the Church. Both had plenty to gain from attaining a
victory as a Duo-Team in the Caeruleum Martial Tournament.
It was slightly troubling that Chaleb seemed to have romantic

inclinations towards Athena. It was reasonable, as she had a
pleasant demeanor, and was probably attractive. However, Tycon
deemed that his potential as a Bronze-Rank Duelist was worth
cultivating.
Anyroad, he doubted that the young fool's romantic aspirations

would be fulfilled. Tanamar was irreplaceable in Athena's heart.
With the tournament less than two moons away, he estimated
there to not be enough time for Chaleb to grow resentful of it. The
boy would be useful for winning the championship and, from
there, would either be discarded or assigned a position too far to
bother Athena.
"I don't see a cause for concern," Tycon shrugged. He reached

out to grab the young lady's tunic near the neck, pulling lightly.
Athena hooked her arm beneath Tycon's, snugly placed her

shoulder deep under his, then rotated her body to throw him over
her.
Tycon landed on his back, smacking the ground with his heels to
absorb some of the impact. The young lady's sense of danger and
reaction speed had grown to acceptable levels.
Whatever issues Athena had, she had been working hard enough
that he would work to accede to her requests.
Chapter 395 Substitute
" Good," Tycondrius stretched his arms and back outward,

comfortable on the arena ground.
Athena pursed her lips, offering her hand out to him... "Well... I
asked Instructor Ran about him, but he said Mister Chaleb was
doing super-secret training? I was just curious, I guess... and...
um... Yeah."
Tycon stood up with Athena's help, dusting sand off of himself.
What he'd heard thus far was laudable... and not completely
surprising. Athena's diligence, along with her talent made her
progress far faster than her peers. Tycon imagined her existence
to be intimidating to normal humans. If the young man Chaleb
asked Ran for 'special' training... it would be harsh, but he would
only be stronger, because of it.
The young lady seemed to be hesitating about something,

though...
"Did you have a suggestion, Miss Athena?" Tycon asked, rotating

his waist and stretching his arms cross-body.
Athena bared her teeth in a sheepish grin, "Can I um... can I

choose a substitute?"
"Hm. Of course," Tycon smiled politely. "I was planning on Mister

Chaleb's substitute being the most capable Letalis member
around your age... but I see the benefit in you choosing a
particular adventurer to work with."
Athena beamed, "Really?!"
"...Yes."
As usual, Tycon was slightly taken aback by Athena's exuberance.
It seemed like she always expected him to refuse her
suggestions. At least 80% of them were reasonable.
"Um... Sir Tycon?"
"...Yes?"
"Is there a Lady Tycon? Like... are you romantically involved with
someone?"
Tycon stared in disbelief, decidedly not blinking as he tried to

figure out why the young lady in front of him was asking such a
question.
Athena wrung her hands as she spoke rapidly, "Asking for a

friend! Not for me. I have someone I like already-- and it's not you.
S-sorry. You don't have to answer if you don't want to!"
Tycon was still trying to figure out how asking about a substitute
duo partner led to the current topic of discussion.
...Though he felt a slight tinge of annoyance at the young lady's

straightforwardness, he tried his best to ignore it.
If he remained in the Holy Country for a year or two longer, he'd

strongly consider forcing Athena and Tanamar to wed-- just to be
rid of the young lady's... tension around males.
Anyroad... Tycon considered Athena a close friend. According to

their positive relationship, he had no reason to hide information...
as strange as the question was.
...No one knew anything about him because no one asked.
As for whether he was in a romantic relationship...
He had intimate relations with the former Galanis woman,

Medousa. The interaction seemed to lift her spirits and gave her a
sense of empowerment over her past life. However, he couldn't
say there was romance involved... not that he was against it.
Still, Doe had her duties as the only maid in the Vanzano estate.
Tycon was always busy overseeing Guild Letalis' logistics or
troubleshooting issues for Maeva and Sorina. After that one
particular evening, Maeva assigned the young maid proper
quarters. Since then, he and Doe hadn't spent much time
together, at all.
There was another woman... But Princess Aurala had not been
returning his own missives. The last he'd received of her was
several moons prior... and expressed annoyance at his lack of
contact. At the time, he was traipsing around the Tyrion
countryside, engineering the deaths of some two-hundred humans
belonging to the Gold-Rank Rhodok guild.
"I... am not seeing anyone romantically," Tycon frowned...

"Though I am in no position to pursue such an endeavor."
If Athena was being truthful about her... 'friend'.... and he had no

reason to believe otherwise, he was curious, regarding that
person's agenda.
"Do you want some relationship advice!?!" Athena grinned.
Oh. Tycon discarded all his other thoughts. It was likely the empty-
headed frost girl questioning his relationship status was in order to
offer her own unwarranted advice.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I do not."
Social protocol suggested that he thank her for offering. He did

not, as he was not thankful at all.
Suddenly, Athena froze. She furrowed her brows, deep in

concentration...
Athena's elemental perception was very high... so Tycon did the

same, focusing to identify whatever the young lady had. Though it
took seconds longer, he judged Lieutenant Shao Ran to be
nearby. The amount of ambient fire mana in the environment lit up
the Golden Crow's aura like a bonfire in the night... Once he knew
what he was looking for, it was embarrassing that he had missed
it, initially.
"Yo!!" Ran emerged from a bush...
The hide-in-the-bush plan... Tycon hated the hide-in-the-bush

plan.
"Ran..." Tycon crossed his arms, "What is the meaning of this?"
Athena gasped, both hands covering her mouth, "Oh, no! What
happened to your hair, Instructor??!"
Shao Ran had dyed his hair... a reddish color still dripping in
rivulets down his brow, turning his sandy blonde into a sordid
ruddy brown. Instead of his halberd, Ferocity, strapped to his
back, Ran instead held a misshapen sword.
⟬ Sword of the Forgotten Noble. First-Circle Magical Longsword.

Warning: This weapon has been cursed by its previous owner. ⟭
It was likely that the young man mistakenly thought it made him
look impressive... or that it was stylish to wield a cursed weapon.
"Ahaha... haha... I'm... I'm not... Ran." The Sea Wolf whispered, "I
am... vengeance given flesh..."
The man was being ridiculous.
"Go back." Tycon rolled his eyes, "Just because you're not
stationed in a military base doesn't mean you can do as you
please. Guild Letalis prides itself on its professionalism, just as
our Sea Wolf fleet does. Adjust yourself, Marine."
"Haha... ha...." Ran chuckled, staring at his boots, "Aye aye..."
...
Footman Victorius had no idea why Tycon wanted to see him.
He'd been seeing both Tycon and Zenon less and less ever since
they started recruiting adventurers. The training still continued, of
course. Since the two had shown up, Victorius felt like he had to.
He couldn't help Athena and Tanamar fight, but he could suffer the
pain of training alongside them, cheering them on the whole way.
Anyroad, he had to do at least that much to avoid losing his job.

Athena valued loyalty far too much.
Victorius knocked and entered... and was slightly disappointed to

not see that new maid, Doe, in Sir Tycon's room. He figured there
was a very small chance he'd see something spicy.
Oh, well. Doe had recently moved into the female servants'
quarters. Maybe during the sunlight, he'd sneak in and try to steal
her undergarments. Everyone would assume it was Lord Greer's
doing. It was a perfect crime... and no one got hurt, so he didn't
feel bad doing it.
The green-haired Tactician was sitting at his writing desk but

turned his attention away from his paperwork to greet him.
Victorius found it slightly odd... as he actually expected to be
ignored a little.
"Good evening, Mister Victorius," Tycon nodded.
"Good evening, Sir," Victorius responded out of habit.
He almost saluted him, too... There was something about that

man. In Tycon's presence, he sometimes forgot that he was
crippled. He liked that feeling... but loathed it, at the same time. It
made him feel alive again... and it hurt so much, returning to
reality.
Tycon pushed his chair back from the desk, turning in his seat to
face him, "If you had some time, I wanted to discuss your
training."
Victorius smiled wryly. He obviously had the time to talk... but

there wasn't anything to discuss? He participated in as many
training activities as he could. But still... he obviously couldn't
climb a rope. He couldn't wield a sword. Without his right hand, he
sometimes felt like he was half a man.
"Wh... what about it... Sir?" Victorius pursed his lips into a
perplexed grimace.
The noble's mouth curled up into a suspicious smirk.
A chill ran down Victorius' spine. Ever since they first met, he'd
always been... just a little scared of the man. There was a certain
way Tycon looked at him on that first sun... Victorius got this
horrifying feeling that he was about to be killed.
Sir Tycon had his flaws, yes. He wasn't really that smart at
anything besides training or fighting. He was also very rude, often
for no reason.
...On the other side, he was a surprisingly good cook... which

Victorius always considered a very feminine trait. More than scary,
the man was... strange.
He was generally private, too! He, Tanamar, and even Centurion

Zenon didn't seem to know much about him. What was this man
hiding?
Victorius couldn't hate him, though. Tycon tried his best to help
Athena and House Vanzano, as a whole-- that was his mission or
something. That, alone, was more than worth Victorius' respect.
Still... Victorius found it insulting that Tycon kept asking him to do

so much he was obviously unable to do. Some people were just
useless and he was one of them. If he could train like a normal
person-- if he could be the greatest Archer in the world, then he'd
have done so, already! If he was just a little bit stronger... then
everything would be different...
The pain in his right hand held him back from greatness, that's all.
"I have an offer for you, young man," Tycon reached below his
desk, placing a wrapped package upon its surface.
Victorius furrowed his brows in wonder. He had no possible idea

what the offer could be.
Chapter 396 Illegal Magic
ycon unwrapped the bound leathers, revealing a darkwood

T
crossbow.
Though it was never Victorius' preferred weapon, he couldn't deny

its masterful craftsmanship. On a whim, he picked it up, holding it
in his good hand... its grip was comfortable and its weight,
reassuring. Its worked wood and intricate mechanisms made it far
more expensive than anything he'd ever owned... even his
personal longbow, the one he'd sold off, long ago.
There was one thing that bothered him, though... Sir Tycon was a
generally private person. He wasn't the type of person to show
things off... not without reason.
It took him entirely too long to notice that the weapon's grip was
left-handed.
"Sir Tycon..." Victorius gulped hard, his throat dry and his heart
pounding. Whenever he faced the golden-eyed Decanus... he
could never remember what it was like to be brave... "I can't wield
this... with the way my hand is... I have no hope of loading it."
Tycon brushed a strand of green away from his eyes, chuckling to

himself. The man's arrogance again shook Victorius' psyche. He
felt like a child being laughed at for his foolishness.
"Mister Victorius, while you have correctly surmised that I am

planning on gifting this to you... Would you grant me a moment to
explain?"
Victorius grimaced... The thought of him again taking up arms for

House Vanzano pained him to talk about, but... he couldn't refuse
the man so easily. Tycon spent so much coin on effort on both his
charge... and now, on himself.
"Aye, Sir. Please do," As much as he wanted to leave, Victorius'
duty bound him to at least hear what Tycon had to say...
The Decanus took back the crossbow, briefly turning it upside-

down. Flicking his wrist, a carved and polished red crystal
appeared in his hand... which he placed into the weapon's base.
With a light whine and steady hum, the crossbow began to emit
an eerie red glow...
"This switch on the side is the safety... undo it and..." Tycon

depressed the switch on the bow's side.
With an audible click, the bowstring pulled back on its own. An

ethereal, red bolt materialized, nocked in the barrel. A hairline pull
of that trigger could easily end a human life.
"--You have a bolt, ready to fire." Tycon hefted the crossbow up,
aiming down its sights at the adjacent wall, "Its pull is rated at 140
librae... enough to punch through leather armor. More than
enough to pierce an Iron-Rank's skull."
Victorius felt a sharp pain in his chest. He didn't know how he'd
done it. Tycon had found an enchanted, self-reloading crossbow
that even a one-handed cripple could shoot.
With that... he could be an Archer, again.
He'd... have to re-train everything to his left... He was right-eye

dominant, so shooting opposite would take some getting used to...
But the knowledge, the thousands of bells of practice, it was all
still there, in his head... waiting for him to use it again.
But...
Victorius gulped, pointing at the weapon and its creepy, crimson

glow, "What... heresy powers this weapon?"
"It's not heresy, you dunce," Tycon scowled. "It's magic."
It was a thin line they were walking. Victorius had a mind to report
the Decanus to the Church... but... the Decanus worked for the
Church.
Flame take it... He'd probably be the one crucified, instead...
The noble flicked the safety switch, causing the bolt to disappear
and the bowstring to reset... Still... the mysterious smell of molten
iron remained in the room. The weapon itself was gorgeous and
its mechanisms were fascinating, a mix of human engineering and
alien magic... but there was something... off about it that he
couldn't identify.
"Sir Tycon... you..." Victorius shook his head, "You can't fool me,
Sir. The power source is red... it's obviously evil."
"You can't be serious..." Tycon placed a palm over his eyes,

"You're judging whether magic is good or... 'evil', based on its
color palette?"
"Well... uh..."
It did seem a bit silly, thinking on it a bit more...
"Take the crossbow, Victorius," Clearly annoyed, Tycon loosely

wrapped the weapon back up and pushed it towards him. "The
Khyber Crystal burns out if you shoot more than 40 bolts within a
bell, 120 max in a sun. Get some practice in."
Victorius sucked in a breath of air through his teeth, "Khyber

Crystal? That... that sounds really evil."
"Take the damn bow!!" Tycon shouted, causing Victorius to flinch,

guarding himself from an attack that never came.
"Alright, calm down!" Victorius frowned... "By the Flame, I was just
giving my honest opinion..."
Logically, it wouldn't hurt to give it a try... He was useless, but

maybe he'd be a little less useless if he took up archery again.
...
Lieutenant Shao Ran peeked his head above the waterline,
observing the empty moonlit beach. With no one around, he
dragged the body of Chaleb Moretti out of the waters and tossed it
onto a tarp he had prepared beforehand.
He wore a cloth mask over his face and borrowed clothing. He

even left behind his halberd, Ferocity, just to ensure no one could
identify him. He swept his hair back with his hand, checking it
after. The red dye had washed off, but that was fine. Maybe he'd
get a haircut, afterward... just in case.
Time was not kind to the dead noble. The corpse's eyes and most
of his face had been nibbled away by fish. He was even missing
an arm. A passerby dolphin told him that a shark had nabbed it,
but they'd chased it away a few suns prior.
Only the sea god knew where the hells that had gone...
Thankfully, it was Chaleb's left arm. That meant he could still wield
his sword...
It was not a good sword. It was not a good sword, at all. Though
Ran kept it sheathed at his waist after digging it up from a
garbage heap, its very presence made it difficult for him to
breathe.
It was like someone had punched him hard in the stomach.
...It was cursed. Sea god's suspenders, it was definitely cursed.
Still, he needed to keep it on him. Once he got Chaleb raised from

the dead, the sword he would wield would serve as proof of his
identity.
Thankfully, over the past few suns, he'd collected enough

information to figure out where he could find a Necromancer. It
was extra troublesome because magic was frowned upon in the
Holy Country... dark magic, especially. Still, Ran very much
needed the noble kid to be 'alive' again... and a Necromancer's
⌈Animate Corpse⌋ spell was the way to do it.
Ran wrapped up the corpse in the tarp, bound it tightly, and hefted
it over his shoulder. Illuminated by the moonlight, he skulked into
the city of Silva, proper.
He'd worry about the details, afterward.
...
"D-did you bring the... um... your friend, Sir?"
"I did," Ran placed the wrapped body onto the table in the small
hut. It stank of rotting fish, but so did everything else in the city's
eastern docks.
...It made him almost nostalgic for his home at Port Saint
Guinefort.
The tears of recruits being trained helped him sleep at night.
The lanky 'Necromancer' youth wore a skull mask to hide his face
and all-black robes to hide his other features. Still, Ran could tell
how young he was by his voice and the wisp of hair on his chin.
The boy wrung his hands in nervousness, constantly glancing

outside the window, "And... and you're sure you weren't followed,
right?"
Followed? Who would bother following Ran? Where he was from,

if you saw someone carrying what looked like a body over your
shoulder, you walked the other direction. Asking questions got you
killed.
"Don't worry about it, kid. Let's just get this over with," Ran smiled
uneasily. He didn't know the kid's history, but it must have been
colorful to be in this type of business at his age.
"Um... alright," The Necromancer began to unwrap the body. As a

mark of his professionalism, he didn't recoil from the stench or the
body's sea-rot.
"How's it look?" Ran asked, "Can you fix him up? I really need
this. Really."
The Necromancer took off his skull mask, revealing his pale
youthful face, "Y-yeah. I think I can..."
"So he can walk again, right? And be able to fight?" Ran's heart
was pounding with anxiety. If he couldn't fix Chaleb, he felt like he
wouldn't be able to show his face to Tycon, ever again.
The Necromancer bared his teeth, "Well... I'm only a First-Circle

mage..."
"Is... is that enough?" Ran grimaced. The shapes and numbers a

mage was rated made no sense to him, whatsoever.
"I um... I'll need a week... and... materials. But I should be able to
make him stand and walk around a bit," He explained.
"It'll be enough," Ran gulped. "I'll... I'll make it work, somehow."
POK POK POK. An armored fist slammed on the door, "Open

up!!"
Slowly, the Necromancer turned to Ran... "Oh... oh, no. S-sir, you
have to get out of here."
"Not a chance!" Ran declared, "That's outrageous! Cowardly,

even."
The Necromancer was his best chance at getting back into

Tycon's good graces. And not getting keelhauled.
"Last warning!!" The voice beyond the door shouted.
Whoever those people were, they were obviously not welcome.
Ran would show them that no one would stop him from correcting
his own mistakes!
Chapter 397 Vengeance Given
Flesh
ieutenant Shao Ran kicked the door of the Necromancer's hut,

L
the strength granted to him by his cursed blood blowing it off of its
hinges. From a scream of pain from one of the men outside, it
sounded like he got one.
No one expects the door to attack them. He was pretty proud of

himself for such a genius tactical move.
"M-my door!" The Necromancer shouted, "I... I just replaced it last

week."
Ran pulled his cloth mask up and drew Chaleb's ancestral blade,
"Your life is more important than a piece of wood, kid."
Walking outside into the cool night breeze, Ran breathed in the
sea salt and fish rot in the air. Because of his Sea Wolf Curse,
fighting in such close proximity to the ocean allowed his ki to
circulate and regenerate almost effortlessly. That combined with
his healing factor, he could shrug off sword stabs as easily as
wooded splinters.
It was still annoying to breathe deeply, though.
Stupid cursed sword.
Three men stood warily, waiting for Ran with swords drawn. One
of them was out of the fight, already-- knocked out by the door,
lying unconscious underneath it.
Clean, dark coats, all uniform. Trimmed beards. Well-maintained

weaponry.
...Assassins from a Dark Guild... Mercenary Witch-Hunters,
maybe... Shao Ran's organization, the Sea Wolves, specialized in
hunting pirates, and these cold, murderous bastards wouldn't be
much different.
"Who in the Flame are you?" One of the bearded men asked.
"I am vengeance given flesh." Ran flourished his blade. He

sheathed it with his fiery ki, lighting the blade aflame, "I am the
stain that you cannot scrub."
Ran swallowed awkwardly... He did not mean to say that... any of

that! Was this... also part of the weapons' curse?
The three men frowned at each other... before nodding and

fanning out to surround Ran.
"Come with us quietly, and no one but the witch gets hurt," One of
the mercs growled.
It was a threat. Ran hated threats.
He spun his weapon as he pirouetted backward, reversing its grip

and holding it behind him. Ducking down, he then leapt forward,
swinging his blade in a 720 degree spin...
...which was incredibly telegraphed and had far too much

unnecessary movement. Was this the sword's effect too?
Double spins are stupid! Normally, he was conservative with his

attacks-- one spin was okay. Two was too much!
Thankfully, his opponent was too slow to block. Ran struck the
man's weapon out of his hand before spinning around again with a
jumping kick to their head.
What... what was he doing? He lost so much power by jumping

instead of staying grounded and using the rotational force to his
advantage.
He was wasting so much energy that he struggled to breathe. Or

was it because of the sword, again?
Sea god's socks! He HATED this sword!!
...But the kick struck true and the man dropped to the ground.
It really should not have worked. These people were not very
strong... or maybe they couldn't see well in the dark?
"We shall not falter, evildoer!" One of the bearded rogues slashed
his sword-- quick, clean, and straightforward...
Both Ran's perception and reflexes were advanced enough to see

it like he was swimming in sand. All he had to do was to dodge it
and counter-attack.
Instead, he reached out to grab the blade with his hand.
Ow! Seven hells! What?! WHY, SWORD?! WHY???
Ran gripped the blade hard, twisting it out of the man's grasp. All
the while, he clenched his teeth, ignoring the pain. Though his
hand stung hot, he could recover in a few minutes thanks to his
healing factor.
"Wh-what are you?" The disarmed man stepped back, panic in his
eyes, "Monster!!"
The guy wasn't too far off. He was a Sea Wolf... a creature
unafraid of death! There was no way Shao Ran could die to these
weaklings.
Ran grinned, "I am... vengeance... given flesh..."
WHY DID HE KEEP SAYING THAT?!?
Still, Ran continued speaking... magically compelled to do so, "I

am the eyes that watch as you pee in the public bath!"
The man's eyes widened, his panic transforming into pure fear,
"H-how did you know?"
Ran jabbed the bath-pisser in the stomach before slamming the

flat of his fiery blade against the side of their head. Three of four,
defeated.
The last turned and fled... but Ran was far too upset with his
circumstances to give chase.
He grabbed a vial of seawater off his belt and poured it on his

injured hand. Immediately, the wounds began to close... not that it
really made him feel better.
"S-sir... You're so brave," The Necromancer kid's eyes were

almost glowing with respect.
"Heh... It's no problem, kid." Ran shrugged... At least his hard

work was appreciated. Something was better than nothing, "Who
are these guys, anyroad?"
The Necromancer grinned sheepishly, "Oh, they're City

Enforcers."
Ran paused... "They're what?"
"Like... city guards... except they enforce laws?" The boy pursed
his lips, "I uh... Necromancy isn't... exactly legal in Tyrion."
Ran collapsed to his knees, allowing Chaleb's sword to clatter

against the street stones and its flames to extinguish. He held his
temples with his hand and smacked his forehead to the ground.
Sea god's balls... He was the biggest idiot in the Fleet. He had
accidentally assaulted officers of the law...
"Sir! Sir? Are you okay?" The youth rushed to Ran's side.
Ran wanted to dive into the ocean and never return. He was in the
wrong! Definitely in the wrong!
...
⟬ On the road to Caeruleum, via carriage. ⟭
"Miss Athena... I think you've changed a little bit," Parthenope

Aldini grinned as she placed her hands on her junior's cheeks. Her
skin was pale, like a doll's, and her bright, frosty blue hair was soft
as silk.
Some guys liked that. The littlest lady of the Military Academy at
Silva was one of the more popular girls in her year... Even some
of the older boys in Parthenope's own class looked at her with
lascivious eyes.
"Y-you think so, Theno?" Athena pursed her lips out... which
looked very cute with her face squished as it was. "I'm pretty sure
I grew an uncia... maybe two?"
"Nah," Parthenope sat back in her seat, placing a hand on her

chin. "How can I explain it... it's like you grew up somehow?"
"I'm taller," Athena insisted. "I think my boobs grew a little too?
Maybe?"
That... was probably not the case. Sorry, Athena.

Chapter 398 Cool And Calm
arthenope tapped a finger to her chin as she stared at Athena's

P
babyface.
She had definitely changed a bit... personality-wise. She seemed

more... mature.... cool and calm. Athena had always been a little...
loud? But she was also quick to concede. She was so shy, that
sometimes she'd literally run away when people tried to talk to her.
Parthenope only grew close to Athena because she was both

faster than the Vanzano was. And... when someone ran away, she
wanted to chase them. Maybe it was her class, but Theno was
always great at finding Athena's hiding spots, whether it was at
the Academy or on either of their estates.
Recently, little Athena had grown... in confidence. It seemed like it

had something to do with the leave she took a few moons ago.
Maybe she finally slept with her footman, Athanasius? Parthenope

doubted that Athena initiated it... but maybe the silver-haired
footman seduced her to bed. He did have those eyes...
Men only wanted one thing, after all.
Parthenope looked out the carriage window, reminiscing. Athena

was a friend... and friends were always welcome at the Aldini
estate. The opposite was also true, but... Athena's family hadn't
been doing well in recent moons.
Something happened, though... and before Theno knew what was

going on, House Vanzano was the hottest topic in the noble circle.
It seemed a lot of gold had come out of nowhere... and the

Vanzano businesses started making really powerful and wealthy
allies. Their economic takeover could only be described as...
domineering... and from what Theno heard, it was a little scary,
too.
Because of everything going on, Parthenope's family encouraged

her to stick close to Athena.
Parthenope stretched her arms and half-collapsed onto a fluffy

cushion. It was a win-win situation, as they were already friends,
anyroad. Athena was great company and easy to get along with--
as long as her scheming manservant, Athanasius, wasn't around.
Hanging around her estate, Parthenope even applied to join the

new, Vanzano-sponsored adventuring guild.
House Aldini was well off, but she had four other siblings. Having
a bit of pocket money and maybe even a career after she
graduated from the academy was definitely in her best interests.
Guild Letalis... It was such a pretty name. And whoever designed

their armor had a good eye for fashion. Black looked good with
everything.
They had group training that she signed up for, too-- and shortly
after, she was trained as Athena's duo partner for the upcoming
Caeruleum Martial Tournament. It seemed like the other person
she was replacing wasn't very reliable.
...The acquisition of businesses. A new adventuring company

made from almost nothing. An expensive and comfortable
carriage... Parthenope couldn't help but be curious about Athena
and her house's secrets.
"This carriage is muuuuch nicer than my family's," She mused... "It

doesn't even feel like the road's bumpy, at all... and it's not warm
like it is outside!"
"Oh, I know! It's so great!" Athena beamed, her teeth pearly white,
"Sir Tycon modified the enchantment to make it more efficient at
uh, shock absorption? --or so he said. I kinda understand it... but
it's pretty complicated..."
Parthenope blinked, trying to register the big words that just came
out of Athena's tiny mouth.
"Um. I have some paper-- do you want me to draw it out for you?"
Athena offered.
Parthenope bared her teeth, sucking in air, "I... haha... I don't think
I'll get it. I'm not a Sanctified Psyker like you are, little sis."
"Ehe..." Athena grinned, her eyes closing into cute, little, upward
curves.
Parthenope had nearly forgotten that Athena was a 'dangerous'

Psyker... not that Athena was dangerous, herself.
Psykers were people too, some good, some not so good. It was
better to judge anyone on a case-by-case basis, not on whether or
not they can fire poison beams out of their eyes or light their
weapons on fire.
Athena spoke so positively about this 'Sir Tychon', person... It was

strange. In all the years Parthenope had known her, she only
talked that way about Athanasius. To be perfectly honest, the first
thing she assumed was that Tychon was a decrepit, hundred-
year-old noble that wanted to marry Athena.
According to the law, little Athena could legally marry... but... the
way her child-like body was, it *should* be illegal.
Some guys liked that kind of girl.
But it was definitely wrong. Those guys were scummy.
...Sorry, Athena.
Anyroad, when Parthenope first laid eyes on Tychon... well... He

wasn't old. Or ugly. In fact, she thought he was the most perfect
male specimen she'd ever viewed in her life. Maybe it was the
armor. Maybe it was his beautiful golden eyes. Maybe it was the
way it looked like he didn't care. Whatever it was, he was totally
her type.
He reminded her of a Prince in a story she once read.... sly,
calculating, super-intelligent, slightly-unsocial... secretly super-
romantic and an absolute beast in bed... According to the story, he
would have been locked away in his manor, brooding and
masculine and oozing raw sex appeal...
And then a Princess would wander into his home.
They'd fall in love, immediately... and they'd never fight, unless it

was over something silly like the color of the rugs or what to name
their babies. And he'd always let her win, of course.
The make-up sex would be fantastic, too.
Then they'd have two kids with another on the way... a nice home
in the hills overlooking the beaches.... And they'd be waited upon
by a veteran butler, an easily excitable manservant-- oh, and a
clumsy maid, too...
The maid couldn't be too pretty, though. Theno would have her
fired, immediately, if so.
Aaaanyroad, Tychon seemed to be a friend of Gian. That made a

lot of sense. Athena's brother was a really big thing for House
Vanzano. Parthenope never got the chance to meet him, herself.
Athena loved him. That much was certain.
Gian was a sis-con, for sure.
Slightly scummy, but forgivable.
Parthenope rested her head on her hands, her elbows on her

knees, "Atheeee~na..."
The sweet blue-haired doll tilted her head, "Yesss?"
"Tell me more about Mister Tychonnnn~"
"I already told you that he's single... I asked for you, you know!"
Athena began giggling immediately, "Ehehe..."
This girl! What is she laughing about?
"Oh, by the Flame. Whaaat?" Parthenope tossed a pillow at her.
Athena waved her hand... which deflected the pillow with a speed
that Theno couldn't follow with her eyes. It landed on the back wall
of the carriage, a few unciae away from her head... and shattered
into a thousand glass-like pieces.
Parthenope's jaw dropped... "Eh?"
"Oh, no! I'm so sorry! Are you okay, Theno???" Athena tugged on
Theno's hand, pulling her away from her seat.
"What? What did you do?"
Pillows... they don't shatter like that.

Chapter 399 Pairing
he members of the Guild Letalis caravan rested on the outskirts

T
of Caeruleum, setting up camp and campfires for an afternoon
lunch. Dozens of other adventuring companies had done the
same. Whether it was to rest after a long journey, to save coin on
inn room costs, or merely to keep their mercenaries out of trouble,
it was largely beneficial to all groups who did so.
That it was allowed irked Tycondrius slightly. It was an

unnecessary risk to the city. If a malicious Dark Guild or worse, a
coalition of them, was planning on sieging the city, its defenders
would be hard-pressed to rebuff them.
However, as frustrating as it was to see a wealthy trade city so

vulnerable to a raid, Tycon could not remain upset for long.
Lunch was lovely.
Tyrion venison seemed to taste better than Alizeaun... which was

somewhat strange, as nearly all the creatures from the Kingdom
were magical or magic-sensitive.
Creatures rich in mana tended to be powerful... and that same

mana served to both enhance the meal's taste and grant the
added small benefit of mana absorption. Hidden Sects able to
raise 'Spirit Beasts' for consumption or otherwise their cores or
parts into pills, would see an overall efficacy increase in their
Martialists' mana circulation.
A more basic rule took precedence, though.
The deer in Tyrion were fat and sedentary. The gentle creatures
knew naught but prancing and sipping from peaceful, babbling
brooks. Their flesh would be soft, tender, and flavorful.
A lithe, well-muscled Alizeaun stag had tough and gamey meat...
nevermind that some of them had antlers sharper than daggers or
could discharge bolts of electricity at unprepared hunters.
As for the reason this was so... perhaps it was the prevalence of
Magebred Stags coupling with the Alizeaun deer population... or
the not-small population of Alizeaun Weretouched... or the social
acceptance of Animal-Shifting Wizards.
Humanoid-deer pairings... how would their offspring taste? Would

it change, at all?
...Would it be considered ethical to consume such creatures? To

breed them, for the purpose of slaughter?
Such topics were not Tycon's expertise.
"The tournament will start with an initial melee of 256 duo teams,
brought down to about 16 in the final bracket..."
Centurion Zenon was explaining the various rules of the Martial

Tournament. Tycon elected not to pay attention. The Librarian's
voice was sweet, melodious, and comforting... and the topic was
quite dry.
It made Tycon want to withdraw into a cool, shaded den, curl up

and sleep.
"...And that's everything, provided nothing's changed in the past

few years." Zenon smirked, "You get all that, Optio?"
Tycon had lost track of time. Had it been minutes? Bells?
He shook his head and smiled politely, "My apologies, Brother-

Zenon. My attention drifted elsewhere."
Zenon shrugged noncommittally, "I get it. The ride was pretty
tiring."
It was difficult for Tycon to be interested in the mundane affairs of

the Caeruleum Tournament. The Holy Country of Tyrion was a
powerful military force... but it was made up of individually weak
humans. Their military tactics relied on entire legions marching as
one, guarded by an impenetrable shield wall, millions of arrows
and crossbow bolts raining upon their enemies.
A human adventurer in the Free Nation shared elbow-space at

public house tables alongside ogres and gnolls. Men and women
of the Sleeping Country were required by imperial edict to serve in
their military for a minimum of two years, without exception. Even
heroes hailing from the Eastern States had the propensity for
utilizing unorthodox tactics-- as if tens of thousands of years of
established military doctrine were somehow wrong.
...Admittedly, sometimes they were... depending on the magic and

technology available, of course. Even a hundred years prior,
military commanders never had to worry about the Kingdom's
trebuchets, launching Alchemist-crafted explosives... or a score of
the Sleeping Country's Corpse Golem's, twenty-fulm tall
abominations barreling through an army's ranged line.
Thankfully, Zenon was understanding... so much that Tycon

sometimes felt undeserving of his loyalty.
Parthenope leaned forward, resting her cheeks on her palms. "I

wasn't listening either... You know, Sir Tychon, you have really
pretty eyes."
Tycon narrowed them... He did not often hear positive sentiments

concerning his eyes... "Thank you?"
Parthenope of House Aldini was Athena's senior at the Military

Academy at Silva, whom the latter affectionately called 'Theno.'
She sat upon a travel stool, gazing dreamily at... the fire-roasted
venison on his skewer?
She had her own. He wasn't going to share his, no matter how the
whelpling fluttered her eyelashes.
Theno was taller than her junior (though Athena was also short for
her age.) Her long, pink hair was styled into two braids. They were
tied into a loose bun but otherwise would fall to her waist.
Her weapon of choice was a Tyrion crossbow... painted in a pink
and white camouflage-like pattern. It was a strange choice... and
not at all optimal for use in the field... but, the fact that she
personalized and took great care of her own weapon was
laudable.
Tycon again asked Zenon for information on the Caeruleum

Martial Tournament... a summary, anyroad. One rule in particular
stood out. The tournament had two divisions: youth and regular.
Of course, Athena and Parthenope would still be entered in the

youth tournament. With that, their odds of winning the
championship increased dramatically.
Tycon had to enter two additional participants into the regular

tournament. Tycon greatly desired that win... as it would fulfill
most of his conditions towards his mission completion in the Holy
Country.
He decided to enter, himself, with Athanasius as his duo.
The young footman had power on par with a Gold-Rank and

Tycon... well, he was merely... better than everyone else.
As for the children...
Athena and Parthenope's combat synergy was solid, able to

provide the other nigh flawless, mutual support.
Originally, Tycon had recommended one of Athena's male

classmates as her duo... but that decision was based purely on
the young man's potential. It was better overall to field Athena with
a trustworthy and supportive partner than someone that might be
slightly stronger than she was otherwise unfamiliar with.
As much time as Shao Ran had placed in training the boy, Tycon
was certain he would agree...
Chapter 400 Secure
he Caeruleum Martial Tournament was the most important event

T
for both House Vanzano and Guild Letalis Serpentis. Thus, the
caravan was quite large, consisting of nearly all active Invictus
members, all the members of Team Athena, and a dozen Letalis
members that had earned the right to a short reprieve from
training.
What surprised Tycondrius, however, was that Lieutenant Shao

Ran of the Sea Wolves had chosen to also come along. As the
Head Combat Instructor of Guild Letalis, the man had every right
to do so.
However, it was... odd, concerning the fact that the city of

Caeruleum was hundreds of malms inland.
"Brother-Ran..." Tycon forced a smile, "Tell me again why you

are... here."
"Ahaha... haha..." Ran laughed. "Sorry, what? I wasn't listening.

You know how it is, haha... long trip! Longest voyage of my life,
even."
Tycon was fairly certain the usage of the term 'voyage' was
incorrect, there, but... he doubted that Ran would be able to retain
any learning, considering his condition.
The Sea Wolf looked miserable. His eyes darted from side to side,
as if nervous, and he incessantly scratched at his dry skin and
flaking scalp. The burn scars on his pallid face had hardened,
cracked, and leaked, making him look not only pitiful, but like a
carrier of a contagious disease.
"I'm thirsty." Ran croaked, "Is anyone else here, thirsty? Let's get
a drink? Drink? ...Drink?"
So far from the ocean, the man was essentially useless. It was
also possible that Ran could not function without alcohol.
Judging by the fact that Ran had badgered everyone around the
campfire for a sip from their waterskins... subsequently emptying a
half-dozen of them, Tycon decided to assume it was the former.
Tycon pat the Sea Wolf on the shoulder, "Nevermind, Brother-

Lieutenant. Zenon, myself, and the children will be going into the
city. I'll ask Victorius to stay behind and get you a... damp cloth."
If he knew Ran was coming ahead of time, he would have packed

a few barrels of seawater. It seemed the gentleman had hidden
himself in the guild's supply cart.
Athena sensed his presence. Tycon ordered him dragged out and
seated in a carriage like a proper human.
Anyroad, without such preparations, any exposure to water mana

could at least alleviate Ran's condition.
It wouldn't be unreasonable to find him a cheap public bath and

have him... live there for the week. Failing that, a public well or
water fountain would do just as well.
"No, I uh... nah," Ran tried to argue... "Yeah... No, that sounds
good. I'll stay here. Definitely staying here."
He didn't argue for very long.
"Once you see whatever-his-name-is, send him to follow us. The

signs set up in the city seem rather simple to follow." Tycon
pursed his lips in a deeply set grimace... "Just let Victorius know if
you need anything."
"Yeah, sure. Right. Got it," Ran collapsed against an old tree...
"Go, Team Athena! Blood and... behhh..."
...
As soon as Tycon and the others departed, Shao Ran stumbled

away from the camp's center, wobbling as fast as he could to the
supply cart.
The last few weeks of his life had been a complete mess. He
sacrificed his free time and sleep schedule to train a literal zombie
how to fight. Zombie-Chaleb wasn't actually any good... but it
could hold a sword, swing it, and even declare in a raspy,
nightmarish voice that it was the embodiment of 'vengeance,
given flesh.'
The zombie's existence had become... necessary, almost. Ran

couldn't leave his cursed sword on the wayside... it would
somehow find its way back in his pack, in his room. Once, he'd
even woken up with it in his hands.
He needed to give it to someone... and it made more sense to

give it back to its previous owner than to pawn it off to Sergeant
Salt. As long as the dead kid had his sword, Ran didn't suffer any
windedness, nor was he magically compelled to say stupid shite.
Ran hated sounding stupid. That's why he always used big words-
- especially around Tycon!
To be perfectly honest, Zombie-Chaleb was a shite idea. There

was no way it'd be able to beat anything that moved faster than a
brisk walk... but Ran had given it his best effort, he really did!
Transporting the thing was an issue. Ran didn't want the guy
just... walking around. The zombie was veeeeerrry limited in
talking, too... so literally anyone could figure out that something
was wrong with him. They might even be able to tell that he wasn't
alive!
He decided to wrap it up in its tarp, tossing it in with the

equipment. It would stink a bit, sure, but as long as Ran made
sure no one else checked on the cart, it'd be fine.
Get to the cart. Grab the kid. Give him the sword. Hurry to follow
Tycon to get the kid registered.
Easy. Easiest thing since he'd joined the Fleet. Easiest thing
since...
Sea god's silverware.
Shao Ran was so thirsty, he could drink a barrel of literally

anything. There had to be a water barrel in the cart...
"Instructor Shao? I was just about to look for you?" Victorius was
tending to the horses that the supply cart was attached to...
probably beating them off or something. That kid had weird tastes.
Ran ignored him, immediately climbing to the top of the cart and
searching for a drink... err... no. He was looking for his personal
failure.
"Ahem..." The blonde footman coughed, "Sir? You don't look well?
Sir Tycon said that I should get you a--"
No... no no no no NOOOO!!
"Where is it??" Shao Ran leapt off the cart and grabbed Victorius'
collar, screaming in his face, "WHAERRE IS IT?!? It was RIGHT!
HERE!!"
Ran keeled over immediately, gasping for air and choking blood.
Some of the other caravan guards looked over, other mercs from
Guild Letalis. Aw, shite. Ran was making a scene...
Ran moved close to Victorius to keep his voice low, "Listen,

Tyrion... There was... a tarp... right on top here. I need to know...
where it is... Also, a cup of water would be the tits right now."
Victorius caressed his crippled hand in worry, "Sir? I... I don't

know? Was it secured properly?"
"Of course, it was secured properly! I'm a gods-damned--"
...Ran stopped.
Was it?
Ohhh.... Sea god's buttplug.

"Instructor?" Victorius frowned.
"...Idiot. I'm a gods-damned idiot."

Chapter 401 Registration
⟬ Outside the Caeruleum Coliseum. ⟭
Tycondrius and Zenon accompanied Team Athena to the

tournament registration booth, with the newest addition of the
pink-haired archer, Parthenope.
Upon speaking with one of the city officials, Tycon discovered an

annoying... inconvenience.
The two girls needed a proper, legal, Tyrion 'adult', in order to

register.
The participation of well-known noble houses in the martial

tournament provided a great influx of wealth to Caeruleum. House
Vanzano and House Aldini both qualified for this.
Both girls were the age that they could legally join the military and
even legally pair with a husband. They could legally fight and die
for their nation... they could legally create offspring... yet under
Tyrion law, they did not qualify as 'adults.'
Tycon did not have any official documents to prove his citizenship.
He did have a boot. The attending official also had an orifice that
he could shove his boot into.
Perhaps thankfully, Centurion Zenon was present to deescalate

the situation. Because of the Librarian's social status, he had the
proper paperwork.
Tycon wondered if that was Archbishop Natalya's intent: to assign

him a Centurion instead of going through the process to provide
him a single piece of paper.
Such an action both inconvenienced him and prevented her from
taking on more work.
Well played, scheming human woman.
Well played...
The Caeruleum officials measured Athena's and Parthenope's

physical age via a Scanning Crystal. Upon verifications, they were
properly signed up for the youth tournament. Once the other boy
arrived, they could seek out a tournament official to have him sign
in as a substitute.
Not that Tycon particularly cared for that one. His tardiness
solidified his unreliability in Tycon's heart.
"And I assume you will be signing up individuals for the main

tournament, Master Letalis?" The city official asked.
"Yes, of course," Tycon nodded. "My first candidate is this young

gentleman."
Tanamar, real name Athanasius Mors, stepped up. In the past

several weeks of training, he'd fought and defeated nearly every
single member of Shao Ran's crew. Also, Tycon had assigned the
young footman a weight-training regimen that targeted his weaker
muscle groups. The Holy Lancer visibly grew in size, his muscles
thick and defined underneath his dark-leather Letalis armor.
He admitted he was in the best fighting shape he'd ever been.
The young man had lived more than one life, as well. He deserved
to be proud of his hard work.
"Very well..." The official nodded, "According to the Scanning

Crystal, the candidate is over the age of 18 and below the age of
31. Please go to that table over there, young man, and provide the
scribe with..."
Tycon's mind drifted off. Below the age of 31? He... was not aware
of that rule. It was likely made to prevent elves and other long-
lived peoples from participating in the tournament, but...
« System, inquiry: Is this body... below the age of 31? »
⟬ Negative. ⟭
He knew this... but there was no harm in asking. He was grossly

unqualified to sign up to the tournament, himself. He wouldn't
even submit himself to a scan... having his real age discovered
would cause himself undue attention.
...Also, he did not wish to know his exact age. He liked feeling
young.
"Sir? Sir?" The official furrowed his brows as he tried to get

Tycon's attention.
"My apologies," Tycon shook his head, "You were saying?"
"I was inquiring about Mister Athanasius' duo partner?"
Tycon pursed his lips... "It's... that gentlemen, right there."
Centurion Zenon looked over with a blank expression, "Huh?"
...
Zenon was Tycon's best option to field as Tanamar's duo partner.
Sorina was eligible for the tournament... but did not have a
combat class. Nor did Popoto Potata Pota...
Korr was the strongest Invictus member they had... but that would
require him to ask a young woman what her real age was. Tycon
was not the smartest gentleman in the Realm, but he at least
knew not to do that.
By age, Shao Ran was certainly qualified. At his full-strength, he

was of a similar level to Korr. However, he was... not at his full
strength.
Victorius? ...Absolutely not.

At the very least, Centurion Zenon had previously worked
alongside Tanamar when they traveled to the Icingdeath
Dungeons. They had often trained together, as well. They hadn't
specifically trained for duo tactics, but the few suns before the
tournament started properly, they'd be able to develop and
practice match-winning strategies.
Anyroad, Tycon had seen very few Iron-Rank participants... and

all that he did belong to low or standard-tier classes. Based on
power alone, Holy Lancer Tanamar and Librarian Zenon had a
very solid chance to win.
There was the issue that Zenon hadn't brought any of his Church-
issued gear, including his arm-blades... Still, there was a suit of
leather Letalis armor that fit him. Further, the city provided blunted
weaponry, specifically for the tournament, should he choose to
arm himself.
He'd probably be fine.
Athena Vanzano. Parthenope Aldini. Athanasius Mors. Zenon

Skyreaper.
All four participants would be fighting under the name of Guild

Letalis and wearing dark, spiky uniforms to match. Tycon looked
forward to the snake-skull and lightning bolt crest becoming a
symbol of fear and domination.
...
On the morning of the tournament, Tycondrius of Charm and

Sorina Capulet entered the stands as observers for the junior
matches. The preliminary matches for the regular matches would
take place later, after noon.
Tycon scrutinized Sorina Capulet's form. She had foregone

business-professional attire and instead wore a white, sleeveless
blouse, shorts, and knee socks with colored stripes. She still
looked unmistakably feminine with her single side-ponytail, her
chestnut-colored hair culminating into a curly drill.
She also wore a short, flat-topped hat, guarding her eyes against
the oppressive sunlight... while the Armor Cube that levitated
around her head wore an identical, but a miniature version of it.
Just... who had spent time on crafting that?
...At the very least, Tycon appreciated that the young lady was
consistent.
"Whaddya think our chances are to win, Boss?" Sorina grinned.
"Victory or death," Tycon replied simply.
If either Zenon or Tanamar performed less than their best, he'd

ensure they wished for death.
"Oh, good." Sorina rubbed her hands, "Because I'm ALL IN,
BABY!!"
Chapter 402 Lack Of
Professionalism
orina Capulet was easily the most important existence for Guild
S
Invictus' strength and prosperity. Tycondrius would be hard-
pressed to find another woman (or man) of either her class or
caliber.
She was also the weakest combatant in Sol Invictus.
Even Popoto Potata Pota had four years of heavy sword training.
In theory, Seldin Korr was assigned to guard Sorina against any

would-be kidnappers or assassins...
"Miss Capulet..." Tycon forced a polite smile, "Where is Korr?"
"Oh?" Sorina tilted her head gleefully, "She's with Popoto Potata
Pota! There's a horse-grooming competition right behind the
venue."
"Why, then..." Tycon pursed his lips, "--are you not with them?"
"Makin' stacks, Boss~" She sang, fanning out a series of betting

receipts as if they were playing cards.
Oh.
"...Very well."
Tycon sighed and dropped the subject. In the open and public
area that was the Caeruleum Coliseum, the risk for Sorina being
captured was low. At any rate, Tycon could reasonably guard
Sorina just as well as Korr could.
The junior competition went well, with Athena and Parthenope
encountering no troublesome opposition. Before the young
Vanzano's matches, Tycon advised her to focus primarily on
winning through swordplay, saving her frost abilities as a hidden
trump card.
On a real battlefield, Athena could utilize her abilities to

incapacitate swaths of opponents, her ⌈Frost Blades⌋ cutting down
dozens at a time, her domineering ⌈Ice Beams⌋ obliterating closely
packed groups of shield-bearers. The more enemies she cut
down, the greater the advantage her allies would have.
The arena fights were decidedly not life-or-death situations... and

they were set in a way to be reasonably 'fair.' If she were to hide
her strongest abilities, she'd also be able to gain an edge from
teams underestimating her. She could afford to take each fight
slowly and methodically, not fearing the casualties of dozens or
hundreds of allies.
Tycon found it surprising that Parthenope performed quite well. As

she wielded a crossbow, he expected the twin-braided girl to
remain on the defensive, patiently waiting for an opportunity to
shoot, and taking advantage of conditions Athena set.
In the first match, the archer smashed her weapon stock against
some poor Warrior's teeth. Then, she shot a blunted bolt into their
chest from a Tyrion palm away.
It was good. When an opponent isn't vulnerable, the fighter can

create that vulnerability.
It reminded him of Tanamar... Though the Holy Lancer was

technically a ranged class, he was deceptively strong at close
combat.
After the junior preliminary matches ended, he met with the

Athena Collective for a short lunch before returning again to watch
the rest of the matches. In the afternoon, the crowd had swelled,
packing the colosseum seating and putting Sorina into a frenzy as
she took far more bets than earlier in the sun.
Tanamar and Zenon did as well as the girls, before them. Their
matches, however, were... more orthodox. They kept their
distance and remained defensive... because that was both logical
and efficient. Zenon's blasts of wind kept close combatants away
and a Tanamar's relentless barrage of magical arrows at range. It
was an effective if nigh-unbeatable strategy.
Tanamar kept yawning as he struck down his opponents. Tycon

planned to scold him later for the lack of professionalism.
In one of the fighting rings, however... Tycon noticed a particular

person he recognized... and one he certainly did not expect to be
present. That person took a grievous injury, a deep trident stab to
the upper abdomen.
As Sorina would be safe with both Athena and Parthenope, Tycon

informed the group that he was leaving to investigate...
...
Dorus wiped the sweat from his brow.
He stood guard inside the gladiator pit entrance instead of out. He

took solace that he wasn't outside in the sweltering heat of the
Tyrion sun. He almost wanted to check if it was cooler out there
than in the shade. For one, it would be abandoning his post. More
importantly, when he came back, he'd have to again get used to
the reek of gladiator sweat.
It was worse than usual, too... even though many of the

competitors had much better hygiene than the regular gladiators,
there were literally hundreds of them in the pits... and from every
part of the Realm.
The soft steps of another unwashed fighter began to pad down

the stone steps.
Dorus stood up straight, feeling the cold and clammy stick of his
sweaty tunic on his back. As miserable as he felt, at least he'd
look somewhat professional with his Caeruleum armor and shiny
pilum.
It was a green-haired youth with golden eyes... which was odd
because the junior matches had ended nearly two bells prior.
"Good afternoon, young sir. This area is closed off to all but
current participants."
"I am aware," The youth narrowed his eyes, the bright gold of it
gleaming in the torchlight. "Let me pass."
Dorus coughed in embarrassment. The look was slightly

intimidating... but he'd dealt with gladiators and their ilk for years.
The tough act tended to just be bluster. Dorus would stand his
ground... at least a little bit.
"I suppose I can make an exception for you, Sir," Dorus rubbed
his thumb and forefinger together.
Taking a small bribe here and there never hurt anyone.
The young man shrugged, "Are you asking for silver or steel?"
"I uh..."
Was that a threat?
"Sod off," The green-haired fellow rolled his eyes and shoved
Dorus aside. The boy was far stronger than his smaller frame
suggested.
...It was worth asking for a bribe. It always was. Dorus didn't
particularly care that he was rejected so easily. It was better than
being overzealous and getting hurt.
Coliseum guards were easy to replace... and the city had no use
for injured guards.
So what if a gladiator got punished for it? They'd get a slap on the
wrist and Dorus would get a career-ending injury. That was the
way of things.
Heimon, one of the other guards, approached. How the man could
still his helmet with the body heat around baffled him, "Hey, Dorus.
Who was that, just now?"
Chapter 403 Wise Wolf
he two coliseum guards stared down the hallway at the

T
departing, green-haired figure.
Dorus turned to Heimon, shrugging his shoulders, "Honestly? I

have no idea."
He took a seat on a nearby bench and fanned himself with his

hand. "I figured it was just some rich kid. Tried to get some coin
from him-- was a bust, though."
Heimon shifted his weight, grimacing, "He's... trespassing then?

Should we do something about it?"
"Tch," Dorus scoffed at the notion. "And do what?"
"Eh, I dunno..." Heimon bit the corner of his lip, "Question him?"
"Nah..." Dorus shook his head... "You don't question people like
that. Chances are, the guy knows somebody or is important
enough to act like he's invincible. The wrong guy up top throws a
fit? We're out of a job."
Heimon frowned, "Dorus, we signed a contract..."
"Well, yeah..."
Dorus took a deep breath and sighed. He thought like that too,
once. He was a few years older than Heimon, so he always
considered himself his senior-- even if the guy wasn't exactly a
kid, "The thing is... you and me, Heimon, we're not here for *real*
security."
Heimon crossed his arms, "How do you mean?"

"Well..." Dorus glanced from side to side... Only the two of them
were in the hallway, but he still kept his voice low, "Think about it...
"Everyone in that pit is literally a trained murderer. Everyone in the

crowd up top could have weapons and all that-- it's not like we
check for 'em. Anyone at any time could go bonkers and just start
killin' people... and neither you, nor me, are going to stop that.
"You, me, the other coliseum guards... we provide the 'illusion' of

security. The fans feel safer with us around, and that's why our
employers pay us."
Heimon pulled his head back, as if the thought sickened him, "We
have spears and shields. We can definitely do something."
"Pff" Dorus snorted, "You've seen some of these fights, haven't

you? Some of these gladiators are Iron-Ranks, man! Those types
of people can cut a man in half with an angry look-- what use
would our pig-iron shields be, then, huh?"
"Yeah... Fair enough..." Heimon dipped his head, his expression

twisted... "It's a lousy world we live in, man."
"Just do your job and try not to think about it, friend," Dorus
clapped his hand on Heimon's shoulder plate. "That's all we can
do."
...
Tycondrius appreciated the warmth of the underground pit where

the gladiators prepared.
The smell, not so much.
The architecture of the Holy Country was sound... and ventilation

existed... but it was nowhere near enough to air out the sheer
number of fighters within.
The stench of piss and unwashed bodies was comparable to that

of a sewer.
Tycon navigated the various chambers, glancing into each of
them... until he found the particular room he was searching for.
Casually strolling in, he was met with over a dozen unfriendly

gazes from various thieves, ruffians, and ne'er-do-wells... and one
particular cheek-scarred, swordsman.
Tycon crossed his arms, scrutinizing his loyal ally.
⟬ Lone Shadowdark, Bronze-Rank Human Ranger. ⟭
Ignoring the bloody bandages wrapped around the man's

abdomen, Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, hadn't seemed to
change much. He wore a dark eyepatch... implying that he had
also injured an eye. That was troublesome, but wouldn't limit him
in very-close combat.
His skin was still bronzed and he desperately needed a haircut,

his dark hair and rough-shaven beard a mess. He had grown
larger, to a similar size to when they first met. It was likely he had
returned to training with static weights as opposed to traipsing
around in Tyrion forests.
A set of nondescript leather armor rested on a stand beside him,

as well as two blunt-edge blades. They were a far cry from the
quality of his signature Wolf-Hammer and enchanted sword, but
Tycon surmised those were confiscated upon the man's
incarceration.
The young ranger did still wear a particular magical rope around
his waist... He must have been fond of its effects, as stupid as it
looked.
Still... as glad as Tycon was to see his friend safe and *relatively*
uninjured... he was supposed to be imprisoned at Turrim
Orientem, not participating in a Martial Tournament.
"I saw the injury you took in the first-round eliminations, Mister
Lone," Tycon smirked. "That certainly wasn't the best you could
do."
« Go ahead, thank you. »
⟬ Activating... You're welcome. ⟭
A spiky-haired Rogue stood up, sneering arrogantly, "And who in

the seven hells are--"
"B-boss?!?" Lone stood up, wearing a broad grin, "I've missed you
so much!"
The Ranger stood up, predictably unbothered by his injury. From

the man's body language, he looked like he was going to try to
embrace him. Thankfully, Lone wore a heavy ball and chain on
one of his ankles that stopped him from doing so.
Logically, the reek of the room was from the collective of

exhausted fighters within. With Lone's haggard appearance,
though, it very much seemed like half of the sweat and stench
came from him and only him.
"Wow!" Lone grinned, opening his arms excitedly, "Just seeing

you makes me feel like I can fight a hundred more battles!"
...That was because Tycon literally used a healing ability.
Lone knew this.
Lone had been healed by him before.
...But it very much sounded like he did not understand that.
The Rogue standing nearby stared blankly like a deer caught in

lantern-light... Frowning quickly, he sat back down and looked
away... "Oh, welcome."
Why the fellow chose to stare into a nondescript sandstone wall,

Tycon had no idea.
Tycon was slightly surprised that he had come all this way without
being challenged... and when he finally was, the attempt was
flimsy, at best. Just like the Rogue, the hostile gazes within the
room disappeared completely.
It seemed that Lone had commanded a great deal of respect.

Such was the effect of being powerful.
It was very well done. The wise wolf takes command of their pack
and leads them to survival.
...Even if that wolf was Lone.

Chapter 404 Escape
one saluted with his fist to his chest, "Great to see you, Boss.
L
We're doing really well! Oh, that's Edge. Don't mind him-- he's just
like that."
⟬ Edge, Bronze-Rank Human Dark Lurker. ⟭
Tycondrius nodded, giving the fellow the benefit of the doubt.

'Edge' was Lone's duo, and used a rapier along with a heavy
gauntlet and parrying dagger... which did not sound like a weapon
set his class implied.
Together, they were a... sloppy pair, but their individual combat
ability was sound enough to find success.
Tycon reasoned that they had a good chance to get second place.
Lone grinned toothily at his duo, "Edge, I want you to meet my

boss. This is--"
Edge grimaced, shutting his eyes and rocking back and forth, "Not
now, Lone... I'm having trouble... c-controlling the power sealed in
my left hand."
The spiky-haired Rogue cradled his hand dramatically.
...Right.
Tycon took a deep breath through his nose... an action he

regretted almost instantly. He concentrated, so as to not gag...
then addressed the current situation.
"What's... all this?" He opened his arms, gesturing to the people in

the room.
Lone flipped up his eyepatch and scratched at his cheek, "They
told us that the tournament needed more bodies... so we got to
participate, I guess? If my duo wins, I might be able to get out in
15 years, instead of the 20."
That made sense. The fact that Lone was wearing an eyepatch
even though both of his eyes worked perfectly well did not.
"Explain the eyepatch, Mister Lone."
"It makes me look cool?"
Tycon crossed his arms, "Remove it. Please."
"It... it seals his power level," Edge offered from where he sat. "He
can't fight without it!"
"If it did, then he wouldn't randomly unseal it right here and now,"
Tycon countered. "Really, Mister Lone. Do you know what depth
perception is?"
"I seal my right eye because all it Percepts is Death," Lone

declared.
"That will be all, then." Tycon turned immediately, "I'm leaving."
"W-wait, Boss!! Boss!!" Lone scrambled after him, dragging his

heavy weighted ball across the sandy floor.
"Yes?"
"Is... is Sorina in the crowd?" Lone asked... almost hesitantly.
That was an interesting question... Was Lone still romantically

interested in the young lady? ...No, that was highly implausible.
Tycon tilted his head, "Did you... have a question about... your
pay?"
"Yeah!" Lone nodded, "I'm still getting paid, right? Like I'll get
everything I'm owed when I get out, right?? Boss?"
"Farewell, Mister Lone."
...
Tycon returned to the stands, seating himself beside Athena and

the others. For some reason, Athena switched seats with
Parthenope, the twin-braided girl close enough to rub their
shoulders together. While it was slightly insulting that Athena
moved away as she did, it was reasonable that he still stank of
gladiator musk and would be unpleasant to sit beside.
He didn't pay much attention to the remaining matches in the rest

of the preliminaries. No particular duo teams stood out to him in
strength or tactics.
It was amusing to him, seeing two members of Guild Stormbrand

competing: Cleric Occam and Reaver Tancred... or 'Orcus' as he
was called. Per his reputation, Tancred arrived to thunderous
applause, the tournament announcer ecstatic about his
appearance.
It seemed, however, that Occam fought with no intention to

support his partner... Their two opponents, while mediocre in
strength, worked in tandem to defeat the Cleric, then turned on
Reaver Tancred.
The 'god of battle' fell, disgraced.
Zenon seemed to have gotten over his 'man-crush' on the fellow.
Tanamar offered a noncommital "That's too bad." Otherwise, he

seemed unaffected by his twin brother's loss.
Victorius was incredibly disappointed-- almost depressed.
As for why, Tycon could only guess... It didn't take long for him to
find out, though. It seemed he had placed a large bet that Tancred
would win. Victorius then begged Sorina Capulet for a second
chance... a conversation that almost suggested that the topic
discussed was something other than money.
Sorina offered the young man a double-or-nothing bet, which the
latter readily agreed upon.
The poor fool... Sorina was in charge of House Vanzano's coffers.

If he owed her money, his pay could be docked for the rest of his
career...
...
Corporal Horse and Private Jeremy had yet to return from

Passage. It was a shame... as according to Seldin Korr, the
horses at the other-competition could have been easily crushed in
martial combat.
All was well, though. Tycon assumed they were still on their
mission to keep Lord Greer and his wife occupied, to not interfere
with the training of Athena and the other members of Guild Letalis.
Lord and Lady Vanzano were well aware of the Caeruleum

Tournament and what it meant for their family name... That is, if
they cared, at all.
Maybe they were dead.
Not that it mattered.
Both Guild Letalis teams had passed the preliminary matches, a

process that took a few suns. The remaining week would be
dedicated to the semi-finals, with the final matches taking place on
the sixth sun.
In a welcome turn of events, Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark,

won alongside his duo, Edge. Their teamwork was horrible... and
was what Tycon would have expected if he had decided to field
Athena together with whatever-his-name-was, instead of
Parthenope.
Would Lone's Bronze-Rank strength be enough to carry him to

victory? Though Tycon was initially hopeful of their success, their
reckless, haphazard fighting styles were almost painful to watch.
Tanamar and Zenon had fought together before and worked
together well. That was to be expected.
The best news of recent suns was that Guild Stormbrand's team
was eliminated spectacularly.
Anyroad, on that particular evening, he wanted to avoid the

company of Letalis member, Miss Parthenope of House Aldini.
The young, twin-braided lady had shown an inconvenient amount
of interest in him, badgering him with personal questions for bells
on end.
Most questions, he could not answer, as he had no idea.
Invictus member Seldin Korr was also acting strangely.

Throughout the evening, she would snatch onto his arm so tightly
that it hurt. He was forced to escape when she kicked him in the
shin, underneath a table. Though he had a Gold-Rank physique,
he stumbled to a private room and cast an ⌈Inspirational Surge⌋ to
heal himself.
...According to his System, the woman had fractured his leg.
He had no idea what he did to deserve it... and did not want to
tempt fate by asking. His healing ability could heal a broken arm
or leg, but not a shattered spine.
Tycon snuck out through a window in his ⌈Small Snake Form⌋,

then transformed back to walk the lantern-lit streets of Caeruleum.
To celebrate the Stormbrands' loss and his escape from one
bothersome and one terrifying woman, he sought to attain a
portion of fire-cooked meat and an alcoholic beverage.
Chapter 405 Golden Ale
ured by the delectable scent of charred pork, Tycondrius

L
discovered a lonely outdoor food stall. It was one out of a row of
several others, but he chose that one.
...It was the only one that had yet to close.
There was one cook, an older male with salt-and-pepper hair and
a tired face. There was one other patron, a cloaked and grey-
bearded dwarf who likely thought he was hiding his identity.
If Tycon were a physically weaker gentleman, he might have

spurned the occasion, fearing that he'd be robbed at knifepoint.
He had no such concerns... and as such, patiently took a seat and

ordered a meal.
A few moments later, the human placed an ale in front of him.
"Friend..." Tycon pursed his lips, "I did not order this."
Tycon highly doubted that he was recognized. He wore his cloak

to hide his Decanus armor and kept his hood down... However,
throughout his adventures, if his identity was known, it was by
name or his association with Sol Invictus-- not by face.
He asked his System to verify that the drink wasn't laced with
magic. It wasn't. His own senses told him that the drink was not
poisoned... not that a mundane poison would be able to affect
him.
If this wasn't an assassination attempt... then Tycon reasoned

there must have been some other mistake.
The cook tended to the charcoal grill, flipping Tycon's meal. The
tantalizing sizzle of pork intensified his hunger.
"It's complimentary, young man." The human shrugged, "Just take

it."
Tycon picked up the pint warily...
While the thought seemed nice, he surmised there was a deeper

reason. A food stall manned by a single, aging staff member did
not logically have the coin to spare all their patrons complimentary
drinks.
Bowing his head out of respect, Tycon partook of the full-flavored

ale.
Crisp. Clean. Cooled by the evening air.
It was perfect.
The cook smiled sheepishly, wiping his rough-shaven chin with the
back of his wrist... "We had a daughter... Her eyes were golden--
much like yours... friend."
Tycon nodded, processing the information. He was caught in a

peculiar social situation. The human referred to his daughter in
past-tense. This implied a loss. Asking about that loss would likely
lead to depressing conversation.
Reassurance, however, would be a socially acceptable response.

For Tycon to show his gratitude, that was a better option than
silence or neutrality.
Tycon forced himself to smile, "If it comes as any consolation... I

can say with reasonable certainty that I did not have sexual
relations with your wife."
His words were somewhat deceitful. He had very little memories

of what he'd done more than two years prior. Tycon was quite
certain that he had not slept with anyone's wife. The-Tycon-Before
could very well have.
He was very handsome, after all. He was almost certain that he
was very popular with females.
The cook was taken aback momentarily... before rolling his eyes
and chuckling, "No, haha... fool of a boy... Our daughter was near
your age when we lost her... military casualty, she was."
Tycon frowned... There was another logical conclusion that the

cook was treating him so well... and it was one that he did not like.
"Then I must insist, friend..." Tycon bit his upper lip... "My eyes are
merely a coincidence. It is very unlikely that you are my father."
Admittedly, it was plausible. Tycon had no memories of his body's

male parent. However, if a human had sired him, that person must
be well over 100 years of age.
The cook in front of him... did not appear even half that.
"Hah! Hahaha! You're a funny kid," The cook held his belly,
sniggering heartily until his cheeks turned red... "Ahh... Thanks for
that."
...Pride surged in Tycon's heart. He had always thought he was

not very good at being 'funny.'
That he was not doing so intentionally was worrisome... but he

would accept any sign of improvement as personal growth.
If the cook was not exploring the possibility that they were related,
then Tycon could take his words at their initial value. He was given
a complimentary drink because his eye color positively reminded
him of his late daughter.
Bright gold was a unique color and, to Tycon's knowledge,

belonged exclusively to non-humans. Because of it, he was often
mistaken for a daeva or half-elf. They were judgments that he did
not bother correcting. They were looked upon more kindly than his
actual bloodline.
As the cook did not have golden eyes, Tycon assumed that his
wife did. A human and non-human coupling was difficult in the
Holy Country... unless one was strong enough not to care about
what others thought. The Gold-Rank leader of the Brazen Guard,
Bannok of Kasydon, was such a gentleman.
Tycon had plenty of questions. Still, he chose to say something

both polite and meaningful. The ale was delicious and words cost
him nothing.
He raised his pint of ale, "Let us continue to live our best lives... as
our loved ones would have wished."
The cook paused... grimacing and gulping hard... "Aye, I'll drink to
that..."
The patron of the small stall sighed heavily... as dwarves were oft
to do. Upon Tycon thinking on it, the gentledwarf's presence was
further proof that the cook had no issues with non-humans.
"Young'uns..." He grumbled, "Ya can't just... toss the slag out the
window, like 'at."
Tycon twisted his lips at the... colorful speech the dwarf used. The
context was easy enough to understand, though.
Forgiveness was honorable. To forget was foolish. In order to

grow as a person, it was more important to learn from mistakes
than to avoid mistakes entirely.
At the same time, it was insultingly easy to dictate best-practices.

The execution was never so simple...
Tycon nodded, "I agree."
The flustered, grey-bearded dwarf took a sip of his own ale, "And
another th-- you what?"
Tycon cleared his throat. Was he not being loud enough?
"I said... I agree, Master Dwarf."

Dwarves... no... all people liked terms of respect, especially when
warranted. The older dwarf had thick, calloused hands, and a
thick cross scar on his face. The Dwarven people were known for
stubbornly pursuing a single art, stereotypically things like gem
cutting, exploration, and monster hunting.
It was an educated hypothesis that the dwarf sitting two stools

away was a master at something.
Even if he wasn't, formal terms of address were rarely seen

negatively.
"...Oh. Well..." The dwarf stroked his beard in contemplation...

"Good."
Chapter 406 Naturally Good
s the dwarf went back to his drinking. Tycondrius was served his
A
meal. The meat was cooked perfectly-- beautiful grill marks on the
pork's outside, tender and juicy in. It was easily worth at least
another compliment to the cook.
As for how good it was, Tycon had established certain

expectations for Tyrion cuisine. He would enjoy his plate to his
fullest extent... as long as its taste was superior to the dishes from
Olea Garden.
It was a fine evening, filled with good food and pleasant, idle
conversation. After the dwarf's initial surliness, the fellow became
more agreeable as the night went on and the drinks continued to
flow.
"I'm diff'rent from Ector..." The dwarf complained between ales,

"He didn't have a choice, gettin' his loved ones taken from him.
Sorry, Ec."
The cook, apparently named Ector, shrugged his shoulders, "It's in

the past. The kid's right. As long as I'm livin', Orielle's lookin' down
from the heavens and smiling."
The dwarf mussed up his greying hair and ran his stubby fingers
through his thick beard, "That's what I'm saying, though... There's
no one in the skies lookin' out for me. I mean... good for you and
your Eternal Flame, cook... but she only smiles for you humans."
Ector chuckled to himself, "Mind your voice, Hark. We're still in

public."
It was a punishable crime in the Holy Country to speak ill of the

Eternal Flame or the Church. That Chef Ector was so lax about it
spoke to his pragmatic nature. Not every human in Tyrion was
blindly devoted to their national faith.
The dwarf shook his head, slow and deliberate... "I've done a lot
of things I regret in my life."
Tycon took another deep pull from his ale before mulling over the
thought... "Master Dwarf... what's to stop you from doing things to
fix that regret?"
Regret had been a common topic in Invictus, as of late... in

particular with Centurion Zenon struggling to do more than he
possibly could... and then with Footman Victorius...
Bah. No, Tycon did not like that blonde buffoon. He was only
concerned about Zenon's issues.
Hark the dwarf grimaced, his gaze drifting far away... "I've done...
unforgivable things."
Tycon shared a look with Ector, who shook his head. With no
more information, which to react to, Tycon was still left with
annoyance... and perhaps a bit of alcohol impaired his judgment.
He decided to challenge the dwarf's beliefs.
"Tss..." Tycon scoffed, "I've never met a dwarf who's given up so

easily."
As expected, the dwarf's eyes opened wide... the flame of anger

rousing up within him. Abruptly, however, the fellow's spirits
seemed to... deflate. His posture slumped, curving his back as he
stared hard into his drink.
"Yeah..." The dwarf admitted, "I'm a coward that's abandoned my

craft."
Such. words... were a great. great taboo in Dwarven culture.
If Tycon was a dwarf... or if he was in the company of an allied

dwarf... he would be honor-bound to physically assault Hark. From
what he knew of dwarves... beating a man within ilms of death
would force him to regain his confidence.
It was similar with humans, to a point... not that he knew-well what

that point was.
Thankfully, he had no such inclinations. He was full on food and

drink and did not want to jostle the contents of his stomach.
That he knew of the dwarf's shame did make him uneasy, though.
He'd offer some words. Words required very little effort.
"Master Dwarf..." Tycon wore a grave expression, "No matter how

many mistakes you've made, the balance can always be
restored."
Hark rolled his eyes, "The balance? You're bringing elf shite to the
table, now, kid?"
"It's simple quantification, friend." Tycon narrowed his eyes,

explaining his thoughts in a stern voice, "For every shite thing
you've ever done, you look to fix it-- failing that, you do something
beneficial to make up for it. If people didn't do that, there'd be no
such things as underground Dwarven cities and clans that prosper
for generations."
Tycon strongly believed in the collective good of people. If the

denizens of the Realm did not work together for their mutual
survival, then dragons might still exist.
The dwarf turned away, "You... you don't know the things I've
done..."
Of course, Tycon wouldn't... nor did he care.
The dwarf made a mistake. Hark's stubbornness led to wallowing

in ale and self-pity instead of trying to fight against the heavens
and hells to do what he knew was right.
The meal was good... but he needed to leave that place, lest his
frustrations get the best of him.
With Hark preoccupied with his own misery and Ector looking
elsewhere, Tycon took the chance to slip away.
The dwarf would handle his bill.
...
⟬ A few suns later... ⟭
As a surprise to no one in Guild Letalis, Athena Vanzano and

Parthenope Aldini dominated the juniors' bracket. Tycon was fairly
certain that Sorina Capulet had cheered for them the loudest.
She cheered even louder than when Barza Keith, the Lone
Shadowdark, lost his match. The Ranger and his duo were
battered and bruised by a Martialist with a staff. The Martialist's
duo then lost in their next match... then that duo lost, after that.
Sorina used both her own funds and guild funds in her wagers.
The profit would not be small.
Initially, the venue did not rate Athena highly... especially as she
competed against highly favored teams trained by Military Houses
and rookie adventurers from well-known Iron-Rank guilds.
Her odds in her earlier matches were low, while conversely, the
payout was amusingly high. House Vanzano without Maximus of
Ezyria was sorely underestimated... which worked quite well in
Sorina's favor.
Tycon bet some of his personal coin, too. With his meager
earnings, he was planning on covering drinks during dinner for
their party... everyone that was of age, anyroad.
Hm. Zenon and Tanamar would have to win, though.
...Or maybe he'd just have the two of them walk back to Silva, so
those that deserved it could enjoy themselves properly.
Chapter 407 Semi-Finals
thena Vanzano had developed greatly in the events leading up

A
to the Caeruleum Martial Tournament.
Utilizing the Frost Stone, the girl had her Yin Body potential
unlocked, classing her from a Bronze-Rank low-tier Warrior to a
high-tier Frostblade.
Then, training in the Icingdeath Mountains and cultivating under

the guidance of Shao Ran solidified her ability to sustain her
spellcraft. Versed in both her martial abilities and her spellcasting,
she trained until she was able to use mana to empower herself in
combat. With proper focus, Athena could moderately increase the
weight of her attacks and greatly increase her agility.
With the young lady's talents, she could easily fight opponents
more skilled and at a higher rank. When she finally experienced a
breakthrough to Iron-Rank, she might even be able to fight against
the heavens and the hells.
Athena did end up revealing her frost powers in the championship

match. Her child-opponents sought to defeat her early on... but
their attacks fell uselessly against a reflexively cast ⌈Ice Barrier⌋.
With Athena on the defensive, Parthenope was able to take

advantage of the melee. The twin-tailed girl relied on fundamental
archery, loading and shooting without unnecessary flourish, easily
securing their victory.
It might have been considered... boring, but their results were

undeniably effective.
He visited Athena in the gladiator pits, afterward. Thankfully, she

had only incurred small injuries in her final match, made trivial by
the expertise of Caeruleum's First-Circle healers.
The young noble apologized for revealing her frost magic in her
match... a notion that was ridiculous.
Tycon had harshly trained Athena's danger senses until her ⌈Ice
Barrier⌋ activation had become instinctual. If anything, the reason
Tycon requested she use her powers sparingly was so she would
not fatigue herself by summoning a dozen ⌈Frost Blades⌋ each
match.
Anyroad, it was Athena's training and diligence that won her and
Parthenope the junior championship. They had performed the
best they could and were rewarded with victory for their efforts.
However, the two of them sped off soon afterward. They wanted
to see the end of the horse competition... After lunch, they'd return
to the coliseum in time for Tanamar's and Zenon's matches.
Tycon stayed with Sorina to ensure the money-making Calculator

was safe from being kidnapped for ransom. As much as he also
wanted a proper lunch, the safety of his money... err, no... the
safety of his guild members was imperative.
...
Centurion Zenon Skyreaper liked the Guild Letalis leather armor

he wore. He designed it himself, after all... Not the crest on the
shoulderguard, though-- Maeva did that. But still, everything else
was perfect. Just like the metal version, it had spikes on it, and
was dark, and imposing.
Zenon looked undeniably awesome.
The next opponents they faced were a male and female pair from
an Iron-Rank guild, both wielding lengthy warbows, taller than
they were. Even though the arrows were blunted, getting hit would
leave a bruise even through their defensive leathers.
Crossing his arms to look as imposing as possible, he smirked at

his duo partner through his half-helmet, Tanamar, "What do you
think, man? We should be able to beat them in a ranged match-
up?"
Tanamar shrugged, "We'll see."
Zenon crinkled his mustache. There was one thing about working
with Tanamar as opposed to his Optio. There wasn't as much
thinking involved... not that that was a bad thing.
When the gong rang, Tanamar rushed out towards the center of
the arena, immediately firing his divine arrows at the two archers.
Zenon's ⌈Wind Sphere⌋ spell was easy to dodge from a distance,

so he held back, ready to cast a ⌈Wind Barrier⌋ on his duo if
necessary.
But... the two archers were rushing forward, heedless of the

danger.
"What... are they doing?" Zenon furrowed his brows.
Tanamar didn't respond, instead forming a lance out of mana and

rushing forward to meet their opponents in close combat.
...
Tycon watched from the stands, seated quietly even as the crowd
around him stood up to shout their various cheers and
obscenities. He felt like some of them shouted just to... shout.
Athanasius Mors, the twin brother of Gladiator Orcus, was favored

to win... especially after word had got around that Athena
Vanzano and her duo had swept the junior championships with
ease.
The Holy Lancer entered close combat with one of his archer
opponents... which was a reasonable tactic. However, the Eastern
States archer hooked Tanamar's leg with the end of his longbow...
then with a flourish and spin, dropped him to the sands.
Grounded, Tanamar was hard-pressed to dodge the subsequent

arrow shots, rolling around in the blood-curdled mud like a worm.
"Trip 'em baaaack!!" Sorina yelled, "TRIP 'EM BAAAAACK!!"

Tycon could hear the desperation in her voice. He surmised it
likely that the Calculator had a substantial amount of coin riding
on the duo's win.
He shook his head, "Ridiculous. Neither Zenon nor Tanamar have

trained for such tactics. To suggest such a thing is--"
Tycon felt his eye twitch as he continued to watch.
Parthenope crossed her arms, mirroring Tycon's posture, "OooOh.

Athanasius tripped him back."
"That's a good thing, right? Sir Tycon?" Athena prodded, "My

Tanamar's doing really well, right?"
"I think... that should be okay," Victorius offered quietly.
Tycon stood up, abruptly, "I'm going to purchase an ale. Maybe

two. Would anyone like anything while I visit the food stalls?"
"Oh, get me an ale too, Sir Tycon," The useless blonde footman
asked.
"One of the stands has grilled chicken hearts on a skewer!" The

slightly less-useless twin-braided girl with good taste in food
requested. "They're great! --But they might be sold out by now."
"Um. Aren't you going to watch the rest of the fight?" Athena
asked.
"No," Tycon glared.
"Oh... uh... Get me some sweetbread, if it's okay with you, Sir
Tycon."
Some ales, skewers, and sweetbread. Tycon departed to

complete his latest mission.
...
Three ales later, Tycon was better prepared to watch the

remainder of the matches.
Tanamar and Zenon had won against the archers.
Of course, they did.
Tycon wanted to strangle both of them for their unnecessary and

ostentatious show... but they won. On the battlefield, attaining
victory was more important than the methods.
...He would devise a training regimen to address their shameful

display... but that would come later.
The Letalis duo then faced an... all Popoto team. They won
easily... at the cost of appearing they were bullying children.
"Yasss!!" Popoto Potata Pota shouted, "Die, trash!!"
As much as the young Potata had insisted she did not enjoy the
violence, she... was rather exuberant, seeing her allies win. Tycon
decided not to question it.
...He made a mental note of it, though. It wasn't impossible for him
to cultivate her bloodlust towards developing combat skills.
Korr held a stern expression throughout the matches. Tycon

assumed she wanted to fight. Was she eligible for the
tournament? He wanted to ask the veteran mercenary about her
age... but he judged the risk of injury or death not to be
worthwhile.
"I want... steak for dinner," She whispered.
...Or she was preoccupied because she was hungry.
For Tanamar and Zenon's third match, the opposing team

forfeited. That duo was reported to have incurred harsh injuries in
their prior match. Otherwise, it might have been due to fear or a
healthy respect for Tanamar's and Zenon's painful arrows and
wind blasts. Whatever reason behind it, Letalis was better off for
it.
As the matches were determined earlier by random lottery, Guild

Letalis had beaten three of four teams, with the final bout to
determine the tournament champions. The defeated would have
more matches afterward, scrambling for second and third place.
Interestingly enough, the entire coliseum was in an uproar... as

the remaining team hailed from the Free Nation.
Nationalism was a strange concept.
It is a mostly human trait to be so insistent upon claiming

ownership to a group. A family makes sense, caring for the
children and the elderly. A close-knit group of families, a village, or
town... those made sense. A guild or adventuring company... an
army, even-- they banded together for common cause, which fit
the family model just as well.
A nation was different. One couldn't choose where they were

born. There was no... virtue, human or not, from being born in the
Holy Country of Tyrion or in the Free Nation of Brel.
Even still, the surrounding crowd of Tyrion men and women

shouted with pride for every victorious motion made by the Tyrion
Guild Letalis. Conversely, they booed and jeered the archer team
from the Eastern States.
Humans would take pride in the things they associated with. That
much was given.
Ultimately, though, Tycon was unsure of how he felt about the

current circumstances. Based on his ancestry and fragmentary
memories, he, himself, was Tyrion. Further, he was currently
acting as a Tyrion Decanus... and had been amongst Tyrions for
well over a year.
Still, he was technically a Prince of the Free Nation. He couldn't

feel completely comfortable about the crowd's negative disposition
towards those who were theoretically his kinsmen.
Due to the rising raucousness, it was announced that the

presiding officials would speak to address it.
Chapter 408 Archbishop’s
Speech
Tyrion. The Holy Country.
The nation valued honor and righteousness. The empires of old

touted the glory of humankind.
Granted, these values also propagated the eradication of 'lesser

peoples' and an illogical sense of arrogance amongst the Tyrion
people.
Still, sportsmanship and tolerance for their fellow humans was a

reasonable expectation.
Tycondrius assumed the speaker would be someone from

Caeruluem-- the Head Magistrate, perhaps. However, in the
presiding official's box, he saw the crimson-armored form of
Archbishop Natalya Crucis.
A wrenching dread roiled in his gut. That woman was very good
at... inconveniencing him.
He did notice something peculiar about Natalya's presence.

Standing at her side... shrouded in a dark cloak and hood, was a
very familiar dwarf.
Tycon knew him as 'Hark.'
What was he doing there?
Archbishop Crucis slammed the base of her staff against the floor
where she stood in the overseer's box, amplifying her voice to a
thunderous boom, "Sons and daughters of Tyrion!! HEAR ME!!!"
"WE HEAR YOU!!!" The crowd shouted.
"Do you see this?" She asked, "These... *people* dare to contest
us on our soil? To tread on our SACRED TYRION sands?? ...It's a
joke! I am INSULTED!!"
...Tycon did not like where this speech seemed to be heading.
"Our Tyrion is the mightiest nation in the Realm! The march of our
legions has melted the snow in Nemaya! Our silver swords have
purged the evil Lycans in the Free Nation! The Eastern States
struggle to emulate OUR weapons and armor, superior to their
pathetic nation for thousands of years before their savage states
banded together for warmth!!
"Our spears! Our arrows! They blot out the sun!
"Our shields, unified, are an unstoppable wall of death,

destruction, and total annihilation!!
"We stand united in our TENS. OF. THOUSANDS!! Our

WEAPONS are without END!! Our PURITY without QUESTION!!!
Our very souls sing of our FAITH! Our COURAGE!!
"Zenon Skyreaper!!! Athanasius Mors!!! GUILD LETALIS!!!! YOU

WILL NOT FAIL, ON THIS SUN!!!"
That... was not the type of speech Tycon had expected. He was
assuming-- hoping for a nice, polite talk about the spirit of
competition or fairness or honor.
He was so, very wrong.
The roar of the crowd was deafening. The Tyrions raised their
arms, they stomped their feet, they shouted themselves hoarse.
Popoto Potata Pota stood on her own chair, making embarrassing

noises. Even Athena was cheering her loudest, screaming how
much she loved Tanamar, except not 'like that' --whatever that
meant.
Tycon began to sweat profusely as the Archbishop's eyes met his.
She was looking directly at him. She knew he was here. And she
knew that Tycon knew that she knew.
Empty. Night.
Tycon took a deep breath to calm himself.
He hastily scanned his surroundings for an exit. If he needed to

escape quickly, he would do so before he was captured. He could
get to the rest of Letalis outside the city and warn them to flee...
and hopefully, Natalya wouldn't crucify the entire guild.
With his exit strategy formed, Tycon then analyzed Zenon and
Tanamar's opponents... a duo team hailing from the Free Nation.
A gaunt and sickly looking adventurer stood at the side and back
to his companion. He wore only a pair of tattered trousers that
went down to his knees, revealing black runic patterns inked on all
surfaces of his taut, leathery skin-- fully devoid of hair. Leather
bands covered both his eyes and mouth, effectively making the
gentleman blind and mute.
The highest level of the Caeruleum Martial Tournament was no

place for a fighter to truly have such handicaps... Tycon hoped
that the Letalis team would not underestimate the bald fellow.
⟬ Iron-Rank Human Deathshaper. ⟭
The other fighter strode up to the center of the sandy arena. The
man had dark hair, stained with a streak of white. Tycon surmised
it was either from a touch of death magic or... a unique style
choice. The fellow wore a long red coat, his muscled chest bared
to the crowd. He might have even been considered handsome...
Tycon was not a good judge of such things.
The man smiled, bowing towards the officials' box before raising
his voice, "Archbishop Crucis! I, Maboc of the Blackroot Clan,
have a request!!"
⟬ Maboc, Iron-Rank Human Riftwalker. ⟭
Tycon narrowed his eyes. The man had an illogically high level of
confidence to be able to call out Natalya, as he did.
In the Free Nation... an Iron-Rank did not approach a higher Rank

adventurer without showing ample respect. There were many
factors: family, adventuring company, Warband... but personal
strength was the most relevant.
Natalya was likely the most powerful Gold-Rank currently in

Ezyria. Speaking so brazenly posed him more risk than reward.
...What was he hiding?
Tycon was vaguely familiar with the Blackroots. They were a

smaller Warband from the northern, harsher, and less populated
regions of the Free Nation... Garock and the Screaming Silence
Hidden Sect made their homes there.
If he remembered correctly, they were known for practicing...

darker magics. Or at the very least, their style of magic and body-
transmutation would not be looked at kindly in the Holy Country.
Natalya looked down into the arena, sneering in disgust, "And why
would *I* deign to do so?"
Maboc raised his arms, addressing the crowd, "The Free Nation
sought the assistance of the Holy Country to purge the
Lycanthrope Plague from our lands! My nation is indebted to
yours! We only wish to prove our strengths-- that your faith is not
misplaced."
The crowd grew quiet.
Tycon thought for certain that he'd see a human explode, based
purely on how hard the Archbishop was glaring.
"Do not... EVER question the faith of a Tyrion, Maboc of the

Blackroot Clan." Natalya growled. "Speak... dog of the Free
Nation."
Maboc grinned... The shamelessness of it looked as if he'd just
feasted on a bucket full of shite and was about to ask Natalya for
more.
"Archbishop! I request that I and my companion, Gruffydd, be

granted permission to utilize the Free Nation's witchcraft!!"
The crowd erupted into boos and shouts and mockery. Maboc
was unaffected by their taunting, brazenly meeting Archbishop
Crucis' murderous gaze.
It was troublesome, the way Maboc had performed his request so

publicly. Natalya had spoken so much about her Tyrion pride that
refusing the mage would be akin to admitting weakness.
...Maboc was playing the villain. And Tyrions had an unfortunate

cultural weakness in that only they could be the heroes of their
stories.
The man was an idiot, trying to prove something to people who

have no intention of listening.
...and if that idiot half-succeeded, Tycon would be tied to a cross

and paraded across Caeruleum.
To that end, Tycon desperately hoped that Natalya would refuse.
"Your heretical magic is *nothing* before the might of Tyrion's

finest," Natalya scoffed. "Very well, witch!! Cast your spells and
know despair. Our Eternal Flame is superior to your tens and
hundreds of pathetic gods."
Of course, she'd accept it. That was very inconvenient.
Maboc bowed at the waist, "Strength is proved in battle! Not by

words!! Hear me, citizens of the Holy Country!! When we defeat
your heroes, know that the men and women of the Free Nation
are your EQUALS!!"
The man's speech was both honorable and righteous. Still, Tycon
hoped they would lose miserably... and preferably, as quickly as
possible.
...
Tanamar stood a dozen paces away from Maboc... Zenon

standing the same distance away from the bony and
malnourished Gruffydd.
Both of his opponents looked like trash. Still, they had been
undefeated in the tournament, so far... even going as far as
crippling the last team they fought against.
And they didn't use magic for that.
Apparently, the two Free Nation warriors used blunt weapons

provided by the coliseum.
In this match, they were both unarmed.
Tanamar's System let him know their classes... Deathshaper and

Riftwalker...
It told him almost nothing. They were probably magic users, just
based on the names... but even that was just a guess.
He and Zenon were fighting with a disadvantage. They knew

nothing about their opponents. Their opponents knew everything
about them, just based on their previous matches.
Flame take it... He wished his System's Analysis function worked

outside of Dungeons. He hated not knowing what his opponents
could do.
He almost wished he could ask Tycon. That guy always seemed

to know something he didn't... a little annoying, sometimes, but
useful more often than not.
"You sure do talk a lot..." Tanamar scowled.
"It's just a show, Holy Lancer Athanasius Mors," Maboc shrugged.

He swept back his dark hair, allowing the white streak to fall
beside an eye.
"Our honor's on the line," Zenon growled. "It's not just a show to
us."
"Honor~ Righteousness... Purge, cleanse, kill," Maboc mocked,

laughing quietly to himself... "Haha... You Tyrions are so boring."
"Mmmph!!" Gruffydd added.
"Lancer Athanasius," Maboc smirked. "My companion wishes to

inform you that he plans to stretch out your virgin arsehole."
Threats. They were a sign of a weaker man.
Zenon frowned, "These guys aren't taking us seriously,

Tanamar..."
Tanamar nodded back... "They'll pay for their arrogance."
Maboc pulled a suspicious red crystal from one of his side-

pouches, just as his duo, Gruffydd did the same.
"Hehehe..." Maboc chuckled, "I suppose we'll take you seriously

from hereon."
What in the hells were those?
« Identify. »
⟬ Khyber Crystal: A volatile mana stone, harvested from demon-

tainted creatures. ⟭
Chapter 409 Volatile Match-Up
ycondrius crossed his arms, watching and brooding. As the

T
match's results correlated to the level of danger to his life, he had
to pay attention. If the situation turned grim, he would attempt to
flee.
The Blackroot fighters had unveiled two spirit stones, clearly intent
on using them.
Khyber Crystals were troublesome and volatile power sources.

Mishaps with them were common-- explosions would occur as a
result of rough transport or mishandling... Sometimes even shifts
in temperature or ambient mana would render the crystals inert.
Sometimes it increased the size and lethality of the resulting

explosion.
The Artificers of the Kingdom and the Eastern States far preferred
more stable mana crystals for their power cores. Still, because of
their abundance and power efficiency, they were commonly used
by the forces of Bael Turath-- a nation informally known as the
Demon Barrens.
As Sol Invictus had some influence there, they were able to import
a reasonable amount of the red crystals at an acceptable cost.
It was commonly understood that the Tyrion Empire was the

oldest and most influential human culture in the Realm. However...
demons and devils had existed for far longer than humans had.
Modern Turathi magic was developed from abyssal and infernal
magic, modified for use by mortal hands from spells and
techniques hundreds of thousands of years old.
With that volatility in mind... using the crystals without a focus or

tool was reckless and potentially self-destructive.
The warriors of the Blackroot Warband did not want to wage a fair
fight against Guild Letalis. They wanted to win.
Archbishop Crucis' voice resounded throughout the coliseum,

"GUILD LETALIS!! By decree of the Church of the Eternal Flame, I
ORDER you to defeat these heretics!! The GLORY and HONOR
of Tyrion rests in your hands!!"
As the match gong rang, the Blackroots crushed their crystals into
powder. Sprinkling the mana dust upon themselves, Maboc began
to chant... and the two were covered in spheres of black fog.
It was dark magic, as Tycon had predicted. The dark ⌈Mana Ward⌋
barriers would effectively reject both Tanamar's holy arrows and
Zenon's divine wind spells...
Tanamar fired three useless mana arrows at Deathshaper

Gruffydd... the light of each, swallowed by the magical shields.
Zenon's condensed spinning spheres were just as ineffectual
against Riftwalker Maboc.
The mute Gruffydd moaned and screamed in pain, the sands

rippling from where he stood. His inky black tattoos glowed white
through his barrier... and thick, ivory-white bones pierced outward
from his flesh. Within moments, the Deathshaper had transformed
into a skeletal bear, twice Tanamar's size. Instead of meat and
entrails within the bone cage, the shadowy fog of Gruffydd's
⌈Mana Ward⌋ roiled within.
It was an interesting ability. The bear wasn't quite undead... it was

an external construct made of mana-materialized bone, with
Gruffydd well-protected inside of it.
Tycon glanced over to Sorina... The Deathshaper's style of

fighting seemed to be what the Calculator was trying to do--
except Gruffydd could manipulate his exoskeleton freely.
The massive bear loosed a shrill, high-pitched shriek, the stands

vibrating as the Tyrions in the crowd screamed in horror, covering
their eyes and ears. With a heavy bone claw, it swung a deadly
blow at Tanamar.
It seemed the silver-haired footman was a half-second too late to
dodge it... perhaps preoccupied by Gruffydd's ear-splitting roar.
Tanamar flew backward, hitting the sand hard, tumbling and

rolling. The crowd gasped in collective fear... but Tycon had seen
Tanamar drop his physical bow and form his holy lance in time to
block the attack's force. Sliding upon the sand was certainly
uncomfortable... and the Iron-Rank physique strengthening his
arms might have been tested, but he was not so easily defeated...
...or so Tycon hoped.
"⌈Wind Walk!!⌋" Zenon shouted, casting his movement-increasing

spell on his duo.
The Skeleton Bear crashed two heavy paws into the ground,
flinging up mud and dirt... but with his agility enhanced, Tanamar
was able to roll and flip out of the way. Getting to his feet, the
young man formed two holy pila out of mana, hurling them at his
theoretically defenseless opponent.
The spears found their marks in between the bear's rib bones--
the shadows inside erratically swirled and twitched, as if in pain.
Unfortunately, it did little to slow the bear's movements, and
another lunging claw swipe took Tanamar off his feet. The
footman spun backward through the air and smashed face-first
into the coarse sands, causing a murky cloud to billow up and
hide his form.
Popoto Potata Pota had covered both eyes. Athena watched in

horror, tears already beginning to stream down her cheeks. Sorina
was shouting obscenities, tears also falling freely. Though the two
in the arena could not hear her, she was desperately pleading for
Tanamar to rescue her earnings.
Tycon glanced at the nearest exit. The path remained clear,

enough.
The Blackroots' ⌈Mana Ward⌋ needed to be broken... either a burst

of damage had to be high enough to break its hardness or Letalis
needed to wait for its effectiveness to weaken over time. By then,
Maboc and Gruffydd, both, would be suffering from mana fatigue--
or worse.
If Zenon and Tanamar could hold out long enough, they would
gain the advantage. They just had to survive, until then...
...
Centurion Zenon Skyreaper shot his arms upward, palms to the

sky. He focused his mana into a more powerful ⌈Wind Sphere⌋. He
could sense Maboc's ⌈Mana Ward⌋ growing weaker... All he had to
do was break it-- just one of them, either would do... Then, he and
Tanamar could defeat them, one by one.
"The Flame burns ETERNAL!!" Zenon's eyes grew hot, burning

blinding white with mana. He felt his head begin to ache as he
pushed both himself and his faith to his limits.
"Tch. Praise the statistically implausible bonfire!!" Maboc scoffed,

"You are a JOKE, Librarian Zenon!"
It was useless talk from someone who was about to die. Zenon
had heard such things all his life. There was no reason that mere
words would affect him when he was being serious.
Zenon could feel the twitching strain on his arms and back as he
muscled his sphere forward... "DIE!!! HERETIIIIIC!!!"
Chapter 410 Time To Leave
enon's spell enveloped the spot where the Free Nation mage
Z
stood, and it burst with bright, domineering light. Rocks and debris
struck against the magical shield guarding the crowd from the
happenings inside the arena.
The power of a single Tyrion's faith was nothing short of

awesome.
Tycondrius was forced to narrow his eyes to thin squints, peering

through the magical eruption. He'd feel much better after
witnessing Maboc's corpse.
In the silence that ensued, Victorius gulped... "Did... did he get

him?"
Tycon sighed loudly.
Zenon did not.
The white glow on the sands swirled and shifted... then all at
once, transformed into smoke and shadow.
Maboc reappeared outside of the crater formed near the arena's

center... "Hmm... I'm glad I saved a ⌈Riftwalk⌋ for such an
occasion."
...
"No... N-no... It can't be." Zenon winced as his recklessness finally

caught up to him. His entire body began to spasm, furiously trying
to replenish all the mana he'd expended.
In his righteous fury, he'd drawn too much power. He tried... but
failed to keep standing, dropping to a knee while the witch stood
over him.
"You think yourself a hero, Librarian?" The witch sneered, thinking

he had won.
"I'm just a man... a man who has no patience for your heresy,
Witch," Zenon scowled.
Maboc slapped Zenon across the face, the shock of it snapping

him out of his fatigue. Before he could recover, though, Maboc's
magically-empowered kick struck Zenon's stomach and sent him
sprawling into the dirt.
"Magic is neither good nor evil, Tyrion." Maboc shook his head as
he walked, "What it is, however, is power. And that power, you
must respect, 'lest it be your downfall."
"⌈Aspect of the Winged Seraphim!!⌋" A voice called out,

accompanied by a magical screech, like a Tyrion hawk.
From halfway across the arena, Tanamar burst upwards through

the cloud of sand... Six glowing wings of light blazed on his back
and shoulders. In his hands was a glowing beam of light-- a holy
lance.
Tanamar... that man was a hero.
Zenon smirked, "You'd better respect that."
The silver-haired angel flew high up, then plummeted down, his
spear directed at the Riftwalker. Upon collision, earth and rock
erupted high up into the air. Zenon shielded his eyes while
controlling the wind to sweep away the clouds... and once again,
Maboc was gone.
Tanamar stood up, flourishing his spear, wings flared outward.
Hero pose. Nice.
"Tanamar..." Zenon coughed painfully... "I already tried a big, all-in

attack."
The silver-haired youth raised an eyebrow, "I figured he wouldn't
expect a second one."
"⌈Riftwalk...⌋" A frustrated voice emanated from a puff of shadows,

a dozen paces away. Maboc stepped out of the darkness, his left
sleeve dripping with blood from a deep laceration.
"So your holy lance is stronger wielded rather than thrown..."

Maboc wiped a rivulet of blood dripping down his nose. It looked
like he suffered a bit of mana feedback from consecutive casting...
"Your *trick* is commendable."
Tanamar began to circle Maboc, "Zenon, get up, man. We only

have a few seconds to flank this guy in close combat."
Zenon swallowed hard, "I... didn't bring my weapons. I left them all
at the estate."
Tanamar furrowed his eyebrows... slowly rotating his head to look

back. His eyes widened, staring at Zenon's empty hands.
It really shouldn't have been a surprise. Zenon had been unarmed

for every single one of their previous matches.
"Zenon..." Tanamar grimaced.
"Yeah?"
"Are you f*cking serious?"
"Wh-what? YES!! Why don't you just use that crazy cloud-splitting
arrow thing??" Zenon countered.
"What? My ⌈Oath⌋ arrow? I can only use that on monsters!!"

Tanamar shouted.
"That's a load of bull..." Zenon's eyes widened as he looked past

his duo, "SPLIT!!"
The ground below rumbled under the pounding of massive

skeletal bear claws as Gruffydd barreled towards them.
Tanamar ducked down, then leapt skyward, flapping his wings for
height.
Zenon began sprinting away before leaping to the side,

whispering to the winds for a little bit of safety. With the briefest
touch of magic, he barely avoided being crushed by the
stampeding bear.
Flipping onto his back, he found it was as safe as he hoped-- but

not for him, "Tanamar!! Watch out!!"
A dark blot sped into the air, rushing towards Tanamar from a
blind spot... then like a raven snatching airborne prey, Maboc
grabbed hold of Tanamar's throat.
Two winged humans levitated in the air, a mix of shadowy ink-

black feathers and soft, white down floating gently downward.
"Angelic magic... Very impressive," The Riftwalker grinned.

"Lancer Athanasius, you are aware that angels are not specific to
Tyrion, yes?"
Tanamar glared hatefully, struggling to free himself from Maboc's

grip, "Oh, f*ck you."
"Hah! Hahaha! HAHAHAHA!!!" Maboc began to charge mana

through his outstretched arm. Tanamar's body began to twist and
writhe, convulsing as violent, purple-colored bolts of energy
snaked his form.
Tanamar didn't even have the chance to scream.
Unconscious and with his wings fading away, the silver-haired

angel fell back down towards the sands... towards the waiting
claws of Gruffydd.
...
It was time to leave.

Tycon pulled his hood up and began making his way through the
crowd-- even going as far as to silently use ⌈Shadowfang Strike⌋'s
movement effect to increase his speed.
He had to exit the seating area, then bypass one or two more
checkpoints before he would feel safe. Depending on the amount
and activity of the lazy, underpaid guards, he even considered
finding a place to hide within the coliseum... maybe even in the
gladiator pits.
...He could use a private room, as well. As much as he wished to

avoid the sewer systems, he could transform and slink through a
drainage pipe.
The walls! He could scale a wall to freedom!
"Hold it right there, boy," A crotchety but familiar voice demanded.
An old dwarf reached out a hand to grab him... but Tycon

reflexively swayed his body to avoid it.
"Eh? Slippery as a snake..." Hark frowned.
The dwarf also wore his hood up... but backing him were shield-
bearers wearing the armor of the Church, Bronze and Iron-Rank
in strength.
Tycon briefly considered evading capture... but that course of

action would be exceedingly difficult. He would need to leave the
Holy Country to evade the relentless dogs sent by the Church of
the Eternal Flame.
Chapter 411 Capture
ycondrius' irritated gaze drifted over the paltry force sent to

T
capture him. He felt pressured because they were agents of the
Church... but as only two of the enforcers were Iron-Rank, he did
not feel *threatened.*
If he were to simply undim his vision, his ⌈Vexing Gaze⌋ skill could
cripple or kill nearly all of them.
The dwarf did have a unique class... but as Hark was also Bronze-
Rank, he would die just as easily.
"Mister Harkus, is this the Decanus the Archbishop wants?" An

Iron-Rank enforcer asked.
"Aye..." Harkus glowered at Tycon, holding up a clenched fist...

"You... boy... You owe me forty slugs."
That was the most preposterous statement Tycon had heard in

moons.
He pulled his hood down, glaring sharply down at the

unreasonable dwarf. Tycon was annoyed before, but the dwarf's
accusation made him furious.
"Forty silver pieces..." Tycon scowled, "Are you trying to rob me,
Master Dwarf?"
"What?!" Harkus stomped, pointing and shouting. "Me? You're the

thief! Triple-thief!!"
"I. left. five." Tycon insisted through clenched teeth.
"That barely covered gratuity, you knuckle-headed soft-skin!"

"Tss, gratuity?!" Tycon scoffed, rolling his head back-- it was
almost inconceivable, what he was hearing, "I'll be a cold, rotten
corpse before I pay gratuity for take-out food!"
"Is there an... issue, Mister Harkus?" An aged, white-bearded man

in Church robes had approached while the two were arguing.
"Stay out of this, boy!" Harkus growled, "This is personal!"
Tycon crossed his arms, "I'm willing to pay you back the thirty
silver."
"Forty!!" The dwarf showed four of his fingers, likely to remind

himself how many tens there were in the number.
Tycon lifted his nose in disdain, "I refuse."
"Ahem," The robed man cleared his throat. "Mister Decanus... you
are *requested* to accompany us to the Officials' seating area...
you, House Vanzano, and Guild Letalis..."
Tycon pursed his lips, "And who the h... mm..."
...He took a deep breath to calm himself, taking a long look at the
white-bearded senior, "May I ask who you are?"
The aged human was being a self-important prick, but he did

appear to be one of Natalya's dogs. If he was powerful... or
important, then Tycon would grant him a basic level of respect.
Unlike that contemptible dwarf...
« System, analysis: Class and power level. »
⟬ System response: Class and rank hidden by a magical effect. ⟭
Tycon pursed his lips, mulling over the error message his System
returned.
It was not the first time his analysis function failed.

His System could not accurately assess the personal information
of other transmigrators... nor could they glean information about
him. After Tanamar was revealed to be a Holy Lancer, Tycon's
System did update his classification... but as the footman still
believed that he was an Iron-Rank Tactician, it appeared that at
least their two Systems operated on a 'best guess' principle.
However, Tycon had never sensed such an error before. It

specified that a magical effect was nullifying his ability...
What could be the source? A long-duration spell cast once a week

or sun? No... a worn item, more likely. Such a spell would logically
be enchanted to a neckpiece... Failing that, a ring or head
adornment.
The old robed man straightened his back, pushing his chest out, "I
am Holy Magus Antonidus, the Head Magistrate of Caeruleum."
Arrogant. Confident. And with the low thrum of First-Circle magical

power.
While 'Sanctified Psykers' were intimidating to typical Tyrions...

Tycon was not impressed. It was as if the Magus didn't realize that
he was close to the Iron-Rank Librarian in the ring... the one
getting badly beaten in front of his friends, his peers... and his
organization.
Anyroad, Zenon was capable of consistent Second-Circle casting.

The First-Circle aura that Antonidus emanated was a joke in
comparison.
With the Magus' power level, Tycon discounted the fellow's ability
to cast an anti-scrying spell with a duration that lasted more than a
bell or three. Observing the human's belongings... he noted that
he wore no helm or circlet. He did wear a single expensive ring...
but that was non-magical.
Against his better judgment, Tycon tugged on the Magus' beard,

"Head Magistrate... does your station grant you power over me? A
Decanus of Tyrion?"
Underneath that beard... was a cloudy-crystal hanging from a thin
chain.
« System, identify: The crystal around this fool's neck. »
⟬ Amulet of Obscuration. First Circle Magical Amulet. Hides the

wearer from analysis, divination, and scrying effects.⟭
There it was.
The object was interesting. Such an item wasn't so simple to

make... and brought up a more interesting question... Why would
this old fogey have the need for such an item?
Also, Tycon wanted one for himself. He didn't like the thought of
being tracked... but he did not go out of his way to craft such an
item.
"You dare..." The Magus clenched his teeth.
From a shift in the air and Tycon's close proximity, he sensed that
the old man was silently casting a hostile spell... in the middle of a
public area.
The man was mad if he thought Tycon would allow him to do as

he pleased.
Casually raising his hand, Tycon flicked his forefinger at the very
center of Antonidus' solar plexus. The shock of it would have been
similar to a solid punch, jostling the man's organs in his ribcage.
Predictably, the shock to the man's lungs found the Holy Magus
unable to breathe, awkwardly gawking with his mouth open.
Tycon twisted his lips to the side, displeased with his execution. If
he'd waited a moment longer for the Magus to muster his mana,
interrupting his cast would have forced him to suffer a magical
rebound.
Seeing the fool spit blood onto his white Church robes would have
been so very satisfying...
Antonidus finally caught his breath, taking a half-step backward
and coughing into a closed fist.
Tycon smiled politely, choosing not to bring attention to it.
Sorina wished to expand House Vanzano's businesses into Trade

City Caeruleum. The 'Head Magistrate' was pathetically weak.
Tycon could leverage Athena's championship victory, as well as
threaten the human with physical harm, in order to achieve
Invictus' goals.
Depending on how the Magus acted in the near future, Tycon

could also choose to visit him after the tournament's conclusion.
He could literally pierce a Gold-Rank knife-hand through the
fellow's chest. Then, the fool's amulet would be his for the taking.
All this was possible... provided that he wasn't jailed or crucified

by morning.
Chapter 412 Righteousness
" BOY!!!" Dwarf Harkus gnashed his teeth in rage, "You can't just
tug on a man's beard like that!! It's. Rude!!"
It seemed that no one noticed Tycondrius' subtle attack. He was

not amongst peers with very high levels of combat perception.
"Hmph," Tycon rolled his eyes. "I would like to inform the lot of you
that Holy Magus Antonidus' beard is in fact, real."
"Of course, it's real!" Harkus insisted. "If you can't trust a man's
beard, how can you live your life trusting anything at all?!"
The enforcer who spoke earlier stepped forward... "Gentlemen... if

I may, it would be rude to make the Archbishop wait..."
...
Centurion Zenon put all of his strength into his fist, throwing it
directly at Maboc's face.
"Gaze into the fist of the RIGHTEOUS!!!"
Maboc swept his white-streaked black hair back, simultaneously

blocking the punch with the meat of his forearm. Sweeping his
opposite hand to the side, Maboc then splashed a glob of dark
magic at the Librarian's chest.
It was... a force spell. Zenon flew back so hard that he tumbled

against the dirt and filled his mouth with arena sand. His helmet
had flown off in the exchange, rolling away-- like it wanted nothing
more to do with him.
Zenon choked and spat... it tasted like blood.

A shadow emerged from the murky dirt clouds. It was Maboc,
walking slowly towards him, "Librarian Zenon... Just how long are
you going to rely on your... righteousness?"
The Riftwalker shot an arm skyward, coalescing a sphere of dark

energy twice his size above him.
Zenon's mind sped, realizing that the witch, still covered by his
shadowy barrier, would be immune to his own spell. Acting too
many milliseconds slow, Zenon scrambled away, leaping for extra
distance as the black orb exploded with a wet pop.
Propelled by the spell's effect, he slid on the sands on his side.

He'd lost a lot of skin on the outside to his right arm... but he was
able to breathe a sigh of relief.
He'd narrowly escaped death.
Then, Maboc smashed a heavy kick into the defenseless Zenon's

gut.
"ARRRGHH!!!" He curled his body up in pain, feeling like an

absolute idiot for his carelessness.
"Tsk tsk," Maboc placed his boot down onto Zenon's chest.
Leaning over, he wagged his finger. "Whether you are righteous or
misguided... that, Tyrion, is decided by the victors."
"Tens of thousands of Tyrions can't be wrong," Zenon glared up

with clenched teeth.
"If you were a student of history, Librarian Zenon, you'd

understand that your very nation only exists because the Church
of the Eternal Flame overthrew the royal regime. It's not your
religion that is right... or wrong. It's all politics-- it's control. It's a
*leash* that prevents you from thinking for your gods-damned
self."
Maboc stomped down hard onto Zenon's gut, "Perhaps you

should consider surrendering, so you can save some of your
nationalist pride."
Zenon crawled away before vomiting to the side... There was
blood. That wasn't a good sign... "I'll... never surrender... not to
you, Witch."
Reaching his arms out to support himself... he slowly got back to

his feet.
"What can you do?" Maboc shook his head, "Your mana reserves
are nearly depleted... and it's not like you have a weapon to
challenge me."
Zenon clenched his fists so tight that he felt them bleed, "My faith
is my shield... My fury is... my sword."
"Oh, really?" Maboc raised his arms to his side, grinning in

mockery, "What does that make you, then?"
Zenon shut his eyes... What was he? Oftentimes, he thought he

was nothing... He wasn't the strongest Centurion. Sometimes it
felt like no one respected him. His closest ally was only around for
a single mission, and then he'd leave him too...
All he had was his identity.
Zenon swallowed the saliva caught in his throat. He put his fists
up, ready to fight with his bare, Flamescarred hands for what he
believed in, "I am... a loyal son of Tyrion."
"I'm sorry to say, Librarian Zenon..." Maboc grimaced, "I see

nothing but a coward."
Zenon blinked the sand out of his eyes... and Maboc was gone.
Flame take him.
A blast of magical energy slammed into Zenon's back, dropping

him to his knees. His fatigue mounted, the pain in his head
tightening like it was in a vice... He could barely keep his eyes
open.
But he could not fall... His Optio was counting on him. He was
getting beaten up in front of all of his friends. He couldn't even
escape the eyes of Archbishop Crucis.
He tried to will his legs to move... to get back to the standing. If he

was going to die here, he'd die on his feet.
Thick arms wrapped around his head and neck. Maboc was
choking him.
...and through the clearing clouds of sand, Zenon saw that

Tanamar was absolutely not doing any better.
"Because of your cowardice... because of your inability..." Maboc

whispered, "Gruffydd is going to snap your friend in twain."
"N... no..." Zenon struggled... but as much as he pulled, he

couldn't loosen Maboc's hold. He couldn't break free...
"No hard feelings, Librarian Zenon." Maboc's voice was... almost

apologetic, "You lost because your nation has failed you."
"No..." Zenon felt a single tear fall, "The fault is mine and mine
alone."
It all came back to that.
Zenon always tried his best. He always tried to be the better

man... to treat people as he wanted to be treated.
He never-- almost never got the respect he wanted. He was

always told to push forward in training. He was always told to
have faith. He was always told... to be patient.
But this liar... this deceiver... this... this heretic...
Maboc had bested him in combat, both magical and physical.
What was he missing? What was the difference?
Was the Witch's faith greater than his? No... none could question
the faith of a loyal son of Tyrion...
He felt his consciousness slipping away. He felt more tired than
he'd ever felt in his life.
But more than that... he felt angry.
How could he be so worthless?
He was so faithful.
Always faithful.
Yet faith... did not save Acolyte Diantha. How could he expect faith
to save him?
Chapter 413 Hatred
thanasius Mors was getting tired of being smacked around by a

A
giant skeleton-bear.
He was running low on mana. It was hard to think. It was hard to

breathe.
Broken ribs, maybe.
It was the hardest he'd ever been pushed since being reborn.
The whole ordeal annoyed the shite out of him.
His two opponents were a blind man hiding in a cage and a

coward who was only good at flying around the arena. They
weren't even Gold-Rank.
He and Zenon weren't outclassed or outskilled... They just had

that stupid shadow barrier...
Maybe he should have paid attention when Tycon deconstructed

that seal in the mountains... Or not. That was that guy's specialty--
and it wasn't even especially good.
Tanamar would stick to his own skills.
Like timing.
He took a quick step to the left, barely avoiding a swipe from

Gruffydd's claw. The attack smashed into the sands, but allowed
Tanamar to smash the blade of his holy lance against the bear's
ribcage.
It was a solid hit. He'd had a few solid hits. His arrow attacks were
useless on the shadow barrier and, while his holy lance was
stronger in his hands than thrown, it was more damaging to break
bones than not work at all against Gruffydd's ⌈Mana Ward⌋.
The skeletal creature brought down the force and fury of its
snapping maws. Tanamar absolutely did not want to get caught in
that thing's teeth.
He brought his lance up, jamming it into the creature's jaws. The
bear crunched down... leaving him with two broken halves of his
lance and almost biting his hands off at his wrists.
Then the creature retracted his bear arms.
Flame take him, he was an idiot.
When he let his guard down in that brief moment, he found

himself caught in a literal bear hug. His body was being crushed...
and he was being bled by the sharp points of bones he'd broken
himself.
"Hurr... hur hurr.... Hahhh...." The shadows within the skeletal

ribcage began to subside... revealing the cackling Gruffydd.
The leather bindings on his eyes and mouth seemed to have

fallen off... There was nothing in his eye sockets, like both
eyeballs were gouged out, and black smoke wisped out like there
was nothing in his brain. As Gruffydd laughed, Tanamar saw that
his tongue was missing, as well.
He strained himself, pushing, pulling-- struggling to get free.

Rotating his body, he was able to breathe a bit... though he was
bleeding out from the fresh stab wounds on his chest.
He was already starting to feel a cold numbness... at this rate, he

was going to lose consciousness.
But he was confident he'd be able to go out in a blaze of glory.
Tanamar whistled, "You are one ugly motherf*cker."

Gruffydd stopped laughing, his expression turning into a sneer... If
the man could talk, he'd probably say something like 'yOu'Ve
LoSt!! wHaT couLd YoU poSsSssibLy dOoOoo??'
Trash.
He didn't even realize his shield had gone down.
Tanamar clenched his right fist, "⌈Scatter Lance.⌋"
The two halves of his broken weapon shattered into a dozen

fragments of silvery mana. Frozen in time for a brief instant,
Gruffydd's raised both of his shaved eyebrows as if he saw
exactly what was coming. All at once, the mana rushed through
the skeletal cage, bursting in bright lights as it struck the
unguarded man.
"AHHHHH!!!" Tanamar screamed, pushing his legs off of the bear.

Finally freeing himself... he landed with his back against the hard
sand.
Gods damn it... He tried to struggle to his feet, but it was no use.
The best he could do was lift himself up to see his staggered
opponent.
He thought he could finally make something happen... but he had

taken too much damage to be any use.
...
Centurion Zenon Skyreaper felt the hot breath of Maboc as the

Riftwalker whispered in his ear, "Do not be a *fool*, Tyrion...
"I can feel what you are trying to do... You're desperate... clinging
to vestiges of hope..." Maboc's voice lowered to a predatory
growl... "If you ignite the last of your mana, you will die. Close your
eyes. Sleep. You have lost."
Lies. Deceit. Zenon would trust nothing that spilled from the mouth
of a god-forsaken heretic.
The only way he could prove his righteousness... was to win.
He threw his head backward, the satisfaction of breaking of

Maboc's nose almost making the pain worthwhile. Zenon
smashed his elbow into the man's chest, allowing him to finally
break free of his hold. Still weak, Zenon fell to his knees, crawling
away like a wounded wolf as he gasped desperately for air.
"You... augh..." Maboc wiped his bloody nose with his wrist, "This
changes NOTHING!!"
Turning back, Zenon struggled to his feet. His mana was so low,
he was barely able to steady himself. He couldn't think straight...
he couldn't see beyond the blur of dark mana flowing through
Maboc's body.
But he could still stand. He could still fight.
Something burned in his heart... it hurt. It made him yearn for

something... something he so desperately wanted.
Proof... proof that his faith was not wasted.
"FALL!!" Maboc yelled, "⌈Null Sphere!!⌋"
Another orb of dark energy sped towards Zenon.
Zenon held out his palm.
"Faith... is my shield."
The headache went away.
Centurion Zenon Skyreaper crushed the ball of dark magic in his

hand, tossing the mana dust away like filth.
He reached out his right hand, feeling blood and mana burning in
his veins... it was like his very life force blazed like a dying star.
This... this was the power he needed. Power derived from his
unforgiving god... he willed it into forming violent, cutting winds,
encasing his white-knuckled fist.
Zenon ground his teeth together, "Fury... is... my SWORD!!"
And then the heretic knew fear.
Maboc tossed another one of his pathetic spheres... and another...
They struck Zenon's body... staggered him...
He would not fall-- his BODY may break, but his WILL would not
be denied!!
The lands could be torn asunder by fire and steel! The bodies of
the screaming dead could pile into the thousands!! But sworn by
the ETERNAL FLAME, a true son of Tyrion will NEVER BREAK!!!
He pointed his left palm at Maboc's neck... "HERESY... must be

met... with HATRED!!!"
Fueled by hate, molded by man, magic swirled around the witch,

spinning him in the air and tossing him forward... into Zenon's
grasp. He lifted Maboc high above the sands, his hand a vice-grip
crushing the Riftwalker's soft, mortal throat.
"AND MY HATRED!!! KNOWS!! NO!!! BOUNDS!!!!"

Chapter 414 Healing Pants
anamar lied, broken and bleeding on the arena sands. He held

T
himself up by his elbows, helplessly watching a cripple in a cage
ominously walking toward him. Even though this was a
tournament... he was pretty sure he was going to die.
It pissed him off that he was going to be killed by trash.
It pissed him off even more that he couldn't do anything about it.
...Then a blast of torrential wind sent the bear tumbling backward.
"⌈Soothing Winds,⌋" Zenon stood tall, a bleeding, half-dead mess,

walking on two legs.
Tanamar's chest felt warm... and he felt his open wounds

immediately start to knit. He shot his eyes open wide, suddenly
awake, and energized.
He could fight. He could win.
He was so happy he could almost kiss the guy. Almost.
Tanamar smirked, "Zenon, you beautiful son of a b*tch."
Zenon chuckled to himself, offering a hand, "I uh... you're

welcome, bud."
Tanamar nodded, reaching up to clasp his hand around the

Centurion's wrist, "Let's end this."
...
Sorina was leaning over the railing.

⟬ Sorina Capulet, Bronze-Rank Human Calculator. Guild Invictus. ⟭
Tycondrius watched her closely to ensure that she didn't lose her
balance and fall into the arena. She was not the... most graceful
person.
"Boss, is Zenon wearing the healing pants you told me about?"

She asked.
Tycon nodded, "Yes, I do believe so."
"Isn't it kinda weird for a Wind Mage to be wearing healing pants?"
"...He can wear what he wishes to."
"This is great, though!" Sorina clapped her hands together. "This

means Invictus has a healer now, right? (We can charge the other
adventurers for his services...)"
Archbishop Natalya Crucis scowled at the drill-haired Calculator.
⟬ Natalya Crucis, Gold-Rank Human Hallowed Summoner. Church

of the Eternal Flame. ⟭
Natalya's attire was far more ostentatious than when he'd met with
her in Silva several moons prior. She wore crimson red
ceremonial armor that matched her hair. At her side was a staff
emanating so much ambient mana, that Tycon surmised it could
blow a hole through half the coliseum with a single wave.
"Preposterous." The Archbishop narrowed her eyes, "Centurion

Zenon belongs to the Church of the Eternal Flame, not to a lowly
adventurer's guild-- even if you are *Sol Invictus.*"
Seldin Korr crossed her arms, her one eye glaring through her
flame-red hair... not looking at all intimidating in her green summer
dress, "What is your relationship with Leader?"
⟬ Seldin Korr, Gold-Rank Human Raging Flame Knight. Guild

Invictus. ⟭
Tycon sighed internally. Natalya Crucis was a very important
person in the Holy Country... and Korr spoke to her frankly and
without honorifics...
Those two women were probably the strongest two existences in

Caeruleum. Korr could probably destroy the other half of the
coliseum. Why were the both of them being so hostile?
"Ugh..." Natalya grimaced in disgust, "Do not associate me with

your 'leader'. He is a tool, nothing more."
Korr turned to Tycon, clearly unhappy. She said nothing... but

Tycon could assume she wanted to know his opinion on the
matter.
But... why was he being involved?
Tycon grimaced, "My relationship with the Archbishop is purely

professional."
"Mmmm...." Korr pursed her lips... "Suspicious."
Tycon narrowed his eyes, slightly annoyed by the conversation,

"Why do you ask?"
Korr turned away... but after a moment, squeaked in a tiny voice...

"Gotta... make sure... they're good enough."
...Good enough for what?
The Archbishop placed her gauntleted hands on her armored

hips, "Oh, so now you're saying I'm not good enough?"
...
The winners of the tournament were announced. Guild Letalis had

won the championships in both the junior division and the main
event.
Tanamar was beaten severely, but he would recover, especially

with the assistance of magical healing.
Centurion Zenon Skyreaper had overdrawn much of his mana and
was in far worse of a state.
Tycon sat aside the bedridden Librarian. He hadn't woken up in

bells.
The duo had performed well... to a point.
Zenon, instead of working together with Tanamar and staying on

the defensive, had stubbornly taken the fight to the... talkative
Riftwalker. During the match, he had even displayed his
domineering side, using his wind magic to toss around his
opponent like a puppet on a string.
Tanamar was no better, insisting that he play 'Monster Hunter' and

trying to topple the biggest thing on the field. He would have been
crushed-- crippled or killed, were it not for Zenon's intervention.
Both of them were arrogant fools. But... these were the types of
people that were his friends.
Tycon could ask for no finer.
...concerning personality and loyalty, of course. He was fairly

certain he could find more intelligent companions if he picked four
adventurers out of a group of ten.
Zenon's physical injuries were healed by Adepts of the Church,

but going well past the limits of mana exhaustion, the extent of his
injuries were not clearly visible.
Admittedly, Tycon had expected the Librarian to explode. To draw

so much power... both internal and external, he may have
sacrificed his mind... or perhaps even his soul. In those cases,
even if Zenon was capable of waking, he'd likely have fallen to
Bronze-Rank and his future growth would be stifled to never
surpass Iron.
At the very least, Zenon's mana circuits had fractured... that is, if
they hadn't shattered completely.
Thankfully, Tycon had a solution... which was the only reason that
Archbishop Natalya Crucis didn't order Zenon immediately buried
as a hero.
Tycon was somewhat familiar with the cultivation techniques of

Hidden Sect Martialists. They often utilized techniques to develop
their mana circuits and the circulation of mana. If Zenon's
condition was salvageable, the Librarian could undergo a pseudo-
rebirth.
When a human fractured their bones, they would mend to become

stronger, more resilient. In a similar manner, if Zenon could repair
his mana circuits from shattered or near-broken... his potential
would rise exponentially.
As a lucky coincidence, Tycon had an expert he could rely on to

aid them... one that could guide an unconscious man in the
cultivation techniques of the Hidden Sects.
If Zenon could be saved... and if he had the will to live... then

Tycon would do all in his power to aid him.
Chapter 415 Centurion’s Fall
ycondrius flicked his wrist, activating his spatial ring and

T
summoning his Sword of Venom in hand. A Gold-Rank weapon
spirit inhabited its Orcish-runed scabbard... If it cooperated, Zenon
would have the chance to recover.
Placing the scabbard against Zenon's chest, Tycon gave a mental

order to his System.
« System, establish communication with Garock. »
⟬ Establishing connection... ⟭
Tycon shut his eyes for a moment, re-opening them to find himself
no longer in the Caeruleum gladiator pits, but instead, in the lush
swamps of the Free Nation.
...
Tycon found the old Orcish Samurai in his home, seated on the
floor and concentrating on his craft at a low table. Just as Tycon
remembered, Garock wore the simple clothes of a farmer... but
the set he wore seemed... cleaner, more cared for. He sat with a
straight back, focused and calm.
It was a bit different from when Tycon had met with the spirit
previously-- at the time, Garock was desperate to impart his
knowledge... regretful that he died so far from his home.
And hungry, a most terrible state.
His clothes, his posture, the isolated location they were in...
everything was illusory. Still, as the surrounding conditions
logically reflected Garock's mental state, the orc was doing much
better than he had been.
Garock held a paint brush, looking tiny in his meaty hands. With it,
he gracefully swept black ink onto a roll of paper-- beautiful,
flowing script worthy of being displayed on the wall of a tea shop.
...Perhaps even an upscale tea shop.
"Most impressive, Samurai Garock," Tycon nodded.
"What is, Warrior Tycon?" The orc drew a wide, gentle stroke...
elegant, yet powerful and domineering, "That a brute such as
myself is capable of making works of art?"
Tycon shrugged, "I was surprised that you knew how to write."
It was a relatively uncommon skill. He had forgotten that well-

trained warriors even in Orcish clans were expected to be well-
learned strategists, consuming books on philosophy, ethics, and
the art of war... That Garock dabbled in artistry implied he was
more important in his sect than Tycon had guessed-- or at least
had a solid upbringing.
Garock paused, placing his brush back onto a small ceramic

plate... "You are very good at making me upset, you know that?"
Tycon chuckled to himself, sitting on a nearby stool, "I apologize,

Brother-Garock. It wasn't my intention... this time."
Though he had a proper seat, he was barely taller than the

massive grey-green orc sitting on the floor.
Garock turned his body, frowning deeply, "I've already imparted all
my skills to you. What more could you want?"
"I need you to help a friend of mine restore his uh... his ki." Tycon
explained, "I'm fairly certain his mana circuits... no... his
meridians? are still serviceable. The fellow overdid it in his last
fight."
"That is certainly something I am capable of..." Garock crossed

his arms... "I have two questions: One, why would I do this for
you?"
"Because you're my loyal... friend."
Tycon had nearly said 'pet' but decided against it. That would be
rude.
Garock tapped his bicep with a finger, "You do not treat me like a
friend, Warrior Tycon."
"I brought cheesy sandwiches for lunch."
"...Second question: How do you propose I guide your... other

friend, considering my current state as a weapon spirit?"
Tycon pursed his lips, "You bring up a solid point. Grant me a

moment..."
« System, I'd like you to bring Zenon here, please. »
⟬ Establishing connection... Waiting for response... ⟭
« System, force connection. »
⟬ Setting overridden. Establishing connection... ⟭
Outside the hut, a human screamed... a familiar voice, though. It

sounded as if it were falling... and ended abruptly with a loud,
watery splash.
"That would be him," Tycon informed Garock. "Fallen into the rice
fields, it sounds like."
The orc's mouth twitched, "So it seems..."
...
Tycon and Garock strolled outside to find a naked Zenon, climbing

out of the flooded soils of rice.
"O-optio... wh... what's going on?" The Librarian asked.
"...Good afternoon, Brother-Zenon," Tycon greeted. "This is

Warrior Garock."
"Hello," Garock waved in greeting.
Zenon covered his nudity the best he could. The water must have
been very cold, "Wh-where are my clothes?!"
Tycon ignored his trivial issues, "Garock is a ghost. He will be

helping you repair your mana circuits-- using meditation or
something."
"A... a GHOST?!?" Zenon's eyes shot wide open, "Optio?? AM I

DEAD??!? Is this a heavenly plane?!"
"Don't be ridiculous," Tycon shook his head. "If you were dead,
your soul would be reclaimed by your god. And besides, planar
travel is forbidden in the Realm. You're currently in a comatose
state, lying in a bed and wasting away as we speak."
Zenon's expression changed from concern... to anger... to horror,

then finally to helplessness... "This... this sounds really serious.
Why don't you look concerned?"
"Oh, I am." Tycon shrugged, "However, I'm certain that you,

Brother-Zenon, can be concerned enough for the both of us...
Garock, can you help this gentleman?"
The Samurai grabbed Zenon's wrist with his thick hand, using a
finger to measure his pulse... "My first impression is... that it is
feasible. His meridians appear to have been forcibly... widened."
"Then the reason for his coma?" Tycon asked.
"His spirit's flow is weak," Garock grimaced, deep in thought...

"Hmm... That can be improved with my guidance... However... he
is a Tyrion. Will he accept help from me? A 'Greenskin'?"
"Don't be absurd." Tycon rolled his eyes, "Zenon judges people by

their hearts, not the color of their skin."
...Tycon felt confident in stating that because Garock didn't have

any fur. Zenon seemed to have an issue against those types of
people, for whatever reason.
"Ahh, very well..." The orc rubbed his chin, looking the human up
and down, "Is this true, Warrior Zenon?"
Zenon pursed his lips, "I mean... I've never met a uh... greenskin
before? I don't think I'm biased."
"The accepted term is orc, Brother-Zenon," Tycon chided.

"Greenskin is derogatory."
"Oh! Sorry," Zenon grinned sheepishly, bowing his head slightly. "I
didn't know."
"Eh, good enough," Garock shrugged. "Stand tall, Warrior. I

accept your apology."
Tycon nodded, "Does five days in the outside world sound

feasible? Warrior Garock?"
"Hmm... That's quite long, considering that time flows slower

here..." Garock crossed his arms, but then bared his teeth and
tusks in a wide grin, "Very well! I accept the challenge! We shall
spend the next few weeks focusing on adjusting Warrior Zenon's
spirit flow."
"...Teach him some martial arts, too." Tycon grinned. "Close

combat... He was a bit weak against his last opponent, in that
regard."
"O-optio..." Zenon sounded as if he were wronged, "That-- that

isn't fair. That last person used weird witchcraft!"
"Then you'll learn to fight and kill your 'witches' with your bare
hands." Tycon shrugged as he turned to walk away... "Or you
don't have to wake up. The choice is yours."
Chapter 416 Fake
oly Magus Antonidus scowled at the two gladiators seated lazily

H
across from him. If he could wind back time and choose to never
have invested in the Stormbrand adventuring company, he'd have
gone back and slapped himself.
So many years ago, the name 'Maximus' had outgrown Ezyria and
was known throughout all of Tyrion. Then word came around that
a new gladiator guild had been created... following in the footsteps
of the nigh forgotten guild, Sol Invictus, and was associated with
Maximus' noble house, House Vanzano.
The most heroic amongst them was a flashy, highly-skilled

gladiator. In his arrogance, he called himself Orcus, after the
legendary Tyrion hero.
He even called himself a god.
Since then, Antonidus had funneled money into their cause,

hoping that the popularity of the Stormbrands would return a profit
into his own businesses and win him powerful political allies.
But sometimes... he felt like all he'd earned was a spoiled brat and
his lackeys.
Tancred Mors sat, cross-armed, young, silver-haired and strong-

jawed... though the armor he wore implied that he was colorblind.
With a devil-may-care expression on his face, it looked like he
couldn't wait to leave this place and go back to taking opiates and
seducing whores.
His associate, Occam was around the same age, though the
heavens did not grant him the gift of handsomeness... or
decorum. He wore an eyepatch, refused to shave, and was
resting his filthy spiked boots atop Antonidus' desk.
Antonidus glared at the Cleric... hoping that he'd realize that his
domineering posturing was incredibly rude to a man who was
literally their patron.
Occam chose not to notice.
"Gahh..." Antonidus groaned in frustration, "Apparently, I've

learned that my faith in you two is as worthless as your win rate."
Tancred shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, "I would have

won if you'd let me use the Snake Spine Rod, you old thief."
"Agreed. We were fighting with a handicap-- you can't really blame

us for losing," Occam reached over to grab a random book off of a
shelf, idly flipping through it with his greasy fingers.
Antonidus slammed his hand upon the desk, "You idiots! Of

course, you can't reveal a Flame-taken *Snake Cult artifact* in
front of Archbishop Crucis!"
Tancred rolled his eyes, "I don't know why you care about that hag
so much. She's outdated."
The old Magus restrained his fury-- though he might have flipped
his office table if he had the strength to... But perhaps his
Stormbrand allies knew something he did not.
Antonidus impatiently tapped his finger on his wooden desk,

"Explain..."
"She's like a calendar..." Tancred leaned forward, grinning like a

fool, "A woman can't get a date after 31."
"Be serious, Mister Tancred," Antonidus leaned back in his

expensive chair, scowling hatefully at the gladiator so insistent on
wasting his time.
"I dunno..." Occam gazed off into the distance... "I'd clap those
cheeks in a heartbeat."
The Magus spoke through clenched teeth, "The plans must be

delayed due to your gross incompetence..."
"Sounds good," Tancred stood up. "Let's go, Occ."
"Right." Occam stood as well, stretching and yawning, "Ahhh...

Let's make like trees and get the f*ck outta here."
The two Stormbrands turned and began heading to the exit.
Occam still held the Magus' book underneath an arm.
"You can't just leave!" Antonidus couldn't believe the gall of these
men, "I'm not done speaking with--"
Two knocks on his office door shocked him out of his anger...
Tancred turned, smirking, "See you in a couple o' moons,

Magistrate."
...
Tycondrius accompanied Sorina Capulet, Athena, her pink-haired

duo, and footman Tanamar towards the Head Magistrate's office.
Athena, Theno, Athan...o. Naming senses in the Holy Country

were problematic.
Tanamar knocked politely at the old Magus' door, which opened to

reveal... the vomit-inducing colors of Reaver Tancred and the
Cleric in desperate need of a haircut, Occam.
...Tycon's two least favorite Stormbrands.
"Thanasius," Tancred grinned. "You did well."
Tanamar shifted his weight, showing his unease... "Thanks."
"Athena!!" Occam exclaimed, "How *you* doin'?"
The Cleric then not-so-subtly licked his teeth with his longer-than-
average tongue.
The young lady held onto Parthenope's hand, positioning herself

defensively behind the braided girl, "H-hello, Mister Occam."
They conversed briefly, exchanging some words, entirely ignoring
the presence of Tycon and Sorina. They did interact with
Parthenope... though Occam sparing the young lady a lascivious
leer was hardly notable.
The Stormbrands did ask about the 'Fallen Lighthouse'... a notion

that was blatantly lacking in actual concern.
Athena seemed a bit saddened having to explain that 'Mister Z'

had yet to wake. Tycon made a mental note to reassure her that
the Centurion was either going to survive and evolve to a higher
tier of power... or was already dead and did not need to be
mourned.
That should make her feel better. Certainty was more comforting
than uncertainty.
Eventually, Tanamar insisted that the members of Guild Letalis

had to see the Head Magistrate... at which point in time the
Stormbrands excused themselves.
Parthenope was perturbed by the entire ordeal, muttering

obscenities beneath her breath about the 'creepiness' of Cleric
Occam.
Her sentiments made Tycon silently approve of the twin-braided

archer.
"Miss Athena Vanzano! Guild Letalis!" Head Magistrate Antonidus

greeted their group with a smile, "Congratulations again on your
victory! How can this humble old man help you?"
It seemed Antonidus was playing the part of a doddering, friendly

elder. It was much unlike the domineering greeting Tycon had
received earlier in the sun.
Tycon did not hate that. That the man was easily capable of
playing two nearly opposite roles proved his capability as a
politician. Even when Antonidus met his gaze, his expression
didn't show a hint of guilt or even familiarity.
Earlier, Tycon had nearly pulled the fellow's long white beard off. A
certain level of reservation would have been logical.
...Maybe it was fake, after all.
Athena smiled radiantly, greeting the Head Magistrate with

unrestrained innocence and glee.
"This is Miss Sorina Capulet, House Vanzano's financial advisor.

We were hoping the city of Caeruleum would be able to work with
us and our new businesses!"
"Ah, yes, of course!" Antonidus nodded. "Let us work together for

the good of the city and for the coin in our pocket!"
"Fu fu fu~" Sorina smirked, pounding a fist into an open palm,

"And they'll give us their coin if they know what's good for 'em."
Tycon pursed his lips. Head Magistrate Antonidus was good at

playing his role-- whatever role he wished. If the old fool was a
slave to gold, then he could be trusted. If his motives lied
elsewhere, he would prove a dangerous opponent.
Chapter 417 Oathbreaker (Part
One)
hile Sorina was speaking to the Head Magistrate, Tycondrius

W
attempted to quietly excuse himself. He wished to seek out
Archbishop Crucis, who was likely still somewhere around the
coliseum. He wanted to request the return of his Ranger.
The worst she could do (within reason) was to refuse.
The Archbishop was a... somewhat reasonable person.
Athena insisted that Tycon take a guard... which made little sense,
as he was easily the *strongest* person in their party.
The young lady volunteered Parthenope... which was ridiculous.

Besides Sorina (who was a noncombatant) and Zenon (who was
comatose,) that girl was the *weakest* member in their party.
Tycon took Tanamar.
Besides him not wishing to deal with the overly excitable archer,
Tycon preferred the quiet company of the young gentleman...
Anyroad, he had a few things he wished to speak to him about.
"Is Zenon going to be okay?" Tanamar asked.
"I'll give him 50:50 odds," Tycon pursed his lips as they walked. "It
depends on him, really."
"Won't you get into trouble for... you know, getting your Centurion
killed?"
"Tss," Tycon scoffed. "If he does die, he did so serving his nation.
Last I checked, that's an honor... Besides, what can I do about it
now?"
Tanamar frowned... "You could leave Tyrion. Aren't you from

Alizeau? The Fairytale Kingdom?"
Tycon shook his head, "I have my reasons for staying... as I'm
sure you have yours for staying by Miss Athena's side."
Tanamar's eyes narrowed sharply... and he turned away shortly

after... "Right..."
Tycon raised an eyebrow, having identified a sign of vulnerability.

He decided to poke at it... for curiosity's sake, "Are your reasons
from this life or the one before?"
The silver-haired footman sighed, "She deserves happiness... in

this life and the next..."
Poetic.
"Hmph, there's no shame in that." Tycon mused... "Though there

was an issue I wanted to discuss, concerning--"
Tanamar interrupted him by holding up a hand.
Tycon immediately turned, keeping his back to Tanamar's. The

young man knew very well not to interrupt him... Whatever was
around was a far greater cause of concern.
He focused on his surroundings... searching for something

hidden... something dangerous.
The two of them were surrounded by civilians in the outer

hallways of the coliseum... The loser's division was still holding
matches. Hundreds of merchants and thousands of spectators still
milled about, away from the relative safety of the immediate
seating area.
An assassination attempt in this area would have a catastrophic

amount of casualties.
"⌈Aspect of the Celestial Hound,⌋" Tanamar quietly activated a
skill.
Briefly glancing back to the silver-haired footman, Tycon observed

the minuscule twitching of Tanamar's nose, reminiscent to an
Irvhir.
...If Tycon wasn't so tense, adrenaline rushing and ready to fight

for his life, he might have even found it amusing.
"Show yourself!" Tanamar demanded. He reached out, willing his

holy lance into existence, and snatched it out of the air.
Tycon saw the slightest hint of movement at his side... and he

immediately rolled out of the way, reaching for his short sword as
he tumbled on the ground.
Tanamar had already swung his lance, clanging against metal and
showering sparks, "You... what are YOU doing here?!?"
The humanoid-shaped transparent blur coalesced into a heavy

suit of armor, radiant silver and as large as a titanblood. It held a
suspiciously Dwarven halberd, barely able to keep Tanamar's holy
lance at bay. Steam seemed to escape from the armor's joints as
the halberdier strained to hold their ground.
⟬ Harkus, Bronze-Rank Dwarven Holy Blacksmith. ��
On second look, the armor's shape was somewhat dwarf-like,

thick in the arms and nearly as wide as it was tall. Its proportions
were 20 to 30% larger than Harkus actually was, but his new form
made sense if Tycon assumed he affected by a size-enhancing
transmutation spell.
Tycon elected not to draw his sword, standing and crossing his
arms instead, "Tanamar, stand down."
Harkus was obviously not trying to fight. His posture was entirely
on the defensive... and with his meager strength, the dwarf would
lose very quickly if Tanamar decided to strike again.
And besides that, the exchange had drawn a fearful crowd of
people, gathering in a circle around them.
Tanamar grit his teeth, "Not a Flame-taken chance! Tycon, do you

know who this guy is?"
"Ah... Not quite." Tycon placed his hand on his chin... "We did
share a few drinks the other evening, though."
The suit of armor's helmet turned towards Tycon, "And YOU still
owe me forty silver, boy!"
Tycon shook his head and sighed, "I'll give you twenty-five if you
stop bringing it up."
"Stand down, Athanasius Mors..." A female's echoing voice

resounded.
A second set of full armor materialized aside Harkus, the bloody

color of crimson. Tall and lithe, its curves implied both deadliness
and a sleek, feminine allure.
It seemed Natalya had dispelled her invisibility effect, so she could

intervene. Concerning that they were still in the Holy Country of
Tyrion, it was a rather flippant use of magic. Though magic in the
public eye seemed to be nigh synonymous to witchcraft,
Archbishop Crucis was using its effects merely to remain
undetected in a crowd.
Wizards were a strange lot.
"And who in the SEVEN HELLS are you??" Tanamar shouted.
...Oh... Hm...
One by one, the passersby began to kneel, each of them

recognizing the crimson-armored woman from her earlier speech
to the masses. The kneeling crowd was quite intimidating... and
Tycon could almost feel the fear and uncertainty emanating from
footman Tanamar.
Because Tycon was acting as a Tyrion Decanus, he chose to
salute. It seemed appropriate... and was preferable to kneeling,
"Good afternoon, Archbishop Crucis."
"Good afternoon, Decanus Tycon," Natalya nodded, her full

helmet hiding her expression but not the ice in her voice. "I would
see you and Athanasius in private. Immediately."
...
The Archbishop had two main complaints.
The first was that Centurion Zenon very nearly lost, which would
have embarrassed her in front of ten thousand Tyrions and
countless more who would have heard of it.
The second was that she did not like dealing with Magistrate
Antonidus. She didn't trust him-- but it was clear she didn't trust
anyone, Tycon especially.
She made no mention of Tanamar's rudeness. Either she had

forgotten about it or didn't think it important. Whatever the reason,
the young footman was clearly regretful.
As for the reason Natalya was complaining to Tycon... he had no

idea.
Chapter 418 Oathbreaker (Part
Two)
ycon assured the Archbishop that Centurion Zenon had a

T
chance to survive. When she asked for the methods, Tycon chose
to keep most of the information private. He did have to promise
the woman that the power source was spiritual in nature--
specifically not necromantic or void-borne.
Because of Tanamar's open rejection of dwarf Harkus, Natalya

explained in full... In doing so, she chose to ignore the complaints
of both of them. The woman did as she pleased... which was
probably what made her so difficult to deal with.
Some fifty or so years ago, Harkus had something of a career,

training the Tyrion elite. He would craft weapons or armor for
them, and then instruct them in their use, sometimes imparting
rare synergistic skills. One man, in particular, took the name
Orcus-- a reference to his respected teacher. That man became
the strongest Avenger known to the Church of the Eternal Flame
since the beginning of their written history... a title only held by him
and Maximus of Ezyria.
Orcus was celebrated in public, hailed as a hero and cultural icon.

A fantastical opinion at the time was that the other nations would
never dare to invade, solely because of Orcus' existence.
And unbeknownst to the Tyrion public, that Orcus took on another

title. He was the single greatest champion... of the Snake Cult.
Orcus was a hero... and that legacy remained. As a villain, the

Church called him something else... the Oathbreaker.
Swayed by the Snake Cult's ideals, the Oathbreaker turned
against the Church, leading a violent revolt with his signature
weapon, a greataxe with a haft made from a massive snake spine.
In the skirmishes that followed, more Church Acolytes, Clerics,
and Champions were killed than in any single event in Tyrion
history. He was finally defeated by a group of Avengers, mortally
wounded... but the damage had already been done.
In the Holy Country, the dead remained dead.
Living in shame for his student's misdeeds, Harkus adopted two

children, orphans from the Snake Cult War... their names Tancred
and Athanasius.
Trained for war... trained for righteousness and the importance of

never breaking their oaths... they would eventually come to find
their teacher's sordid past. After what was likely to be a series of
wild and useless misunderstandings, Harkus chose self-exile,
leaving the two young footmen abandoned to House Vanzano.
Tension remained between Tanamar and dwarf Harkus... not that

Tycon particularly cared for it.
If anything, he was glad that Tanamar's skills were a result of

training-- not something the footman was naturally talented at.
Tycon was a person who valued hard work. He did not have the
talent to grow quickly without it.
...Invictus member Pale came to mind... However, the boy

remained honest, humble, and good-natured, therefore was
tolerable.
Tycon didn't care for the history lesson, either. That had nothing to
do with him.
He asked Natalya for his Ranger back.
As she judged Tycon to have suitably fulfilled the details of her

mission, she granted him her favor.
Tycon bid Archbishop Crucis and dwarf Harkus farewell. He was
fairly pleased.
Tanamar, not so much.
Harkus remained furious at being owed coin... but Tycon proved

far faster than the dwarf could chase.
...
⟬ Two bells later. ⟭
Tycon descended into the deepest levels of the gladiator pits. A

few hundred years past, they were used almost exclusively for
prisoners, debtors, and slaves. Tycon imagined that the fights
involving them were boring... but taught some sort of moral
lesson.
Over the years, wanton slaughter became less popular... and the
advancement of healing techniques and magics reduced the
likelihood of critical injury. This enabled gladiatorial combat to
become a sport, a sensational show... The death of popular
fighters became synonymous to killing living, breathing
advertisements.
Dark, disagreeably damp, and musty, Tycon saw Lone behind

prisoners' bars. He was speaking to one of the attending guards, a
thin uniformed man carrying a torch and a club.
"What's the meaning of this?!" Lone shouted, "Why am I being

jailed... again?! I didn't do anything!!"
The bronze-skinned gentleman rattled the rusty bars of his cell. It

seemed like if he used enough force, they would break fairly
easily. He was stripped down from his gladiator armor, wearing
what appeared to be a simple cloth.
...It reminded him of the cloth-wrap used for small children, the
purpose to retain urine and fecal matter.
Tycon wondered if he wore that by choice.

"That's what they all say, bub," The guard sneered... "You're the
first to insist that you belong to the legendary Sol Invictus guild,
though."
The guard jabbed at Lone through the cell bars with his club. Lone
slipped the jab reflexively.
"But... but I am," Lone pouted.
It appeared that the young man didn't even notice he was

attacked. That was likely a remnant of his training. Tycon would
sometimes attack him mid-conversation...
"Sure thing, 'Lord Ranger'... Ahaha..." The guard mocked, running

his baton against the rails.
Lone released the bars before his fingers were clubbed, "Just...
tell me why I'm here..."
"Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat to reveal his presence. "You are
here, Mister Lone, because plans have changed."
The guard raised his shoulders, turning in a panic, "Who the--"
Emerging from the shadows, Tycon met the human's gaze...

staring him down, "I'm here to claim this man."
The guard panicked. Seeming to forget that he already held a

perfectly functional blunt weapon, he swiped his torch at Tycon's
face... which he did not even need to dodge. Cursing to himself,
the guard then dropped his club and reached for the sword on his
side.
Tycon snatched the man's wrist and rotated it outward. The

guard's knees buckled from the pain and he reflexively used his
opposite hand to tap Tycon's arm.
Because Tycon was a polite gentleman, he released the fellow.
"H-how did you get down here?" The guard spat, cradling his
injured wrist.
Tycon frowned... "I used... the stairs. I don't understand what
you're asking."
"I think he's asking who let you down here, Boss," Lone offered,
always willing to be helpful.
Chapter 419 Part Of Sol
Invictus
"Ohhh," Tycondrius nodded in understanding.
"Concerning *who* allowed me in this area... the fault would lie in

the gentleman at the front desk... or the female warden that
escorted me thus far."
It was a small oversight, but Tycon had neglected to ask the

woman her name... not that it mattered. The guard seemed
confused-- unsure what to do with the information he had
specifically requested.
"Boss!!" Lone shouted, rattling the loose bars of his cage, "You
gotta save me!!"
Tycon turned, scowling, "*That* is what I am doing. Why else

would I be here?"
"...Oh. Thanks, Boss."
"You there," Tycon pointed his chin at the injured guard. "Release
this man. He belongs to my guild."
The guard's face twisted from confusion to... what appeared to be

revulsion, "*You're* part of Sol Invictus?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes in judgment. He did not like the attitude
the guard was displaying. It baffled him that it did not change after
he did *not* break the fellow's arm... or the fact that he revealed
he was here legitimately.
"Indeed... I am... Is there a *problem?*"

"Yeah, there's a problem." The guard grit his teeth, "You're full o'
shite."
Tycon nodded slowly... Judging by the timing of the negative

colloquialism, he surmised that the human was questioning his
integrity... "Young man... are you calling me a liar?"
The guard shook his wrist and flexed his fingers, seeming to grow
a sense of misguided courage.
Straightening his back, he scowled, "Yeah, so what if I--"
Tycon grabbed the side of the guard's helmet and smashed his
head against the nearby wall, crumpling the ignorant fool to the
floor. Tycon then wound up a kick and struck at the fallen man's
abdomen. Then again. And again.
"I really don't understand why some people feel like they can say
the things they want to..." Tycon shook his head, "Your thoughts,
Mister Lone?"
Lone crossed his arms, "Uh... Maybe because he's a guard?"
"Still..." Tycon frowned, stomping the side of the guard's head,

"Regardless of social status, why would someone speak so
arrogantly to me while I am within striking distance? Is it truly so
unexpected that I lose my temper and commit assault... murder,
perhaps?"
"I mean... if you say it like that, it's not really that surprising," Lone
shrugged.
"Seven bleeding hells! What's going on down there?" A female

voice echoed from atop the stairs.
Shortly after, a familiar female warden walked upon the scene of

Tycon beating one of her guards...
She placed her hands on her hips, observing the damages...

"Decanus."
Tycon smiled politely, "Lady Warden."

"I'm assuming there's a good reason for this, Sir."
"Indeed, there is." Tycon kicked the guard in the mouth, loosening
several teeth... "Is it important?"
The Warden narrowed her eyes... briefly hesitating, "I would like to
know... for my own personal benefit."
Still keeping eye contact with the Warden, Tycon ground his boot
against the back of the guard's head, "Your man called me a liar."
The warden pursed her lips... "Very well... I apologize, Decanus.

I'll deal with him... I'd like to request you to stop."
"Hm. Granted." Tycon shoved the groaning guard away with a

final kick, "If you would, then, I'd like you to facilitate the release of
my companion."
"Of course, Decanus. If Archbishop Crucis wills it, I have no

complaints."
...
Centurion Zenon woke up from his comatose state... if briefly. He

was still relatively useless, barely able to keep conscious and still
unable to properly circulate his mana. It was overall beneficial for
him, though, as he became easier to feed.
However, with how little he had eaten in the past several suns, he
had to subsist on clear soups.
Lone was more than happy to eat Zenon's share. He had grown
used to the mediocre food quality while imprisoned at Turrim
Orientem. During his meal, he cried as he ate, all the while
offering high praise to the chef.
Tycon, as the self-assigned Master Chef of Guild Letalis, was

honor-bound to oblige the young man with additional food. Such
was the duty of an expert craftsman.
In private conversations, Centurion Zenon confided that he could

only train with Garock episodically. After a few bells of training, he
would drift off into a deep sleep.
It seemed that only Tycon could utilize the orc's illusory world for
longer periods of time. During his own training, he changed a
System setting to allow uninterrupted connection over several
real-time bells... a time that translated into weeks in Garock's
world.
While Tycon could not consider himself an expert at Garock's style

of swordsmanship, he had achieved middle completion with his
garishly named 'Demon Blade Technique'. He also learned how to
plant and harvest rice and gained competence at a two-player
board game called the Game of Generals.
He was more skilled at farming than at gaming.
Under normal rules, Tycon lost nine of ten matches. When he

introduced his pocket watch for playing with a time limit, he and
Garock won an even amount of matches. It was just as important
to make quick decisions as it was to think about the long-term
state of the battlefield.
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark got along well with the likes of
Tanamar and Athena, even despite his rough exterior. His
previous belongings would be sent to House Vanzano via the
Courier's Guild.
The young man did reach a breakthrough in his arena fights...

which was a surprise... though it was an unwelcome one.
According to Tycon's System, Lone had broken through to

become... an Iron-Rank Gangster.
While Iron-Rank was a great improvement... his class had

reverted to an offshoot of his original Ruffian path.
In order to readjust the young man, Tycon spent a rest cycle

mercilessly beating him-- a process he cleverly disguised as
training. It only took eleven different activations of ⌈Inspirational
Surge⌋ over about four bells of time for Lone to revert back to his
previous class... and rank.
In hindsight, it was probably more beneficial and less
psychologically damaging to develop him naturally. Iron-Rank was
a major milestone in an adventurer's life, after all.
Unfortunately, the damage was already done.
He'd develop as a Ranger or Tycon would kill him.
...
Heading back to the Vanzano Estate was pleasant for everyone

but Lieutenant Shao Ran.
For the Sea Wolf's transport, Guild Letalis purchased a barrel to

store him in, as well as a few kegs of fresh water to replace the
stagnated water on a daily basis. The barrel was then secured to
the supply cart, but still accessible in case Ran wanted to leave its
confines. Tycon wondered if transporting fresh fish to market was
a similar process.
Tycon had completed his quest in the Holy Country. As such, he

and Lone would depart for the Free Nation as soon as they
returned to the manor. He planned on retrieving Invictus member
Pale and, if reasonable, searching for the missing Tarquin Wroe.
He'd leave Sorina and Korr in Silva to finish up any loose ends,
business-side. Guild Letalis, of course, would also remain. In the
case of a world-threatening event, Tycon could send word to
Athena, asking for their assistance.
...Even if she refused, there were more than enough members of

Letalis loyal to Sol Invictus. With direction from Tycon, they'd
easily be able to mutiny.
Zenon would return to the Church, a bit battered... but he'd

recover to a stronger level than prior. Because he had won the
Martial Tournament in Caeruleum, the Centurion would
reasonably have more clout amongst his peers, as well as the
confidence to command respect.
His faith had been challenged, as of late... but in Tycon's opinion
(an opinion that did not agree with Church doctrine), questioning
one's beliefs promoted growth. Whatever he concluded, his faith
in whatever-that-was would not be so easily shaken.
Tycon would return to the Holy Country in a few moons, perhaps

paying House Vanzano a visit, if convenient. He needed to visit
Sasarame when her classes would briefly suspend in the
springtime.
Before he left, though, Tycon wished to have private

conversations with Tanamar, Zenon, and Athena. For Zenon and
Athena, he wished to thank them for their loyalty and faith. It was
certainly already understood, but verbalizing such things were
important to solidify their friendship. For Tanamar, there was
another important issue that needed to be addressed.
Tycon directed his horse, Anemone, closer to Athena's moving

carriage.
He knocked upon the door, "Miss Athena, it's me."
"C-come in, Sir Tycon!" Athena raised her voice. It sounded a bit
peculiar from outside... but Tycon was being invited in, without
issue.
Tycon opened the door, allowing a puff of frosty air to escape

before hopping in... "Miss Athena, Miss Parthenope, good
afternoon."
The twin-braided archer, Parthenope, was wearing a troubled

expression, "Hey, Sir Tychon... I'll uh... I'll leave you two alone."
The girl opened the opposite door, acrobatically climbing atop the
carriage to accompany the driver.
Tycon secured both doors and sat across from the young Athena
Vanzano.
She had been crying.

Chapter 420 Reasonable
Expectations
ycondrius quietly scrutinized the young Athena Vanzano. Her

T
eyelids were swollen and her eyes were red... Most obviously, her
teardrops had crystallized into small frozen droplets and were
scattered about the inside of the carriage.
Tycon narrowed his eyes to concerned squints... Why did

Parthenope leave him alone with her? He was not good with
children, especially ones with Athena's... condition.
Was she hungry? ...No, lunch was only a bell prior.
Injured? Also no.
"...Would you like me to get footman Tanamar?" He offered.
The silver-haired footman was generally useless... but Tycon had

run out of ideas. Tanamar could probably... fix whatever Athena's
issues were.
...Unless he was the reason for whatever-this-concerned. Perhaps

breaking the young man's arm for whatever he did would bring her
joy?
"Oh, no... It's nothing," Athena forced herself to smile... Another

icy tear sparkled down her face, which she quickly wiped away.
Tycon shook his head and sighed, "Even if you're being polite... I
believe it's a poor habit to lie to one's friends, young lady."
The frosty haired noble continued to sniffle, but shot back a grin,
"Ehehe... We're friends. Nice..."
"May I ask what's on your mind, Miss Athena?"
Athena looked out the window... "I'm happy that we won... but I
was just-- I really wanted mom and dad to be here."
A deep loathing bit deep into Tycon's heart. Greer and Marigold...
those people were not qualified to have a child as talented and
successful as Athena.
He hoped they were dead. If that were the case, their absence
would be somewhat permissible.
"Athena..."
"I mean, it's fine," Athena rubbed at her already raw eyes with her
wrists. "It's always fine. I'm okay."
Tycon sighed again, reclining back into his seat. "Thinking

logically... did you expect your parents to be in the crowd?"
"Well... yeah!" Athena insisted, "That's what parents do! They

support their daughters!"
Tycon grimaced... "Did you expect *your* parents to do so?"
Athena opened her mouth to speak... but her words stuck in her
throat... "I guess not..."
"It is folly to dwell on what you'd already expected," Tycon gently

chided. "The training was hard, was it not? You expected it to be
as such... and yet, you've never complained."
Athena crossed her arms and pouted... "I just... I think... maybe I
just want to complain, sometimes."
"That's fine..." Tycon chuckled, "Of course, it's fine. You are
among friends, after all."
The young lady began to tear up again... "I... I don't know what I'd
do... without Tanamar... without Theno... without you and Mister Z
and... Ran-Ran."
Tycon nodded, "Your allies can support you, as you support them.
These are healthy relationships that you must cultivate."
Her relationship with the people who called themselves her

parents, not so much...
Athena pursed her lips... "Can... can I count on your support, Sir
Tycon?"
"Tss..." Tycon scoffed, "To a point, yes. Be aware that I've

completed my quest in the Holy Country. Lone and I will be
moving on, soon."
"Oh..." Athena immediately became crestfallen, her gaze drifting

to the floor... "You're going to leave me... just like Maximus."
That was unfair. Tycon wasn't planning on dying anytime soon.
Tycon pursed his lips, slightly amused at the young lady's twisted
logic, "Are you trying to tell me that the young lady of House
Vanzano isn't strong enough to stand on her own?"
Athena frowned, "I had help! Lots of help!"
"Everything we have done... we have done to enable you. By your

own hands, you can prove your worth to those who dare doubt
you." Tycon placed his hand on his chin in thought... "What would
your brother say of this?"
Athena bowed her head, frozen tears dropping into her lap... "H...
he would tell me... to be brave. H... he told me... that... I... I'd be
strong... even stronger than he was..."
"Oh?" Tycon observed the weeping girl for a moment longer.

"Would he be proud of you for your accomplishments?"
She nodded, sniffling miserably.
"Do you truly need me..." Tycon leaned forward, steepling his
fingers... "--or is it just your selfishness?"
"I..." Athena hesitated... "It's... it's selfishness, Sir Tycon... You've
done so much for me, already."
"But..." Her eyes widened, "C-can you stay just for a little bit
longer? Let's go for a dungeon! Just one more! Please, Sir
Tycon??"
Mulling over the thought, Tycon steepled his fingers together...
...He supposed he could stay for a short while longer. He'd save
travel time from going back and forth from the Free Nation to
visiting Sasarame. Anyroad, the completion of his three quests
from Queen Rylania was not a time-sensitive matter.
Tycon chuckled quietly to himself, "Since you asked so politely,

yes. One dungeon would be fine."
...
The return trip to Silva was relatively uneventful.
No brigands seemed foolish enough to attack a caravan of carts

and a fancy carriage. Perhaps it was the black armored riders... or
maybe the dark banner of Guild Letalis dissuaded a raid.
A group of a half-dozen goblins stole Shao Ran and his barrel one
night. Tycon had to give the whelps a stern talking-to, but a lesson
was learned by both parties. Ran was recovered without issue.
Near the city proper, the caravan took a detour to drop off
Parthenope at the Aldini estate. Athena and Guild Letalis were
invited to stay for dinner, but Zenon had personally requested a
celebratory meal at the local Olea Garden.
In winning the championship at Caeruleum, Centurion Zenon

Skyreaper had nearly died. If the man wanted Olea Garden,
Tycon would ensure the man got his Olea Garden. Friendship and
loyalty were displayed, not with words, but with action.
Upon their return to the manor, however... one of Tycon's fears

had come to light.
Athena's parents, Lord Greer and Lady Mari-whatever had
returned from Passage in the meantime. More surprising... was
the fact that they were both alive. Horse and Jeremy had *not*
murdered them.
The two poor excuses for humans waxed and waned about their
trip.
They did not ask about the tournament... nor did they make
mention of Caeruleum at all.
Tycon knew that Athena would be upset... but as an awe-inspiring

credit to the young lady, she wore a patient smile and listened
politely to their drivel.
Afterward, the young Miss Athena excused herself to her room...
Tycon did not consider himself very good at dealing with the
nuances of human emotion. A few suns prior, he had spoken with
the young lady about perspective... If a negative outcome is
expected, an overly negative emotional response is illogical.
Still, even though Athena handled the situation well, she was
clearly unhappy about what had transpired.
Again and again, Tycon was placed into shite situations. To fix
them, he'd murder or destroy what he could... and he'd escape
from what he could not. He was not immune to cursing the gods...
sometimes, he would mock or berate his subordinates for their
foolishness. Nonetheless, he would act to mitigate whatever
difficulties he and Sol Invictus faced.
The most efficient solution, concerning certain difficult situations...

was to swallow one's pride in order to focus on survival.
As Tycon surmised that Athena would not be keen on murdering

her parents, he sought to raise her morale, instead.
He immediately sought the assistance of footman Tanamar.
...
Tycon entered the door to the male servants' quarters. Because of
the awkward timing in the sun, all of the Letalis members were out
training, while Victorius was elsewhere in the manor.
Tanamar was alone, which allowed Tycon to speak freely.
"Good afternoon, Tanamar," Tycon greeted the silver-haired

footman. "Go see to Miss Athena."
"Wait, what?" The young man furrowed his brows in confusion,

"What's going on?"
Tycon grimaced... He was hoping for a different, more positive

response.
"I apologize. Did you need... the situation explained?"
"Tch, yeah." Tanamar crossed his arms, remaining guarded.
"Through the process of induction..." Tycon began, "I believe that

Miss Athena may be 'upset' because her parents are selfish,
insensitive human beings that don't care about her
achievements."
"Oh... That's pretty rough," Tanamar uncrossed his arms, finally

sharing Tycon's look of concern.
"So go to her, then," Tycon gestured towards the door.
The footman averted his gaze, "I uh... I don't think it's a good
idea."
...Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Please. Explain."
Did those two get in an argument? He couldn't think of any other

reason that Tanamar wouldn't be rushing over to the young lady's
side like a Knight to a damsel-in-distress...
...or a... Tyrion Champion to a... High Priestess?
Tanamar shrugged noncommittally, "I'm not really good at

cheering people up. How about we send Doe? Or Sorina?"
Tycon resisted the urge to strike the young man out of frustration,
"You told me the other sun that Athena deserves happiness. You,
Athanasius Mors, are capable of bringing that to her."
"It's not me."
...Tycon felt his blood boiling in annoyance at the young man's

impotence. He unclenched his teeth and tried to keep his voice
calm... "What. the hells. is that supposed to mean?"
"Just what it sounds like..." Tanamar shook his head, staring at the
filth-covered floor... "I'm not the one that's supposed to bring her
happiness."
"You can't be serious..." Tycon rolled his eyes so hard he feared

for a moment that he might go blind, "Who in the seven hells is it
supposed to be then?"
The silver-haired footman grimaced, gulping hard... "It's... it's

Tancred..."
Chapter 421 Uncertain Future
anamar, real name Athanasius Mors, dipped his head in shame...

T
"Tancred... My brother. He's the one that's supposed to be--"
"THAT? Idiot?" Tycondrius shouted in disbelief, "No. Nooo.

Absolutely not. I refuse to listen to such nonsense. You can't
seriously be telling me that that.... toxic... garish ABSURDITY..."
His heart pounded painfully in his chest. His mana had begun to
circulate rapidly, similar to if he were in a life-or-death battle. If he
didn't fear obliterating the servants' quarters, he would have
immediately begun strangling the fool, crashing his weak Iron-
Rank body against the walls.
The notion he proposed was ridiculous.
Tycon's senses for emotion were... pathetically weak. Still, the

level of trust that Athena had for her footman was... exceedingly
clear. And that Tanamar cared for her was obvious as well.
On top of that, Athena openly rejected Tancred's company-- like

ANY rational female would.
Tanamar had grown silent, receiving Tycon's insults and shouts

without complaint. Finally, the young man took a deep breath...
and spoke in a small voice...
"I've seen it."
"Via your prediction ability?" Tycon growled, "Then your ability is

STUPID and you can't rely on it!!"
"Nah..." Tanamar shook his head... "I know how Athena's story
goes... This isn't the first time I've lived this life."
The Holy Lancer's bottom lip quivered as if he were about to cry.
Tycon was too upset to care.
Tycon took a deep breath, thinking over the situation. It had come
to light that Tanamar was a special type of transmigrator: a
reincarnator. He had previously lived a very similar life, with very
similar persons... and thus had the advantage of knowing
persons, personalities, and motives-- information he should not
have.
However, that knowledge was flawed.
"Tss... Hah... Hahaha!" Tycon scoffed, "You are a fool,

Athanasius!!
"Hey, I'm serious," Tanamar whispered. His voice cracked,

revealing his uncertainty. "You're the only one I've told about
this..."
"The future can be changed," Tycon insisted, each word dripping

with annoyance.
"It... changes, yes..." Tanamar softly admitted, "But the results

don't."
"If that's the case..." Tycon scowled, "How many times have you
met me, prior to this life?"
When they'd first met, the young man had acted with zero
familiarity to him. Tycon had surmised that the answer to his
question was 'zero.'
Tanamar grew quiet... "That doesn't prove anything."
Tycon rolled his eyes.
He was, in actuality, not the same Tycondrius of Charm that

belonged to this Realm. His circumstances were so peculiar that--
though he could very easily be wrong, he assumed that they were
unique.
If Tanamar was re-living a life previously lived... then even if he
had previously met 'Tycondrius' before, that experience would be
vastly different to the one in his current life.
Tycon shrugged, "It proves your *cowardice*... Deny me all you

want, but I stand in front of you. I am proof that entropy exists--
that time does not flow in a linear direction. The life you live now is
different than the one prior."
Tanamar stood, frowning... unmoving.
"Ahem..." Tycon cleared his throat, crossing his arms. He had had
more than enough of the footman's wishy-washy impotence...
"How about this..." Tycon took a deep breath, trying to calm

himself. He could barely restrain his fury... "You... Athanasius
Mors... Will go to her... Or I. will. kill you."
Tanamar's eyes shot open... then narrowed into suspicious slits,

"Tycon... are you threatening me?"
"YES!!" Tycon shouted, allowing both his mana and his killing
intent to flow outward. "Yes, I'm threatening you, you ignorant
buffoon! Now, GO!!!"
Tanamar took a step back, stunned. His jaw hung open like the
fool he was-- either trying to comprehend Tycon's mana or the fact
that he was going to be killed.
Tycon pointed angrily at the door, "I'm a Gold-Rank!! Therefore I

am STRONGER, SMARTER, and more HANDSOME than you
are!!! NOW!! SOD!! OFF!!!!"
"Wait--" Tanamar hesitated, "You're a what?"
Tycon grabbed Tanamar by the collar and screamed in his face,

"GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
Then he opened the door and tossed the grown man back into the
hallway.
...
Tycon, the other members of Sol Invictus, and a few choice
members of Guild Letalis woke up early in the sun to see the Sea
Wolves off. Lieutenant Shao Ran had performed his duty
admirably, instilling basic combat training, tactics, and
professionalism to Guild Letalis.
Invictus Leader Tycon could not have asked for finer Marines and
Sailors than the men and women who crewed the Spear of
Selene.
...As the various goodbyes and well-wishing were going on, Tycon
scrutinized the face and form of Barza Keith, the Lone
Shadowdark.
Several suns prior, Tycon had beaten him until his class reverted
from Iron-Rank Gangster back to Bronze-Rank Ranger. With
magical assistance from his healing spells, he'd convalesced well,
since then... but currently, the side of his broad face sported a
discolored bruise.
"Mister Lone... what... happened to your face?" Tycon inquired.
"Oh..." Lone grinned sheepishly, "I cut myself while shaving. I

really need to replace my razor."
"Yes. Yes, you do. However, I was referring to your..." Tycon

gestured at Lone's face, "--injury."
Out of a sadistic whim, Tycon prodded at Lone's bruise, causing

the Ranger to wince in pain.
"Ow!" A look of realization abruptly dawned on Lone's face,

"Ohhh, this? Ooh, it's swollen..."
"...Yes. That."
"I got attacked last night!" The bronze-skinned Ranger declared...

He was smiling as if he were proud of it.
"By... what, might I ask?"

Knowing Lone, it was likely he had walked into a wall trying to find
a pisspot in the evening.
"Well..." Lone rubbed the back of his head... "I looked for Sorina
the other night... I was gonna ask if... uh... she-- if she wanted to
go eat or something."
Tycon could vaguely see where the conversation was headed...

"Go on..."
Lone furrowed his brows abruptly, "She used a SKILL on me!!

Boss! That's assault!!"
Tycon lazily turned his head to see what Sorina was doing. She
appeared to have... attained a myriad of knick-knacks and charms
and was trying to hawk her wares to the departing Sea Wolves.
Clever girl.
"Miss Capulet! Come over here, please."
Sorina waved in acknowledgment, finishing up one last

transaction. Giddy and energetic, she skipped over to Tycon and
Lone, her drill-shaped ponytail bobbing up and down as she did
so, "Sup?"
"Two questions, young lady," Tycon smiled politely. "Concerning

Mister Barza Keith, the--"
"Lone ShadowDORK, right." Sorina nodded. "Go ahead, Boss!"

Chapter 422 Unapologetic
ycondrius observed Sorina warily. The young lady did not look
T
guilty, at all.
"One: Did Mister Lone deserve it?"
"He did," Sorina answered without hesitation.
Tycon was glad he did not need to clarify what exactly he was
referring to.
"Boss! I-- I did not!!" Lone insisted. His eyes had widened and
sparkled, looking like a wronged pup... an ugly pup.
"Two... Ah, this is more of a request than a question." Tycon

pursed his lips... "I'd like you to... demonstrate your new skill."
Most Bronze-Rank adventurers could not develop skills on their

own. If Sorina Capulet had, it meant her development as a
combatant was coming along nicely.
As Sol Invictus' Chief Financial Officer, Sorina had access to an

abundance of resources. She had personal training from the Gold-
Rank adventurer, Seldin Korr, the Unbreakable. She had access
to enchanted equipment. And she had the wealth to purchase
medicine to accelerate her convalescence from injury.
Tycon would be more surprised if Sorina's combat ability did not

progress, at all.
The young lady nodded with a simple, "Mm."
Taking two steps back, Sorina crouched... Placing her palms onto
the ground, she acrobatically kicked her legs up, performing a
handstand.
At that point in time, her Armor Cube... unfolded. In a bright flash
of mana, the cube transformed into a thick bronze boot, which
covered Sorina's right foot up to her knee.
"⌈Spinning BARZA KICK!!!⌋" Sorina shouted, smashing a heavy

kick into the side of Lone's thigh.
"AUGH!!" Lone predictably crumpled to the ground in pain.
Tycon was... vaguely impressed. The kick was a skill. It was... a

stupid skill that took far too long to perform... but it *was* slightly
empowered by Sorina's Bronze-Rank mana.
It was, however, unacceptable that Lone was well-aware of the

attack... knew the threat it posed... and still allowed himself to be
struck by it. He would be punished for his laziness, later.
"Miss Capulet... How long have you been practicing that?"
"Over a year now," The girl grinned.
"Well done... but please develop *other* skills."
...
Tycon and Shao Ran stood on the filthy Silva docks, the stench of
fishrot hanging in the air. The dead body of a young man floated in
the waters nearby. Even in the Holy Country of Tyrion, some
places were... horrid to live in or near.
A thick grey mist covered the sea, ready to hide the departure of a
ship full of drunkards, murderers, and all-around excellent
company.
It was a fitting environment to bid the Sea Wolves farewell.
"I ain't gonna lie, I'm gonna miss you, Tycon." Lieutenant Shao
Ran grimaced. "A lot, even."
Tycon clasped wrists with Shao Ran, shaking wistfully, "To

improve your accuracy, ensure you have proper breathing control
and aren't jerking the trigger when you pull."
"You know..." Ran crossed his arms in thought... "The Sleeping
Country's been pretty aggressive, as of late-- privateers preying
on Kingdom ships, actually. I have a feeling that Lang Hai's gonna
send us over there."
"Oh?" Tycon raised an eyebrow. It was always interesting to hear

about the military movements of other nations... not that he
planned on acting as a Warlord of that scale anytime soon.
"Yeah. Would love to have you for another raid. Murder some folks
that have it coming to 'em?" Ran grinned toothily, "We did a
number on those pirates awhile back, didn't we?"
Tycon pursed his lips, "Your Fleet Admiral, Lang Hai, and his
three-year-old nearly died."
"Ah! Hahaha!" Ran laughed, "It wasn't all that bad!"
"I distinctly remember rinsing sand off of your literal intestines

after you tried to strangle a pirate with them. How did you incur
such an injury, anyroad?"
Ran reared his head back, biting his upper lip, "I uh... haha... If I
remembered, I'd tell ya."
Tycon smiled, clapping his hand on Ran's shoulder, "Fair winds

and following seas, Brother-Ran."
Ran pulled Tycon in for a tight and a slightly painful embrace,

"Blood and thunder, Brother-Tycon!"
"V-victory at sea-- please-let-go."
...
After seeing Ran's ship, the Spear of Selene, sail off into the grey-
misted waters, Tycon sought to converse in private with Tanamar.
He still needed to discuss some of his findings with the young

gentleman... and the previous sun was not the time to do it.
Thankfully, Tanamar had done as Tycon had requested and went
to see Athena.
The two younger persons seemed closer than ever before,
something Tycon gleaned by observing their body language when
bidding farewell to the Sea Wolves.
As Tycon had no reason to remain angry at Tanamar, he took him

to his favorite portside restaurant for the important conversation.
To call it a restaurant was... somewhat of an embellishment. It

served food. It had customers and seating. It had walls made of...
barely better stuff than flimsy wood. There wasn't much else.
Tycon's favorite meal in Silva was concocted at this location-- by a

masterful female chef who hailed from the Eastern States. It was
a creamy soup, heavy with clams, root vegetables, and salt pork
simmered for so long that it felt like it melted when placed in his
mouth.
Tanamar spooned through the delicious mixture, "This is... clam

chowder?"
"Oh?" Tycon raised an eyebrow. "Have you had this before?"
The dish was uncommon in the Kingdom, and Tycon had only
found it in port-side cities... He was also fairly sure it did not have
widespread popularity in the Holy Country.
"Yeah, it's good." Tanamar nodded, taking a spoonful... "I heard

you and Zenon are leaving after we do one more dungeon."
"Indeed," Tycon chuckled. "Miss Athena specifically requested it."
The young footman sighed, "Ah... yeah. She's like that. Sorry,
man."
"It's no trouble," Tycon assured him. "If you did not realize, I quite
enjoy sharing her company. The same extends to both you and
Centurion Zenon, of course."
Tanamar smirked, exhaling in amusement, "Yeah. You're not so

bad, yourself."
It seemed the young man held no hard feelings about the previous
sun. That was good. Perhaps he had realized how much of an
idiot he had been.
...Even though he deserved an apology, Tycon did not expect it...

not from someone of Tanamar's personality. He did expect the
young man to treat Athena well, though.
The two reminisced back and forth about their experiences...

group training... the Icingdeath Dungeons... Athena's class
change... and even the recent events at Caeruluem.
After the nostalgia, Tycon remembered his initial reason for

seeking a private meeting.
"Athanasius..."
"Yeap?"
"Have you had romantic relations with Athena?"

Chapter 423 Dual Cultivation
he exact timing that Tycondrius asked his question was...

T
unfortunate. The young, Holy Lancer, Tanamar was leisurely
drinking water from his cup. In the silver-haired footman's
surprise, he abruptly expelled his drink, spewing the contents of
his mouth forcibly outward.
Too late to dodge, Tycon shot his palm forward, holding it ilms
away from the young man's mouth... which deflected the liquid. As
a result, the footman's face and hair were overly drenched.
"Tycon? What the hells?" The youth glared, wiping his face.
Tycon retrieved a handkerchief from his spatial ring, proceeding to

wipe his palm clean... "I'm assuming the answer is no, but it
seemed socially correct to lead my inquiries in a... neutral manner,
rather than a negative one."
It was important to not insult a human's ability to find a mate... a

probable or true as it was. Humans were very prideful, after all.
"None of that is socially correct!" Tanamar growled.
"Are you planning on it?"
"What? Wh-- no! Why are you asking?"
Tanamar was displaying clear signs of panic.
Tycon narrowed his eyes. Because of the signs of distress, he had

an inkling that the young man was not being entirely truthful.
...Or there was a degree of regret or embarrassment in the

experience.
No matter. Tycon continued.
"There would be... issues... if you did have such designs. If you do
not, then I have no worries..." Tycon frowned, suddenly
remembering a more pressing issue... "Ah, concerning the
payment for the meal..."
"Hold on..." Tanamar held his palm up... "What do you mean?"
Tycon steepled his fingers and leaned forward. He had the

conversational advantage... and he felt like quietly leveraging it in
order to draw more information out of the young man.
Tanamar finished wiping himself off to the best of his abilities. With
a heavy sigh, he averted his gaze and began to speak.
"...I was planning... after all this was over-- I don't know... But if
there's ever a good time for it... I was going to propose to Athena.
I mean, obviously, it needs to feel right..."
Tycon assumed the proposition Tanamar spoke of referred to a

legal marriage. Good for him.
"I know nothing about 'feeling right' with these particular

circumstances," Tycon openly admitted.
"Right... Well, Athena just needs to agree to it, that's all," Tanamar
shrugged.
That made more sense. Why didn't he say that to begin with?
Tycon nodded, closing his eyes... "You are aware that I've had
trouble gathering information concerning the young mistress' 'Yin
Body', yes?"
"You mean Athena's Frost-Mana Soul?" Tanamar asked, "I

thought we figured everything out about it through Shao Ran?
...By the way, I think he killed that Chail person."
"Never met her," Tycon shrugged. "They probably deserved it.

Anyroad, I met this orc that granted me some insight on her
condition."
"Condition?" Tanamar crossed his arms, "You're making it sound
like she's sick."
"Semantics aside, young man," Tycon sighed... "Because of Miss

Athena's Yin Body, there are possible complications if she were to
pair with a male mana-user."
Tanamar slowly furrowed his brows... "What kind of

complications?"
Tycon briefly examined his surroundings before lowering his

voice... "Her unique body type is sought after by Martialists.
Coupling with her, the male will naturally absorb all of Athena's
mana... likely killing her in the process."
Samurai Garock referred to the concept as a 'Human Cauldron.' A

female cultivator with excess frost mana would be used to refine
and cultivate the mana of a male cultivator. Athena had an
artificially created Frost-Mana Soul... and she legitimately cared
for Tanamar. It was highly likely that, in the exchange of mana-
fluids, she would grant far too much power...
Tanamar would grow in power... enough to elevate his progress to

or nigh-close-to Gold-Rank. Bereft of her life-sustaining mana,
Athena would die... or quickly waste away in agony over several
suns.
Because Tycon considered himself a friend and ally to all those

involved, he assumed that such a situation was not ideal.
"Yeah, that's not going to happen..." Tanamar took a deep breath,

rocking back in his seat... "That... shouldn't be a problem,
though... There's a way to turn off my abilities. I just have to take
an injury... right here."
He pointed to a spot on his abdomen.
"Tss..." Tycon scoffed in disbelief, "Really? You're proposing to

forcibly break your mana circuits?"
"I guess?" Tanamar pursed his lips, uncertain if he'd spoken
correctly.
"There's a better way," Tycon rolled his eyes, "It's slightly

inconvenient, but it's plausible."
"Then why didn't you start with that?" Tanamar glared back,
raising his hands dramatically.
"Let me finish, then." Tycon ordered sternly... "There is a Hidden

Sect on the north side of the Sleeping Country, somewhere east
of Arendelle. They're called the Frozen Cairn sect."
"...Then what?" Tanamar asked.
"You find them. You tell them you're allied to the Savior of the
White Scale Sect, a Guest Elder of the Sea Wolf Sect, and the last
Warrior of the Screaming Silence."
Tanamar crossed his arms once more, head bowed in thought...

"How am I going to find all those people?"
"All of those titles belong to me." Tycon explained nonchalantly,

"I'll write you a letter to vouch for you..."
The young footman lifted his chin, his mouth set into a deep
grimace, "And you're telling me this... Hidden Sect? --will listen to
me, because of that?"
Tycon curled up his lips in a smirk, "Usually the sects value titles
and honor and alliances with other powerful sects...
"Of course..." Tycon shrugged, "--nothing is truly certain. I'm only

providing you with what I know..."
Tanamar nodded... "Yeah, that's fair..."
"The all-female sect will be able to... essentially perform your

marriage ceremony. They can perform a ritual to ensure that your
coupling will make the both of you stronger, instead of the
exchange being one-sided... I'd imagine you'd have to prove
yourself, of course."
Probably with an obstacle course. Those stupid sects seemed to
love obstacle courses.
"Easy." Tanamar forced a smile, "Athena and I, we'll... we'll go on

an adventure, just the two of us."
"I approve of your enthusiasm." Tycon smiled politely, "However,

be advised... the journey will be fraught with danger. And
honestly... I could be leading you on a foolish chase for a goal that
may no longer exist."
"We'll... we'll figure it out." Tanamar clenched his fist, "If there's a
way, we'll find it."
Tycon stood up from the table, pushing in his chair, "I know you
will, Mister Athanasius. I would not have given you such
information, otherwise."
Chapter 424 Fruit Ninja
Training
handsome prince and a courageous maidservant stood atop a

A
cliff overlooking Silva's white-sand beaches.
Tycondrius sidestepped Doe's sloppy lunge, snatching her

dagger-wielding wrist and pressing two fingers beneath her chin. If
he had a weapon, her throat would be severed open, her crimson
life force spilled upon the cliffside dirt.
The girl's maid attire restricted her motions. A member of Sol

Invictus, Kimura Taree, had worn a similar outfit, before... but its
material was more elastic, allowing a freer range of movement. He
considered offering to purchase a new set for the young lady... but
then he recalled how expensive it was and decided against it.
Doe smirked, brushing her short ash-blonde hair out of her eyes,
"Are you going to kiss me, Sir Tychon?"
Tycon narrowed his gaze.
The young lady should have been far more disappointed that her
attack had failed. Since she'd been training with Guild Letalis, she
had improved in aggression and misdirection, but she still had
flawed, wasteful movements, as well as had trouble retaining her
balance.
⟬ Medousa, Bronze-Rank Human Maid. ⟭
Tycon sighed, rolling his eyes at Doe's lack of seriousness,

"Whether it's work, training, or play, Miss Guardian, focus on the
task at h--"
Suddenly, Doe sent a knee towards Tycon's nether-regions,
forcing him to twist his body and receive the strike to his thigh. As
he was struck off balance, Doe was able to slip free from his grasp
and disengage.
"Mhm~" Doe hummed.
"...Ah."
Tycon had been played for a fool. He had underestimated the

young lady's capacity for deception.
"Well done. You could have struck me with your dagger, just then."
He chuckled to himself, "You know I won't die with just that, don't
you?"
"Oh, but Sir Tychonnn?" Doe sang, licking her lips and grinning. "I
couldn't *bear* seeing you get hurt."
"Miss Doe..." Tycon gently reprimanded the flirtatious young lady.

"I don't believe that is entirely truthful."
Humans were strange. The young lady was lying... but in a

coquettish manner. She had literally bit him a few evenings prior.
As the setting for that 'attack' was intimate and he was unguarded,
her teeth marks remained visible on his left shoulder.
Doe smacked her lips together and leaned forward, consciously

presenting a fuller view of her cleavage, "I like it better when you
hurt me."
Tycon mulled over the thought... "If that is an invitation... I would

prefer to take your offer while we are unobserved."
The young lady gasped dramatically, "Sir Tychon... are you saying
you'd be embarrassed if you were caught ravaging the *maid*
against a fruit tree?"
Tycon glanced behind her at one of the fruit-bearing trees, a short

distance away. She was being terribly specific.
Shaking his head, he smiled politely, "I'm implying that one of our
associates is fast approaching."
Medousa quickly adjusted her clothing just as Centurion Zenon

Skyreaper came into view.
She sighed wistfully, looking into the distance at the beaches

below, gleaming in the afternoon sun. "I'll be returning to the
manor first, Sir Tychon... Perhaps I'll pay you a visit later, if you're
free."
"Your company has been lovely, Miss Doe." Tycon bowed as Doe
curtsied, "Perhaps I'll treat you to dinner in the evening, then?"
"You realize when you say you'll 'treat' me, you have to pay for my
meal, too," Doe chided.
"Uh... Right."
If Tycon was paying for two meals, then Olea Garden would be his
primary option. The economic value of complimentary breadsticks
was invaluable.
The Centurion arrived, engaging in a few moments of small talk

with Doe. After the young lady politely excused herself, Zenon
greeted Tycon with a smile as bright as Silva's sands.
"Hey, Optio! Did I interrupt something?"
"Not at all, Brother-Zenon," Tycon smiled warmly. "I see you've

brought a training weapon."
Zenon wore a training tunic and... his healing pants, with a

wooden sword resting on his shoulder. After he had exhausted his
mana during the Caeruleum tournament, he fell into a comatose
state for several suns. It took him at least thrice as long to
convalesce, eating and exercising steadily to regain the weight
he'd lost.
Zenon laughed to himself, "Yeah! I developed a new ability that I

wanted to talk to you about."
"Ah, so you've improved." Tycon nodded. "Excellent."
With the assistance of Samurai Garock, a weapon spirit, the

Centurion also had undergone specialized training-- weeks of it,
with the time disparity between the illusory world and the real.
At the time, their focus was primarily meditation and the efficient
and effective circulation of mana through Zenon's damaged
circuits. Still, Tycon was fairly certain Garock would have tried to
impart at least some of his blade techniques... even though Zenon
was a *Tyrion* human.
"Let's have it, then." Tycon spread his arms wide, opening himself
up to attack.
He assumed that Zenon had most likely gained proficiency with

Garock's ⌈Taste the Demon Blade⌋. Tycon, himself, had cultivated
the technique to middle completion... though he'd taken the
equivalent of a couple of moons to do so. Still, he figured he might
be able to glean something new from watching a lesser skilled
person activate the skill.
Centurion Zenon flourished his wooden training blade, before

channeling his mana into it with a low groan. The air blurred
around him, thick with wind mana.
Tycon sharpened his gaze, waiting...
Waiting...
Yet no attack came.
Tycon took a deep breath through his nostrils....
"Was... that the skill?"
"Oh, no." Zenon shook his head, "I learned a defensive skill-- so...
I guess, uh... yes. It is the skill."
Tycon pursed his lips, "Should I... attack you, then?"
"Please do."
Zenon was an excellent companion, as well as a loyal friend and
ally. Tycon wanted to be as helpful as possible... but attacking him
was... difficult. He didn't want to embarrass him.
Or accidentally kill him.
Doe's earlier mention of fruit trees reminded him of training

Invictus had developed for Invictus member Pale. He walked over
to one and picked up a hard fruit, "Are you prepared?"
Zenon nodded, "Yes, Optio, I--"
Tycon hurled the fruit at Zenon's mustachioed face, utilizing all of

his strength.
Chapter 425 Plans For The
Future
Tycondrius' hurled fruit was fast enough to kill a normal human.
Centurion Zenon Skyreaper was a passably handsome

gentleman, only slightly less attractive than himself. But with the
pride of the handsome, steps must be taken to ensure its integrity:
healthful eating, proper rest, and regular exercise were the three
most important. Properly defending one's face from thrown
projectiles was... somewhere in the top ten.
As a credit to his training, Zenon deflected the fruit with

supernatural alacrity. He also had the foresight to empower his
wooden weapon with wind mana. The firm, unripe fruit might have
damaged it, otherwise.
"Whoa. I... I almost missed that," Zenon chuckled.
He sounded slightly less confident than a few minutes prior.
"No, that was good!" Tycon praised. He had to perk up the

Centurion's spirits as the training continued. He began picking up
several more choice pieces of fruit, all equally lethal.
"Optio..."
"If you try to escape, it would be easier for me to hit you." Tycon
warned, "Are you prepared?"
Zenon gulped, "I uh... I'm not so--"
"I advise you to dodge the ones you cannot deflect."

Tycon inhaled deeply, circulating his mana to speed his perception
and empower his throws. In a span of a short few seconds, he
threw over ten rock-hard fruits at the Librarian, three of them at his
head, and one shadowing behind another.
Zenon's eyes sharpened-- likely realizing that he was in danger.

With what appeared to be three casual swipes, his sword caught
all of the projectiles, but one. The fruits burst violently against the
rending wind enchantment on his weapon.
The tenth smashed the center of the gentleman's face, staggering

him and leaving rivulets of blood dripping down both nostrils.
"Ow!"
Tycon chuckled, "Perhaps that last one was a bit unfair."
Because of the trickiness of the last shot, it was a bit weaker than
the others. Zenon had survived another day-- good for him.
"What the--" Zenon pinched the bridge of his nose to staunch the
bleeding, "Was that magic?"
"It was mana-empowered physical prowess, Brother-Zenon,"

Tycon grinned. "Essentially, it's similar to your ability... not quite
magical, but utilizing your understanding of magic to complement
your senses."
"Hmm..." Zenon crossed his arms, "I've actually had problems

making this ability stronger. It seems like it'd be really useful,
right?"
Tycon smirked. Invictus member Pale had developed quite well

using the same, very effective training, developing his reflexes
and danger sense to almost inhuman levels. Athena had trained in
a similar manner, though her focus was in strengthening her ability
to simultaneously concentrate and defend herself.
"I think, Brother-Zenon... that you're onto something. With your

permission, I'd like to... change the 'rules' a bit."
Zenon beamed in excitement, "Sounds good, Optio. What are you
thinking?"
Picking up another armful of fruits, he turned to Zenon with a

sadistic grin, "You're going to dodge and deflect these, as well...
but this time, I want you to close your eyes."
...
Half-a-bell later, Zenon had learned that his defensive skill needed
to be developed further.
In that regard, he was on a clear path to growth. With his flaws

pointed out, in adjusting them, he'd develop greatly over a short
period of time. Since the young Centurion awakened from his
coma, he became more sensitive to the mana in the world around
him. Utilizing that as an additional combat sense, Zenon would be
better able to avoid taking damage in combat.
Athena had similar senses and naturally seemed to understand

the concept. Zenon had to be taught, but that was not a
weakness. Even though the Centurion had less natural talent than
the young lady, he could bridge the gap with diligence and
focused effort.
...Even Tycon did not think *he* had as much natural talent as
Athena... or her late brother, Maximus Vanzano, for that matter.
"You performed admirably, my friend."
Zenon chuckled derisively, reclining back against the soft wood of

one of their fruit trees, "Doesn't feel like it."
"I was trying to break your teeth," Tycon laughed softly.
Also, his skull.
"Ever heard of holding back, Optio?"
"For the purposes of training? No," Tycon chuckled, shaking his

head... "Was there anything else? Besides your newfound ability
to dodge attacks with your eyes closed."
"Ah, right." Zenon nodded, "The city of Caeruleum's issued a
dungeon quest-- issued by Holy Magus Antonidus. The Brazen
Guard is rotating back to Ezyria for it."
Tycon gazed up at the blue sky... "Yes. That will be more than fine.
We'll join up with their collective, then. I'm looking forward to
working with Bannok and the others-- perhaps not so much, your
'hero', Tancred."
Zenon shook his head... "I don't really like that guy, anymore. I've
been starting to follow a different gladiator-- his gimmick is... that
you can't see him."
"Hmph," Tycon pursed his lips. "Very well."
It sounded silly, but he was certain that whomever Zenon spoke
of was a far better role model than the Stormbrand Reaver.
"You know, Optio..." Zenon took a deep breath and sighed... "It's
been a pleasure working with you."
"I feel the same way," Tycon smiled, feeling the warmth of pride
surge in his chest. "We've done well, and neither of our stories are
near being finished."
"I was thinking... even though this dungeon's my last adventure

with Sol Invictus... you're going to the Free Nation after this,
right?"
"Correct."
"We have some military bases over there-- I should be able to

apply for a transfer?" Zenon turned, looking uncertain, "Maybe I
can visit? Or you can visit me?"
"Hahah!" Tycon laughed, "Of course, Brother-Zenon. I will always

welcome your company... However..."
"However?"
Tycon smirked, raising an eyebrow, "There aren't any Olea

Gardens in the Free Nation."
Zenon burst out in laughter, with Tycon joining in. It was slightly
more reserved, but the camaraderie between the two was
apparent.
The Librarian wiped a joyful tear from his eye... "I think I'll
manage, Brother-Tycon. Let's get this dungeon... Death to the
enemies of Sol Invictus."
"Indeed," Tycon nodded. "For the righteousness of Tyrion and the

glory of mankind."
Chapter 426 Miss Athena’s
Guild
⟬ Two weeks later. ⟭
Ptolema looked around the Brazen Guard war camp. She stood
guard since Guild Snowy Village was on one of the outer
perimeters. It was a little lonely, but everyone else was doing more
important things... weapons' maintenance, scouting, other prep...
It seemed everyone was being extra nice to her, insisting that she
take the 'easiest' jobs, as of late... It was often annoying... but
also... nice at the same time.
She did like the others showing that they cared... as strict as she
thought she was.
She also liked having privacy.
...And she did get sore in the most bothersome places.
She took a quick look to ensure that no one was watching... Once
she was certain, she decided to massage her tender chest.
"Hey, Ptolema! How's it--"
"AIIEEEE!!" Ptolema screamed in surprise. Out of reflex, she drew

her handaxe and hurriedly threw it at the ambusher... and it
clanged loudly against Legionnaire Karodin's helmet. If he wasn't
wearing it, it would have split the idiot's blue-haired skull.
Karodin swayed, holding his head, "By the Flame!! What's wrong?
Are you okay?!"
Ptolema pointed angrily, "Don't!! DO! THAT!!!"

"Do what?"
"Sneak up on me, you dolt!"
The man pursed his lips, showing a look of concern... "Ptolema...

Can you uh..."
"WHAT?!"
"Can you calm down a little bit?" Karodin showed his palms,
whispering quietly. "It might not be good... concerning your....
condition?"
"I am. very. calm," Ptolema insisted. "It won't. affect. the baby."
"Our baby," The Legionnaire grinned.
"Right," Ptolema rolled her eyes. Their baby. Plural.
The ambiance of the war camp grew more animated, noisy with
murmurs. A new caravan was approaching, an unfamiliar
adventuring company... Looking to be a medium guild of ten or
twenty, they would be a noticeable presence for the most recent
Gold-Rank quest.
"Black flag, green trim... white... snake skull?" Ptolema frowned...

"Are they Tyrion? You don't often see snake heraldry because...
you know."
Agathe, Snowy Village's medic and a no-nonsense woman one

year older than her, had emerged from her tent. Placing a flat
palm over her eyes, she squinted to look at the distant guild's
banners...
"I recognize it. That's the symbol of Guild Letalis. They won the
tournament at Caeruleum a moon or two back."
"The martial tournament or the one with the horses?" Ptolema

asked, "I see a very handsome warhorse from here. Oh, and that
yellow-ish one looks strong, too."
"The martial one, Leader." Agathe chuckled. "Though I'm a little
surprised you knew about the horse-breeding competition."
Ptolema rolled her eyes, "Everyone knows about the horse-

breeding competition."
"I didn't know you liked horses," Karodin smirked. "How about I
buy you one after this mission?"
Ptolema glared at the Legionnaire, "Let's focus on the current

mission, Karodin. Then, we can think about the future."
A horse did sound nice... but if she couldn't afford a warhorse as a

leader of an adventuring company, Karodin couldn't either.
"Our future," Karodin insisted.
"Right."
Ptolema sighed heavily, while Agathe stifled a laugh.
"You two are adorable," The medic teased.
Ptolema decided to ignore the woman's last statement. She didn't

feel like losing her temper. She stood up, peering in the distance
to observe Guild Letalis' carriage and carts fast approaching their
tents.
"Agathe, I'm assuming you mean that that guild won the *regular*
tournament at Caeruleum?"
"Hmm..." Karodin bit his upper lip, "That'd mean they actually won
against Tancred."
Ptolema glared at the Legionnaire, "I can beat Tancred, as long as

I don't let him use his stupid movement techniques. By the Flame-
- even you can beat him if you applied yourself."
"Aha..." Karodin scratched his cheek, "If you say so."
Agathe nodded, "From what I've heard, the teams from Guild
Letalis won both the regular tournament and the junior division."
Karodin shook his head sadly, "Oh, that's a shame. I heard Miss
Athena was competing."
Ptolema shrugged off a sliver of jealousy. Athena was pretty, but

she was far too young for Karodin... no, for any man's tastes.
"That's not quite accurate, Mister Karodin," Agathe smirked.
"And what are you hiding?" Ptolema snapped in annoyance.
"Guild Letalis is the adventuring company representing House

Vanzano."
A gorgeous dark wooded carriage drawn by two stallions stopped

near the members of Snowy Village. As the door opened, Ptolema
could swear a cloud of cool, frosty air wisped out.
A beautiful young woman with short ice-blue hair stepped out--

no... she seemed to glide out like a slow-falling leaf. She was
wearing an elegant white toga and laurel leaves upon her head
made from gold. Curiously levitating behind her were four hiltless
Tyrion steel blades, razor-sharp and gleaming in the sun.
She looked less like a spoiled young mistress of a noble house

and more like an angel descended from the heavens. If the blades
floating behind her were arranged like wings, she would have
been perfect-- an image depicted by a mosaic on one of the
Church's temple walls.
"Wait, hold on--" Karodin waved his arms in a childish panic, "You
mean to say this is Miss ATHENA'S guild?!"
Athena had a really good reputation in the Brazen Guard... but

Ptolema was a little annoyed by Karodin's overreaction. She had
mistakenly thought she was the only woman that could put him in
such a state.
"Ahem...." Agathe coughed, "Mister Karodin, she's literally

standing in front of you."
"Hi, Mister Karodin!!" Little Athena smiled, "Oh, and Miss Ptolema!
Long time no see!"
It was gorgeous. If Ptolema had a daughter, she wanted her to

look just as angelic... But that same smile was more than capable
of making the blood of foolish men run hot.
...Ptolema decided that she needed to keep an eye on her

husband. She trusted him, but there was no harm in keeping him
out of trouble.
It was the same concept with children, keeping the cookie jar
away from their grubby little hands so they couldn't ruin their
supper. And Karodin was... in many cases, more like an
unreasonably large child than a rational adult.
She forced a smile, "Well met, Miss Athena. This is... certainly a
surprise."
Chapter 427 Attack On Tycon
ycondrius dismounted his companion, a chatty mare with an

T
ivory-coat named Eos. Their conversation had been pleasant
throughout the trip, but even she was looking forward to a well-
deserved break.
The young Athena Vanzano, Calculator Sorina Capulet, and

Raging Flame Knight Seldin Korr were riding the expensive
carriage, pulled by Invictus warhorses Horse and Jeremy.
Athena exited first, providing a bubbly greeting to the members of

Guild Snowy Village. She dressed like a statue in a Tyrion
metropolis: in a white, loose and flowing outer garment worn over
a tunic.
Korr emerged next, wearing her full set of dark armor. Her helmet
kept her identity hidden while being both intimidating and
aesthetically pleasing. She quietly scrutinized her surroundings for
danger like the proper, veteran adventurer she was.
Sorina crawled out of the carriage on her hands and knees. Even
with the enchantments on the wheeled box, she incurred severe
headaches and nausea when traveling over extended periods of
time.
Tycon made a mental note to try to develop a stabilization ritual

that could be cast directly on... people, as opposed to inanimate
objects.
Calculator Sorina had done well in equipping Guild Letalis for the
current mission, especially in facilitating the development of
unique weaponry. In particular, Tycon appreciated the floating
blades at Athena's back. The Dwarven Krakhammr Clan had
crafted them-- impossible weapons to wield normally.
Small, palm-sized frost stones were built into the blades where a
cross hilt would normally be installed. Where they were harvested
from, Tycon had no idea... but he hoped they were from enemies
of Isidor's Faction... and not from kidnapped allies.
Because of Athena's frost affinity, she could telekinetically control

her four metal blades near as well as she could her mana-created
weapons. The obvious benefit was that Arcanite was far more
durable than the steel she was used to wielding... and of course,
had more permanence than her enchanted ice weapons. Further,
the young lady required less concentration to wield them.
As they were difficult to transport, she did need the patience to

have the blades trail behind her wherever she went... and the
mindfulness to remember them. If she wasn't constantly reminded
of their existence, she would forget them in the most curious of
places.
While initially, the entirety of Guild Letalis set out... Tycon

ultimately chose only a handful to accompany Sol Invictus and
participate in the Dungeon Raid. Their remaining forces would
split off, traveling to Caeruleum to complete quests for the
Adventurer's Guild there.
Though Athena requested for Parthenope to come, Tycon denied

her, as the braided archer was heavily outclassed by those he
selected. Sergeant Salt and five others, most of them with the
Gunner class, had explosive power that would bring a level of
damage and destruction unseen by the Brazen Guard... with the
exception of Tanamar's holy lance barrages, anyroad.
Tycon had considered bringing along footman Victorius. His

unique weapon could be used, just as well, to devastating effect.
The blond buffoon proved reluctant, therefore was left behind and
entrusted with the defense of the estate.
No matter.
Salt and his Gunners were armed with similar weaponry, no less
powerful... rifles ordered from Bael Turath. They were suitably
proficient in their use, having practiced with them exclusively as
soon as Invictus' Courier, Popoto Potata Pota, delivered word of
their mission.
The demon technology... 'Hextech' as Turathi engineers referred

to them, did not require their gunnery packed with Orkish Sugar.
Instead, they were magically enchanted, their ammunition
propelled by mana-created explosions instead of alchemical.
Khyber Crystals locked into a slot at the base of their weapons

provided more than enough power for hundreds of shots. A
broken crystal had the high chance to... immolate the wielder in
abyssal flames, potentially damaging to a human soul. But still...
the effectiveness of a working weapon outweighed the risks that
Tycon did not have to personally take...
Also, it was cheaper to purchase those weapons. With normal

guns, they also had to attain and transport so many kegs of black
powder.
Tycon walked towards his chosen Guild Letalis members to

inspect and ensure their professional appearances. The mixed
dark leather and metal armor sets worn by his troops were clean,
polished... and domineering.
Salt wore a helmet marked with dark green to match his rank as
tent-group leader, similar to how Tycon's full helmet was white.
Athena's armor was markedly different-- when she decided to
wear it (and she had two sets, in case she ruined one)... In a
hectic situation, the colors would otherwise serve to identify who
to listen to, or in Athena's case, who to protect at all costs.
"Sergeant Salt, set up camp alongside the Snowy Village tents,"

Tycon ordered. "They're... (How did they say it?) They're good
people."
The helmeted Salt saluted crisply, "Aye aye, Sir."
"That voice..." A certain blue-haired fool of a Legionnaire with a

dented helmet walked over, a look of awe in his wide eyes.
⟬ Karodin, Iron-Rank Human Legionnaire. Guild Brazen Guard. ⟭
A familiar Duelist stood at his side... intimately close to him. It

looked like her dark hair had grown a bit, making her look more
feminine-- and somehow, more confident... (though there could
have been a different factor at play.)
That she continued being a guild leader even after the decimation
of her forces spoke volumes about her competence.
⟬ Ptolema, Iron-Rank Human Duelist. Guild Snowy Village. ⟭
Tycon chuckled to himself while removing his full-helmet, "Hello,

Mister Karodin, Miss Ptolema. You look well."
"Master Tactician..." Ptolema looked Tycon up and down before

saluting respectfully. "Guild Snowy Village still owes you and
Librarian Zenon a drink."
Tycon smiled politely, "I would love to--"
"SIR TYCON!!" Karodin of Emberhold leapt forward and

embraced him.
The sensation was... not as unpleasant as Tycon thought it would

be. But still, he regretted that he did not dodge the 'attack.'
"Wow! You look great!" The man hugged him tighter... "Hey! I've
got a lot of great news! I can't wait to tell you!"
"I uh..." Tycon gently pried the fellow off of him... even with his
Gold-Rank physique, it proved difficult, "That sounds... nice. But
before that, perhaps you could take me and Miss Athena to meet
with Brother-Bannok?"
Chapter 428 Dead Snake
" I don't like it," Bannok glared at Tycondrius, who sat across from
him at the planning table.
⟬ Bannok, Gold-Rank Human Weaponmaster. Guild Brazen

Guard. ⟭
"I gathered, Brother-Bannok," Tycon nodded. "As the name of the

dungeon is the 'Halls of the Dead Serpent', I'd imagined you would
not enjoy being here."
"I was talkin' about your banner, guy!" Bannok scowled. "It's got a
snake on it. I hate it!"
Tycon glanced over at his left shoulder plate, the one painted with
the Guild Letalis snake skull... but he had a perfect excuse,
prepared for the human's suspicion, "Ah, this? Well, Brother-
Bannok, a dead snake has a much different meaning than a living
one."
"Makes sense!" Ariadne clapped her hands together, "Husband,

be nice! You know that Mister Tactician don't mean no harm!"
⟬ Ariadne, Gold-Rank Elven Priestess. Guild Brazen Guard. ⟭
Ariadne... or Aria, as she preferred to be called, was a powerful

Priestess and the wife of Bannok of Kasydon. Her dyed blonde
hair and white rune tattoos clashed against her bronze skin--
apparently an accepted cultural style in the Eastern States.
Her style of speaking was... influenced by her upbringing in that

area. Tycon tried to decipher what exactly she had said... It
sounded... positive? But the words she used...
"We all know how much you prefer yer snakes dead rather 'an
alive and kickin'!" Ariadne rolled her eyes before turning sharply
and complaining in her charming drawl, "Say somethin', Fel!"
The reticent hooded elf, Felinus, was rubbing conditioner onto his
leather arm-guards. He glanced over to the war table, "Snakes
have no legs, Sapling, therefore cannot kick."
⟬ Felinus, Gold-Rank Elven Hunter. Guild Brazen Guard. ⟭
Admittedly, Tycon was thinking the same thing.
"SOMETHIN'. ELSE. FEL!!" The Priestess scolded.
"Very well," Felinus returned his attention to his maintenance...

"Bannok, I advise you to have faith in our Tactician."
Bannok rolled his eyes and rubbed at his bald head, "Not you
too..."
Athena shyly picked at another of Aria's cupcakes, a guilty look in

her eyes... "Um... I... I chose the final design. It's sorta my fault?"
The young girl bowed her head, "I'm sorry, Mister B."
⟬ Athena Vanzano, Iron-Rank Frostblade. Guild Letalis Serpentia.

⟭
Bannok swayed back as if he'd been physically struck, "Alright,

alright. It's fine. Stop apologizing, all of you's."
Tycon did not apologize but chose not to call attention to that fact.
"The Tactician did not apologize," Felinus said aloud.
Tycon sighed, unsurprised by the elf's sudden, but inevitable

betrayal.
"Whatever, ughhh," Bannok groaned. "So tell me about your guild,

then? I hope you guyses are worth as much as your fancy black
armor."
"He's just jealous," Ariadne teased.
"W-we have extra sets..." Athena offered.
"Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat. "We technically have two

armored classes, a Raging Flame Knight and a Heavy Gunner...
as well as a half-dozen heavy-damage ranged classes."
Bannok whistled... "A Raging Flame Knight... never heard of that.

Is it a Knight subclass?"
Tycon frowned... "I believe it stems from the Berserker class."
The bald Weaponmaster blinked... "That's... terrifying, almost... So

they'll be part of my close-combat line... What rank is he?"
"Gold. And Korr is female, though she will be wearing her full
helmet to avoid discrimination."
"Oh, I can't wait to meet her!!" Aria giggled. "Have another

cupcake, little one."
"Korr is really nice! Kinda quiet, though? But she's really pretty,"
Athena explained between nibbles of the baked goods Ariadne
had provided. "These are really delicious, Ari!"
Though Tycon did not particularly enjoy eating sweets, their scent
was pleasant.
Banana? ...How did Ariadne manage to get bananas in the Holy

Country?
Tycon addressed Felinus. The Elven Hunter was responsible for

coordination amongst the ranged classes in combat, "Our gunners
are trained to move and shoot as well as archers. Will you accept
them under your command?"
Felinus pursed his lips as he stared at one of the tent walls... "I do
not like the smell of guns and cannons... but yes, if they are
prepared to follow orders, I should have no issue with them."
Tycon frowned but nodded. The Hunter would expect the sweet
smell of burnt Orcish Sugar, but he would instead sense the
discharge of volatile evocation magic. If he'd had any prior
dealings with Bael Turath-- which was likely, due to his age... then
he'd identify the source immediately. While Khyber Crystals were
not inherently good or evil, Felinus would have questions that
Tycon would have to answer eventually.
"Ooh, ooh!" Athena wiggled in glee, "We have Sorina, too! She's
amazing!"
"Oh! What class is she?" Ariadne asked, tapping her paper fan to
her chin.
Tycon smirked, leaning forward on the table, "My Quartermaster,

Sorina Capulet, is a Calculator."
Bannok raised his eyebrows, more surprised that Guild Letalis

had a Calculator than a Gold-Rank... "How good we talkin'?"
"Bronze-Rank, but she has developed the ⌈Parse⌋ skill."
⌈Parse⌋ was one of the most powerful skills in the Realm... but as
rare as it was, it was only valued by military leaders. With Bannok
as a retired Pilus Prior, he would not take one lightly.
Sorina's skill could judge both the strength and effectiveness of

anyone she observed in combat. With the information provided,
she could identify efficacy flaws that could then be corrected by
training.
Sorina could calculate a percentage determining whether or not

an adventurer was performing to the best of their abilities. If she
declared that an Iron-Rank Fighter performed in the lower 20% of
all Iron-Rank Fighters or a low 10% of all close-combat classes...
then that person was better off performing guard duty than in the
front lines. Conversely, the men and women that performed at the
*top* 20% would be best protected and nurtured by the Brazen
Guard.
Doubting a Calculator's judgments would lead to nothing but
embarrassment. Their ability analyzed nearly everything in
combat... amount of time spent not attacking, taking injury, relative
stamina and mana usage, willpower...
Such things were quantified into numbers... numbers that she

could provide at a moment's notice. Numbers could not lie... and
neither could Sorina, while her skill was active.
How it worked was beyond Tycon or anyone, but the Calculator

class and its ⌈Parse⌋ skill was beholden to the indisputable Laws
that governed the Realm.
Bannok snorted, "I like it. No one's slackin' off, this sun. Else
they'll find my foot in their arse."
Chapter 429 Stop, Drop, & Roll
ycondrius steepled his fingers and leaned forward, his elbows

T
resting on the planning table... "Brother-Bannok, what can you tell
us about these halls?"
Weaponmaster Bannok narrowed his eyes for a brief moment, an

internal struggle clear in his eyes. He breathed a heavy sigh, his
gaze focused elsewhere... "I've heard of them... once. The last
words on a heretic's lips before I ended his miserable life."
The denizens of the Command Tent grew quiet... even Felinus

paused his rote maintenance, his Elven ears twitching to hear.
"You folks know about the Oathbreaker, yeah?" Bannok's voice

practically dripped with loathing.
Tycon nodded solemnly. Bannok spoke of a traitor of Tyrion... the

greatest Champion of the Snake Cult. He was a man who led the
most successful violent revolt against the Church of the Eternal
Flame in modern times.
Bannok continued... "After the prick got his head separated from
his neck, they buried what was left of him in the Halls of the Dead
Snake-- even going as far as worshipping him like a god. Seven
hells, he might be down there, f*cking off as a headless ghost."
"I see..." Tycon shut his eyes, taking a breath. While such news
was foreboding, it would not sway them from their mission. Even
facing such a daunting foe, the path to victory would be paved by
the bodies of their own.
It was practically Tyrion military doctrine.
Tycon allowed himself a smirk, "Then we are merely fighting

ghosts of the past."
Bannok nodded, still deep in thought... "And these ones deserve
no mercy."
...
When Tycon returned to the Guild Letalis camp, there were

visitors... one welcome and the others not-so-much.
Elven Hunter Felinus had silently stalked him. He did not hide
particularly well-- as an elf, the gentleman could disappear nigh
completely if he wished to. Naturally stealthy, the only adventurers
capable of tracking him were himself and perhaps the two mages
with aura-sense, Zenon and Athena.
As the elf was no danger, Tycon turned his attention to the others.
Stormbrands.
Led by the travesty of color that was Reaver Tancred and the
open-coat, wispy-haired chest of Cleric Occam, Guild Stormbrand
had created an impromptu arena out of rocks. They seemed to be
holding public duels adjacent to his Letalis tents.
"Who wants a PIECE of ORCUS! GOD OF BATTLE!!!" Tancred

shouted, banging a gauntleted fist against his chestplate, "Step
right up and get your arse handed to you, by yours truly!!"
The action reminded Tycon of a bird clanging rocks together to

attract a mate... and it appeared that none of the females in
Letalis, Snowy Village, and the other nearby guilds appeared
interested.
...But why were they here? For what purpose? If they were trying
to hold a show, every member of Letalis' ranged line could kill a
corresponding Stormbrand. Letalis' close combat experts also had
lethal, domineering abilities. The only one that might have a
chance at losing was--
"Sure, I'll fight!"

Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark stepped forward, presumably
to get his arse handed to him.
Seven hells.
"I'll take him!!" Occam sneered stepping into the ring before
Tancred could, "You look pretty weak, Fish!"
...Occam was particularly observant to sense weakness... not that

Tycon considered it so difficult.
Lone pursed his lips, "My name's not Fish, it's Lone."
"It's an insult, Mister Lone!" Athena shouted.
Was she trying to be helpful? It was a strange time to do so.
"Kick his butt!" The young lady added.
...Tycon would assume she meant well.
"Oh. I'm not a fish, then," Lone opened his arms wide, tilted his
head, and bared his teeth in a grin. "I'm... I'm a frog in a well,
destined to become... a toad... a TOAD THAT EATS FISH!!"
"You got a lot of talk," Occam laughed, gesturing Lone towards

him. "How about you talk with your fists, like a man?"
"Oh, I've got lots more to say," Lone sneered arrogantly, pointing
his chin forward. "And I'll say it with my SWORD!"
Lone drew his strongest weapon, the Shatterspike... a magical

blade capable of cutting through even Tyrion steel.
...The blade was stolen from Seldin Korr, who was literally
standing nine fulms away.
"My blood is boiling hot!!" Lone declared.
Occam took a step back, his eyes furrowed in confusion, "What

the..."
Lone was aflame. Literally.
Tycon lamented the situation. He was fairly certain that Lone

could have defeated Occam in single martial combat. Unveiling
his sword led to his unfortunate loss before the fight even began.
The young Ranger began to scream, trying desperately to pat out

the fires.
Seeming to understand the situation, Occam relaxed his

shoulders. Removing a small paper cylinder from an inner coat
pocket, he placed it in his mouth and used the panicking, flaming
Ranger to light it.
"Thanks."
"Stop, drop, and roll, Mister Lone!!!" Athena shouted... "Stop,

drop, and rollllll!!!"
She turned to Duelist Ptolema at her side... "We learned that at

the Academy. Never thought it'd be useful, though."
Tycon shook his head before shouting for assistance, "Mister

Lawrence!!"
Heavy Gunner William Lawrence, the physically largest member

of Guild Letalis stepped into the ring, thick heavy boots clomping
against the ground. The heaviest-armored combatant amongst
them, Lawrence wore thick metal plates over chainmail, and a full
helmet adorned with ox-horns.
Cleric Occam straightened his back, keeping his distance from

Lawrence as he sauntered towards Lone. Wise.
Unlike Tyrion sculpted muscle cuirasses, Letalis' armor sets were

made in the Dwarven style, which curved outward to deflect
weapon strikes instead of guiding them into the indentations. All
that together made Lawrence look less like a human exemplar...
but more like an unfeeling, impenetrable fortress of darkened
steel.
Most intimidating about him was the massive, double-barreled
scattergun hanging from a strap over his chest. Its power was
similar to a ship cannon, thrice its size.
"I'm sorry, Mister Lone," Ever polite, the large gentleman

apologized through the echo of his helmet.
"Just-- just help me! Ahhhh!!!"
Without another word, Lawrence began to mercilessly stomp out

the flames covering the young Ranger-- as stopped, dropped, and
rolling as he was.
Tycon found the result acceptable. If anyone was going to defeat

one of his Letalis warriors, it would be... another Letalis member.
Chapter 430 Unrelenting Fists
leric Occam gazed upward at Mister Lawrence with a strange

C
look in his eyes... as if he was deciding whether or not to
antagonize the larger human.
Likely unaware that he was the target of hostility, Lawrence

dragged Lone out of the rock-circle... leaving Occam, the fallen
Shatterspike... and the armored form of Seldin Korr who had
stepped into the ring to examine it.
Shadow-black armor with silver trim. Asymmetrical helmet that

covered her non-working eye. Dark green breechcloth. Similar to
the Heavy Gunner, Seldin Korr also wore a full-metal set of armor-
- though her set was far more intricate and elegant than the
others.
Diamantia Krakhammer had likely figured that that particular set

was to be made for a woman. Women seem to have some sort
of... psychic link that made them do nice things for each other
without asking.
It was yet another reason that Tycondrius was so wary when

dealing with females.
With Lawrence away, however, the Stormbrands surrounding the

ring began to shout, mocking Korr, and imploring Cleric Occam to
defeat her quickly. They likely thought that the black-armored
Knight was the next challenger.
Emboldened by their cheers, Occam stepped forward, posturing

aggressively.
Seldin Korr was far shorter than Lawrence, though her boots were
lifted, making her appear long-legged. Still, her overall size was
far more condensed... which was probably the reason the
Stormbrands had the confidence to court death.
...The fools they were.
"[THIS. BLADE. IS MINE,]" Korr declared in her echoey, metallic

voice. She seemed wholly unbothered by the crowd's taunts.
Korr wore a magical respirator attached to her helmet. Tycon had

requested the adjustment, fearing that, in low-oxygen close-
quarters, Korr would pass out if she were to use her fire-based
attacks. In such a situation, the enchantment would activate,
providing magical air for her to breathe and granting her a few
additional breaths of consciousness.
It also had a few unintended, overall positive effects. It masked

her voice and made her sound like something out of a nightmare.
Also, she remarked that it helped her with her allergies.
Cleric Occam crossed his arms, glaring at Korr, "And who the
hells are you supposed to be?"
Korr turned her body to face Cleric Occam... quietly piercing the
Shatterspike longsword back into the dirt. With slow, measured
steps, she approached him... the shifting sound of metal on metal
clear as the crowd grew quiet.
Tycon found his throat drying from a subconscious level of fear,

his heart palpitating in nervousness... The woman's gaze was
directed nowhere near him. He could only imagine how the
Stormbrands felt.
"Aha... haha..." Occam laughed, "I ain't scared of you. What'cha

got? A magical fear aura? That ain't sh*t!! Come on, LET'S
FOIGHT!!!"
The suit of armor tilted its head, painfully slow... "[YOU WISH...
TO FIGHT?]"
"Ohhhh," Occam raised an eyebrow, "Having second thoughts,

huh? I should have known the members of Guild Letalis were
cowards... Why don't you--"
Korr moved far faster than the Iron-Rank Cleric could

comprehend. She lowered her center of gravity and took a leading
step forward. She launched her right fist straight, rotating her body
with the full gods-damned force of her Gold-Rank physique.
The lethal kinetic energy traveled up from her grounded legs...

through her rotating waist... to her arms... and into her oppressive
fist.
Cleric Occam was going to be killed.
"⌈ONE PUNCH.⌋"
Her closed fist struck Cleric Occam's face with a deafening boom-
- practically identical to that of an exploding keg of Orcish Sugar.
Propelled by the force, the Cleric soared through the air, past the
tents, into the nearby treeline. He broke a few saplings before his
upper body bounced off of an aged tree, cracking the bark. He
tumbled, then skidded upon the rocky ground... but was able to
dig at the dirt with his hands... shortly after, losing his balance and
somersaulting backward until finally, he crashed into a rock
formation.
When the dust began to clear... Occam stood shakily... bruised,

bleeding from the nose and mouth, and in absolutely no condition
to continue fighting... "Damn... that was a good--"
Korr crossed the distance almost instantaneously, sheathed in

flames that turned the surrounding grass and leaves to dust. She
forced the Cleric against the rock wall, holding him by the throat
and relentlessly punching at his face and abdomen. Each strike
that landed deepened the cracks forming in the hard stone behind
him.
In an amazing display of endurance, Occam woke from

unconsciousness after a dozen punches and launched a single,
solid counter-punch, "GOT'CHA, MOTHERF*CKER!!"
The Cleric's fist struck Korr in the face, forcing her helmeted head
to tilt backward.
"AHA HAHARR!!" Occam cackled, "NOT SO TOUGH NOW, ARE-

-"
Korr interrupted him, her barrage of fists resuming with no less

fervor than before.
She grasped his wrist and smashed the Cleric into a nearby tree,
twice the fellow's width. The tree cracked in half, toppling to the
side. Korr then broke a second tree. Then, a third.
Swinging the surely dead Cleric around in a circle, she flung him
skyward.
"⌈WEIRD FIRE SPHERE.⌋"
The woman's hands lit ablaze in flame. Pointing them upwards, a

misshapen fireball materialized in front of her before speeding
towards Cleric Occam.
Another violent, leaf-dusting, ground-shaking explosion occurred

where Occam once was... leaving behind a thick cloud of dark
smoke.
Karodin of Emberhold rubbed the back of his dented helmet with

concern, "Is... is he dead?"
Ptolema whistled, "I hope so. It seems like a lot of effort went into
that."
Tycon crossed his arms, choosing not to comment. He was

familiar with most of Korr's skills... and they were all named
reasonably. The two she had used just now, however... were not.
He surmised that training with her weapon spirit, Shahram, was

the cause. The weapon spirit that inhabited his Sword of Venom,
Garock, also had a similar, just-as-stupid naming sense.
...He squinted his eyes to peer in the distance as the smoke
began to clear and the dust and dirt settled.
Cleric Occam had fallen back to the charred forest ground... He

lifted a trembling forearm up, revealing an upraised thumb...
clearly broken.
So he lived.
Tycon wasn't even upset. With how much punishment the Iron-
Rank Cleric received without dying, he could only be impressed.
Chapter 431 Unsafe
s the crowd watched in silence, Korr calmly walked back to the

A
circle arena. Reclaiming her Shatterspike longsword, she cradled
it in her arms and approached Tycondrius.
"Ahem..." Tycon cleared his throat... "Korr."
"[YES, LEADER?]"
Tycon spent a moment deliberating on how exactly he'd recover

the weapon from the young lady...
He decided to just ask directly, "Can I have that?"
Korr held her sword out, examining it quietly... then she obediently
turned the hilt towards Tycon, handing it over.
Tycon pursed his lips... "I'm... going to give it to Lone."
She nodded in response.
"...You can go back now."
Korr saluted before returning to sit with Athena and the other
female adventurers.
Flaming Rage Knight Seldin Korr could not simultaneously wield

both the Shatterspike longsword and her current weapon, the two-
handed Blackblade of Shahram. Tycon was slightly surprised that
she did not ask any questions... and had given up her old weapon
so easily... but overall, it was not something he would dwell on.
Tycon tossed the weapon back to Lone, his beaten, battered, and
burnt form lying against a tree stump, "Here."
As a credit to his reflexes, Lone caught the weapon by the hilt,
"Th-thanks, Boss..."
He still looked a bit... upset about being burnt alive.
He'd manage.
"ALRIGHT, you CHUCKLEF*CKS!!" A commanding voice caught

the crowd's attention, "What the SEVEN HELLS is goin' on,
here?!"
The surrounding crowd split, allowing a single bald and bearded

human through... Bannok, the leader of the Brazen Guard
collective. He did not look pleased.
Legionnaire Karodin quickly got to his feet and hurried to the

irritated Weaponmaster to explain the situation.
Once informed, Bannok rolled his eyes, groaning in annoyance,

"You's gotta be kidding me..."
He addressed the crowd once more in his booming voice, "Alright!

That's it! Disperse! Get outta here! And ALL O' YOU'S!! No more
Flame-taken duels in the camp!!!"
A round of groans and grumbles rippled through the crowd, milling

about as they went off to pretend to work.
"Yeah, yeah, SHUT IT! You's all have work to do, don'tcha?" The
Weaponmaster scowled and flung his arms up, the various
adventurers of the Brazen Guard scampering off to avoid their
leader's wrath.
"Karodin!" Bannok shouted, "Get that Stormbrand to Ari for

healing... and YOU!"
Bannok was pointing angrily towards him. From the human's

expression and tone of voice, Tycon assumed he was going to be
blamed for the ineptitude of persons he had no direct control over.
"TACTICIAN!" Bannok scowled, "The Hero's said he's found

something. Go find Fel and check it out!"
Tycon narrowed his eyes. That was not what he expected.
Hunter Felinus emerged from the shadows, "I am here, Tactician.

Let us inspect the Dungeon Entrance."
Tycon nodded... "Very well."
...
Tycon glared at a juvenile viper. He must have thought he was

clever, hiding in the shadows of a bush.
"You there. Leave or you will be killed."
"(Y-yes, Lord,)" It hissed, before slithering off to safety.
...There were many snakes in the area. Tycon found it odd...

though it should have not been surprising, considering that the
Dungeon was known to be a bastion of the Snake Cult.
How did they feed? He hadn't seen a mouse or rabbit in bells.

Were his kin starving to death, with so many snakes and so little
prey?
He was beginning to think of the Snake Cult as less of an

annoyance and more of a terrorist organization. If they raised
snakes as pets, it was cruel to abandon so many of them into the
wild.
Felinus reset his bowstring, scanning the area for other dangers...
"It is not safe here."
Tycon walked forward, heedless of the elf's warning, "You realize

such words are redundant, concerning our profession and the task
at hand?"
"Fair points," The elf conceded. "Remain vigilant, Tactician."
"I will, thank you."
An unassuming stone temple lay hidden by rocky hills, accessible

by a narrow, treacherous path. Untouched for years, vines and
overgrowth had taken over the stone pathways, carved lanterns,
and a once-magnificent fountain.
Traveling by horseback, it was a mere three suns travel to Isidor's

old mountain... close enough to visit. As the Titan Snake was...
'popular' amongst the Snake Cult, there might have been some
interaction between the two locations.
Thirteen boulders stood thrice the height of a human, their white-

rock fronts worn smooth. Heavy metal chains, covered with rust
were secured to each of them, arranged in X-shapes.
Those chains once held men... something that Tycon surmised by

the old blood staining the otherwise pristine white marble.
Tycon examined the runic script etched into the sacrificial stones...
and the lines carved into the rocky ground underfoot. They led to
the heavy double doors of the structure... tall, magnificent doors
flanked by two mosaics even taller.
Tanamar had been using a movement technique to scout the area

from the sky. Supported by the wings of light on his back, he
hovered in front of the mosaics staring at the single individuals
depicted on each.
"And who are they supposed to be?"
Felinus narrowed his eyes, breathing in deeply... "Champions of

the Snake Cult... I have seen the armor design before. These
ones-- their names escape me."
Tycon looked over to the Elven Hunter... "They are familiar to

you?"
The elf stared back impassively, "They are human."
Tycon did not fault the elf for that. Some humans were difficult to
tell apart. Some were difficult to remember. Even Bannok had no
incredibly interesting features to identify him. Tycon was thankfully
every sun that he had a System that recorded and regurgitated
names via mental command.
That he had no issue matching faces or voices to names allowed
him to easily fit in amongst his human allies.
Narrowing his eyes to squints... Tycon identified a pattern hidden

in the lines of the mosaic arrangement. It *would* have been
clever... if the formation mage that drew it had a modicum of skill.
Felinus seemed to notice the change in Tycon's expression,

"Master Tactician, would you share what you've found?"
Tycon nodded, "I'm assuming you are aware of the purpose of the
stones and the carved depressions in the ground?"
"Indeed," The elf shifted his weight uneasily. "Blood drawn from
the chained sacrifices activate the formation... but that is the
extent of my knowledge."
Tanamar landed on the ground beside the two of them, holy lance
in hand, "So how much blood are we talkin'? If it's just a few
drops, we can get thirteen people, no problem."
"Unlikely, Hero." Felinus spoke harshly, "None so loyal to Tyrion

would be willing to offer their blood to take part in a Snake Cult
Ritual... You may be more open-minded than most, to suggest as
such."
"The blood collects down here in front of the mosaics..." Tycon

knelt and swept out a handful of dried foliage from one of the
trenches... "Gallons of blood. Sentient blood. That is what the
ritual would require us to waste if we cared to activate the doors
properly."
"Flame take me..." Tanamar cursed, "What, then?"
Tycon shrugged, "According to what I've observed... the doors

have four possible conditions, Closed, Open, Fail-Closed, and
Fail-Open."
Both the elf and the footman stared cluelessly at Tycon.

Tycon sighed and carried on, "We're not opening it properly. I don't
make a point to keep thirteen humans that are worth so little."
"We do have useless humans, Tactician..." Felinus frowned,

"Unfortunately, 'murder' is a crime in the Holy Country of Tyrion...
Also, Bannok, Ariadne, and countless others would not approve."
"...I've come to a similar conclusion," Tycon pursed his lips.
He would have loved to volunteer the Stormbrands for sacrifice to

allow the rest of the Brazen Guard collective to raid the
Dungeon... but that would be selfish of him.
"Our guild has explosives..." Tanamar idly twirled his staff-like

weapon... "Can we blow the double doors open?"
Tycon shook his head, "Unfortunately, the barrier behind the door
is strong... stronger than the formation that guards it, for whatever
reason."
The door guardians and the barrier behind the door were created
by a Fourth-Circle Formation Mage, at minimum. However, the
blood-activation ritual was formed by an amateur.
Curious.
Tycon continued... "A single mana pool governs the door's

defenses-- a barrier and the... Mosaic Guardians, we'll call them...
In certain conditions, the Guardians can reinforce the barrier and
make it impossible to traverse for a time... That would be the Fail-
Closed condition."
"The doors are currently closed... We are unwilling to properly

open them," Felinus gazed up at the mosaics once more... "Then
we need to drain that mana pool... in order to achieve the Fail-
Open state."
Tycon nodded, "Athanasius."
"Right," The footman nodded, shutting his eyes... "The ritual

summons the Snake Cult Champions in the mosaics..."
"Two Guardians, then?" Tycon asked. He had guessed as much.
Tanamar opened his eyes, frowning... "Yeah."
"Excellent." Tycon smirked, the wheels of a functional plan finally

turning in his head, "We activate the ritual, lure the two summoned
creatures far from the doors... and defeat them both before they
have a chance to reinforce the barrier."
Tanamar whistled, "There's gonna be a whole lot more than just

the Guardians, Tycon."
Tycon chuckled to himself, "Then it's a good thing we don't fight

alone."
Chapter 432 Kiting
he following morning, 117 men and women of the Brazen Guard

T
collective collected in the temple courtyard. Their effective number
during combat would be far less... as the close combatants would
not be able to easily engage with the lethal sweeping attacks of
the giant-sized Guardians.
According to Tanamar, two Adamantine-Rank creatures would be

summoned out of the mosaics... in the image of Snake Cult
champions, no doubt. Further, additional defenders would be
summoned from the thirteen sacrificial stones, mostly Iron-Rank
creatures. The latter would be intercepted by the close combat
squads, led by defensive classes such as Legionnaire Karodin
and Duelist Ptolema led those tent-groups.
Such persons, Tycon had personally identified as competent as

Decani... and though their groups consisted primarily of Bronze-
Ranks, they had the advantage of numbers and teamwork, and
were more than able to defeat their opponents.
In the distance, Tanamar was briefing the collective about the

upcoming battle. It was his second time going over the
information... and he'd likely have to explain everything three or
four times for learning to occur amongst the short-attention-
spanned masses.
Tycon stayed back with the Brazen Guard leaders, separate from
the crowd. He stood, handsome and comfortable in his black
armor, his white full-helm resting underneath his arm.
Bannok approached him, heavy Tyrion shield on his left, his right
securing the enchanted battleaxe resting over his opposite
shoulder. He would be locking down one of the two Adamantine-
Ranks, something that, as a Gold-Rank human, would be
unthinkable if he did not have the synergistic support of both
healing spells and Elven archery also at a Gold-Rank level.
"So what was that about, earlier, green-hair guy?"
Tycon brushed some of his green hair out of his eyes, "You'll have
to be more specific, Brother-Bannok."
"Ah, right. I mean ah... haha..." The Weaponmaster grinned, "I

wanted to ask why one of your Letalis gals beat the ever-living
shite outta a Stormbrand."
The tattooed dark elf, Ariadne, placed her hands on her hips.
Though her posture was somewhat negative, she wore a smirk
similar to that of her husband, "That Occam feller had his corn
creamed, let me tell ya~ But thankfully, only the best healin' tonics
worked him right up."
The older elf, Felinus, slowly turned his head to look over in
bemusement, "Sapling... did you not assign a healer to attend to
the *broken* Cleric?"
The Priestess rolled her eyes, "Sevennnn helllllls, noooo! Not after
that what he tried to do to Becca! Only service I'd give that creep'd
be cancellin' his birth certificate."
"You cannot--" Felinus paused. "Oh. Very well."
The nuance behind Aria's statement took a few moments to dawn

on the elf... Tycon took a similar amount of time to reach the same
conclusion.
He chose not to ask about the... Becca incident. Knowing the

tendencies of Cleric Occam, he could surmise the gist of it.
Occam was scum and didn't deserve to have nice things.
"Anyroad, dear husband~" Aria sang, "Don't you dare punish

Mister Tactician for that egg-sucker being taught a lesson he
rightfully deserves!"
Bannok snorted, "Oh, don't worry. I'm old... I don't give a shite
about drama-- and I ain't bendin' over backwards to make the
Stormbrands happy, of all people."
Hunter Felinus tilted his head, "You have shown leniency to the
Stormbrands on multiple occasions, prior."
"I just like the kid, that's all," Bannok shrugged. "--and now that
she's got herself a different guild, Tancred and his goons can f*ck
right off, if they want."
"'An now... she's gonna be in a fight with an Adamantine-Rank..."

Aria crossed her arms, an expression of worry on her face. "Are
y'all Letalis folks gon' be alright? Ah mean... I heard you got
yerselves a defensive-type, now?"
"Yes. Yes, we did," Tycon nodded.
It was him.
Tycon was well-qualified to take the attention of the second

Guardian.
To protect his guild, he needed to always be wary of his

positioning relative to the opponent and those he defended. As for
himself, his mana usage would go towards the defensive skills he
learned from Garock, instead of his usual offense and support
skills. Then, with the vigilance of the Brazen Guard healers, as
well as Zenon's defensive wind enchantments, he was confident
in both his resilience and ability to fight through injury.
Bannok tapped his weapon against his shoulder pauldron, "You

uh... gonna field the... Raging Flame Knight, then?"
"...Yes."
"So I know that's not a *real* defensive-class... Is she gonna be

good facing off against an Adamantine-Rank? I mean, you're
gonna know the strength of yours guys best."
"She'll be fine," Tycon reassured the Weaponmaster.

...As long as Tycon could successfully harness the creature's
attention, Korr would be just as safe from its attacks as the rest of
Guild Letalis.
Why were these people so concerned?
"Tactician..." Felinus approached Tycon, removing his hood and

facing him directly.
It was... odd. The purple-haired Elven Hunter spoke freely, yet had
chosen to address him, first. Tycon surmised that Felinus had
something else on his mind-- something other than doubting his
abilities in acting as a defensive class.
Tycon nodded in acknowledgment. If there was one good thing

about elves, they did not waste effort on unnecessary words.
When speaking to Felinus, Tycon did not need to offer redundant
audible confirmation, when a nod or a shake of his head would do.
"The female Knight..." Felinus whispered...
In analyzing the context of the elf's words... His statement seemed

to be... an inquiry.
"Her name is Korr." Tycon offered, "She's... very strong."
Tycon considered openly admitting that he was also terrified of

her. He doubted anyone in his immediate vicinity would judge him
negatively for saying so-- but as it was unnecessary information,
he decided against it.
A hint of recognition gleamed in the elf's pale yellow eyes... "The

Unbreakable."
Tycon nodded once more.
Korr's reputation seemed to be known even in the Holy Country.

Good for her.
The elf replaced his hood and turned to walk away... but he
hesitated.
He turned back for a moment, "Thank you."
"Of course."
Expressing thankfulness was redundant. But still, as a human

custom, that the elf was so polite was a pleasant interaction.
Felinus practiced greater courtesies than Tycon expected from
most humans.
...
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, shook his head. Had he fallen
asleep, standing up? There had to be over a hundred people in
the crowd, so it was warm and... no one was really watching him.
It sounded like it was near the end of Tanamar's brief.
"...So those are the group assignments. If you are a close-combat

class, you are either in BANNOK's group or the LETALIS group!"
Tanamar shouted, "If you are a ranged or support class, you will
be directed by Hunter Felinus or Priestess Ariadne."
Lone nodded. That was fine. He was part of the Letalis group! He
hoped he didn't miss anything important.
...Oh, but he was a Ranger. Was he part of the Ranged group? He

did have a pistol, so he could serve as a Gunner if he needed to.
"Once the fight is initiated..." Tanamar continued, "--hold attacks

until the Guardians are kited back to their positions... Now, as I
have explained the fight three different times... are there any.
more. questions?"
Three times? ...Lone wanted to raise his hand, but that'd only piss
Tanamar off. No, it would be better if he just went with whatever
was going on.
It'd probably be fine.
"Question, Mister Tanamar!" A female voice rose from the crowd.

It was Sorina, the beautiful Calculator with a Business Degree.
Lone didn't know why she was around since she wasn't really
good at fighting... but Boss Tycon had insisted on it.
"Yeap?" Tanamar gestured towards her.
"What's kiting?" She asked.
Lone had the same exact question. He and Sorina were on the
same wavelength! It hurt a little bit that she didn't like him. Every
time he tried to approach her-- nevermind asking her about it, he'd
be chased away or hit by a skill.
"YOU!! Hahaha! You don't know what kiting is?!?" Someone

mocked. Looking over it seemed to be someone from... the
Stormbrand guild? If Lone recognized the symbol correctly,
anyroad.
It pissed him off a little to hear someone making fun of Sorina--

not that he still liked her or anything... even though he had a thing
for her for... years, now.
Maybe he did still like her a little bit...
Lone shot his hand up into the air, using all of his Iron-Rank
Physique to do so, "I DON'T KNOW WHAT KITING IS, EITHER!!!"
The crowd grew quiet.
Sweat dripped down the back of Lone's neck. He was pretty sure
he knew what was going to happen when he did what he did... but
it didn't feel comfortable getting stared at by so many people.
Sorina scoffed, "Pff... You don't know what kiting is? Really?
Dummy."
Lone blinked. Had he been tricked?
Tanamar sighed, leaning on his holy lance, "When a kite on a

string catches the wind, it stays a fixed distance away, right?
When Fel and I engage the enemy, our goal is to not evade the
Guardians, but to keep their attention and move them into
position."
"But... why is it called kiting?"
"...Because we don't want to release the kite or pull it too close, I

guess."
Lone nodded slowly. He didn't understand it completely, but from

what Tanamar said, it didn't really have anything to do with him.
He just had to do whatever... someone told him to do...
...Whoever that someone was.

Chapter 433 Troublesome Plan
he path to the Halls of the Dead Serpent was a rocky climb. The
T
difficulty was moderate, at worst... but it did require time to
navigate.
If the first encounter went poorly, upwards of 100 adventurers of

the Brazen Guard collective would be funneled into that narrow
escapeway. More likely, they would be forced off of the sheer cliff
to crash into the white-water rapids below.
Tycondrius doubted even a Gold-Rank adventurer could survive

the fall... without magical assistance, of course.
Tanamar had a skill that allowed him limited flight. Centurion

Zenon Skyreaper and Athena Vanzano could levitate and
(reasonably) glide with the aid of their magical abilities.
Gold-Rank Weaponmaster Bannok and Priestess Ariadne would

likely drop like rocks. Hunter Felinus would probably fall... very
gracefully.
Anyroad, the plan was... Hunter Felinus and Holy Lancer

Tanamar, the strongest two ranged classes in the collective, would
activate the temple defenses by defacing the Snake Cult mosaics.
Once the Guardians were summoned, the two of them would
evade their attacks, utilizing the massive sacrifice-boulders as
cover... dragging the creatures as far as reasonably possible away
from the temple doors.
There, the two separate close-combat groups would converge on

their enemies, engage with them, and hopefully defeat them near-
simultaneously.
The only issue was--

"--Boss..." Lone interrupted Tycon's thinking, in a rather rude and
abrupt manner, "I uh... are you... are you okay with this plan?"
Tycon took a deep breath as he tried to hide his annoyance...

"Why... wouldn't I be okay with it?"
"I uh... I dunno, but you look really upset," Lone grinned
sheepishly.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "This is my face. I always look upset."
"True," Lone relented. "But... this time, there's a... reason for you
to be upset, right?"
Tycon chose not to respond.
There was, indeed, a reason.
Guild Letalis and the adventurers assigned to assist them were

hiding in some of the greenery that grew rampant in the area.
The attack plan was deemed... the 'Hide-in-the-Bush Plan.'
Tycon did not like the Hide-in-the-Bush plan.
The Guardians of the temple likely did not even operate on vision-
- perhaps using mana sense, like proper magical constructs... or
tremor-sense... smell, even.
Utilizing the bushes for stealth was... stupid... Tycon highly

doubted it would be effective, at all. Unfortunately, he had no
alternative options to offer the Brazen Guard leadership. On top of
that, such a precautionary measure had almost no drawbacks--
save Tycon's extreme vexation.
More troublesome was that he could not discern why that

particular facet of the plan upset him.
"Sir Tycon..." On the side opposite Lone, a young woman wearing

ivory-white armor nudged him with her elbow... "Do you need a
hug?"
"No." Tycon glared at the blue-haired whelpling, "No, I do not."
"Ehehe... okay," Athena giggled, falling back into quietude.
A magically-boosted hiss resounded throughout the temple

grounds, loud enough to thrum the ground beneath. Two
Guardians had emerged, one following Felinus and the other,
following Tanamar. The temple's defensive formation had formed
the constructs entirely of mana and they took the appearance of
Champions of the Snake Cult.
Human.
As they were not... real, the Guardians towered over the two
ranged classes in the distance. As they approached, Tycon
estimated their heights at about ten fulms...
However... their particular forms were... disturbing-- to Tycon, at

least. Each Guardian was a... barefoot, scantily clad woman, their
breasts wrapped in cloth, and a breechcloth covering their loins.
Each wore a single shoulder pad on their right, and a chestguard
on the left side of their chest...
They wielded two-handed swords that looked much too large for
their frames.
They wore fantastic helmets, as well... interestingly, made in the

design of a hooded cobra.
Hooded cobras were not native to Tyrion... the grammar and

intonation of their Parseltongue was horrendous... and as much
as Tycon wished to correct them for inaccuracy, the Guardians
were not sentient beings.
As the creatures were mana constructs, their chosen attire likely

had no effect on their resilience. Still, the thought of going without
indefensible armor and inefficient weaponry annoyed Tycon to no
end.
To an adventurer, a thin piece of leather could mean the difference

between death and survival. Electing to go without was
foolishness to the highest degree.
A half-second longer to swing a weapon was enough for an

opponent's shorter weapon to slice a throat or stab a vital point. It
was why Tycon preferred his short sword to his current weapon.
"SHOW US YOUR TITS!!!" An adventurer from Bannok's group

shouted.
Tycon identified that voice as belonging to Cleric Occam... who

had apparently recovered from his previous injuries enough to
take part in the battle.
How was that man still alive?
"Grant me a few moments, will you..." Tycon sighed, leaving the

'concealment' of the bush.
"[SHALL I COME WITH YOU?]" Korr's too-loud voice echoed out

of her full helmet.
"What? No. Stay in the bush."
"[...VERY WELL.]"
With Korr returning to the bush, Tycon walked forward. Placing his
left hand against his waist, he flicked his right wrist... summoning
the long curved blade, the Sword of Venom and its scabbard.
"SIR TYCON!! HOLLLD!!" Karodin of Fool-hold shouted abruptly.
Tycon turned back with a scowl, "WHAAAAT?!"
"Sir Tycon!!!!!" Karodin pouted, "Are-- are you going to get the
monster's attention?!"
"What does it look like I'm doing?" He growled.
"It looks like you're trying to get yourself killed!!" Karodin argued.
"Karodin, get back in the bush!" Duelist Ptolema scolded.

"Mister Karodin, we can trust in Sir Tycon!" Athena said breathily...
slightly uncertain.
Tycon felt a vein on his forehead bulging in annoyance, "ALL OF

YOU! Back in the bush!"
Lone pursed his lips... "Boss... I thought you hated the--"
"NOT NOW, MISTER LONE!!"
Their group's guardian was fast approaching, charging forward

with rumbling steps... hissing inanely, like a child throwing a
tantrum. Even the young Sasarame hadn't been so disobedient.
Tycon drew his curved sword out of the scabbard... "Now... how
did this go, again?"
Closing his eyes, he concentrated his mana to circulate through

the circuits he had his System map out prior. The process was
laughably simple, like connecting dots on parchment with straight
lines, ensuring that the flow was steady and uninterrupted. He
then allowed his mana to seep outward... where it mixed in with
the natural mana around him... empowering it... amplifying it... and
willing it to grow violent to achieve his selfish ends.
Tycon clenched his teeth in a grin. The skill was ready to activate.
He slashed his blade forward at the oncoming heretic.
"⌈OROCHI NO KEN WO KURAE!!!!!⌋"

Chapter 434 Domineering
Sword
ight snakes coalesced in front of Tycon, each of them nearly the

E
size of himself in his snake form-- all of them together dwarfing
the Snake Cult Guardian. Glowing a harsh white, they surged
forward, biting and snapping.
These were vipers.
It was slightly annoying that he had to yell the skill's name in a

foreign language to achieve such a powerful effect... As he had
not perfectly mastered the ⌈Taste the Hydra Blade⌋ art enough to
achieve its full power without a chant, he preferred being effective
at the cost of being overly dramatic.
"So... cool..." Athena peered out of the brush with wide eyes, "Are
those... d-dragons?"
"Psh, no," Lone answered before anyone else could. "Dragons

don't exist... um... milady."
The ethereal vipers crashed into the Guardian, sinking fangs into
the woman's 'flesh' and stifling her charge. She grabbed at them,
making futile efforts to pull them off, all while screaming as if she
was actually a human.
She did not make much progress.
As the duration of the snakes would only last several more

seconds, Tycon dashed forward, the enchantment on his boots
increasing his speed despite wearing his thick armor. He ran up a
nearby sacrifice-stone, bounding off and swinging his sword at the
construct's face, "⌈Shadowfang Strike.⌋"
...
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, watched Tycon jump at the

big woman like a veritable badass, slashing at her helmeted head.
It cleaved a mark in it... almost like it was made out of clay... which
was weird, but also kinda funny.
Maybe the fight wasn't going to be so hard, after all. He was a little
worried that they were fighting Adamantine-Rank creatures. He
hadn't even met any real Gold-Ranks, much less Adamantine-
Ranks.
Sword and mace in hand, Lone rushed forward along with

everyone else, screaming as loud as he could. He had to follow
everyone else, because... he wasn't sure where he was supposed
to be.
Thankfully, everyone else was yelling along with him. He was

probably in the right place.
"You're Bronze-Rank, right, Lone?!" Legionnaire Karodin shouted,

"I'll protect you with my shield!!"
"Nah!! I'm Iron-Rank!!" Lone yelled back, very proud of himself. "I
think!!"
A horn sounded from somewhere... and with a series of loud

explosions, the ranged classes opened fire. The big woman
reeled back, peppered by bullets, arrows, spears of light, and
icicles, among other things. Sergeant Salt and his gunners were
the loudest... and appeared to be doing the most damage.
Doubt entered Lone's fragile heart. Maybe he was supposed to be

with those guys?
With a loud clang, Boss deflected the big woman's sword-- which
was also big, in relation to her size. It struck the ground with a
loud crash, dirt and rock flying everywhere.
...Lone wasn't... super-confident that an Iron-Rank like himself

would be able to survive that.
"Do you wanna be protectedddd?!!!" Karodin shouted.
"Actually!! Yeah!!! I do!!!"
Suddenly, the thick rusted chains on one of the huge white

boulders nearby began to rattle... almost like a snake.
That didn't look good.
Karodin dashed towards it, his shield at the ready... a dozen

adventurers at his back.
There was Legionnaire Karodin's group... the uncomfortably

attractive Duelist Ptolema's group... and a bunch of other groups
led by defensive-classes whose names Lone didn't know.
He decided to trust in Karodin. He seemed like a nice guy. He was

probably a lonely, single loser just like he was... It was probably a
stupid reason to trust him-- but he'd already decided.
The various links of the chains snapped off, falling to the ground...
at which point in time, Lone realized the chains were thicker than
his thighs.
His thighs were huge.
Reddish ghostly figures lifted up from the floor, the large chain
links transforming and wrapping around them as... smaller chains.
Chain-ception.
Lone could tell they were ghosts because their ribs were splayed
open, sticking out of their chests and it looked like their insides
were missing.
Clearly ghosts.
Lone breathed a sigh of relief.
They weren't nearly as large as the big woman... and they didn't
even have any weapons.
Then they started whipping their chains at Karodin, denting up his
shield in a bad way.
They were using their chains as weapons... because, of course

they would.
Seven hells. This would be more difficult than he thought... but

he'd been through worse.
Lone put on a confident grin and flourished his Dark Iron mace...
"Let's do this, Tres Leches."
...
Korr stared at Lone's puppy as it tore out the throat of one of the
Crimson Phantoms.
It was cute. She wanted one.
There was a loud noise, which forced her head to tilt forcefully to
the side. Something had hit her from her blind spot. It didn't hurt,
so it couldn't have been that strong.
...But she really should have been paying more attention.
Turning to face her opponent, Korr saw one of the ghosts. It was a
bearded man spewing ectoplasm or... whatever gross stuff it was,
out of its mouth.
"Turn awayyyy from the false Flaaaame!!!" It demanded.
Korr pursed her lips... something that no one could see outside of
her very handsome helmet.
What was the ghost talking about? She was a Raging Flame
Knight. She liked flames (especially raging ones.)
...That made the ghost wrong.
Korr grabbed the ghost by the neck and thrust the Blackblade of
Shahram through its belly. Charging it with mana, it burst in a gout
of glorious (raging) flames.
The ghost dissipated into mana-slime... or whatever gross stuff
that was. Yep. Not strong, at all.
Korr kicked another ghost in the groin, then strangled it with its
own chain, "[FLAMES ARE GOOD!]"
Battlecries resounded throughout their group.
"Smite these heretics, for the glory of the ETERNAL FLAME!!!"
"Our FAITH is ETERNAAALLLL!!!"
"FOR THE FLAAAAME!!!"
It was then that Korr remembered that the people of the Holy
Country worshipped a literal eternally burning flame.
...That was also probably good.
She liked being part of a group... and these people seemed very
nice. Leader associated with them, too, so they could probably be
trusted-- for the most part.
She grabbed a ghost by its lower jaw and jammed the side of her
blade into its mouth... hacking and sawing away until its head was
severed.
The Brazen Guard-people were... really enthusiastic, though,

yelling and screaming as they were. It made her want to yell, too...
but she was a little shy.
That was fine, though. She was just happy that everyone was
enjoying themselves.
Being with adventurers made her feel warm inside.
...Or maybe that was just her fire mana.
Korr walked up to the giant Guardian that Leader was fighting.

Since it was time to fight, she had to help too.
She slashed her sword upward, "⌈SOUL SCORCHING BLADE.⌋"

Her attacks had gotten stronger since she became friends with
her sword... or the woman that lived inside of her sword? Or was it
Shahram who could turn into a sword?
...Could she turn into a sword if she really tried? Eh, no. How
would she sleep? Sorina would have to commission a sword-sized
bed.
Her soul-scorching blade launched a fiery line of mana that was

very hot. It was so hot, she was pretty sure that it actually burned
people's souls. Or scorched them, at least.
She asked Shahram about it, once. She was told that if she killed
people with that skill, they would be sent to the deepest pits of the
seven hells.
That sounded silly, though. Shahram tended to be dramatic about

everything.
Chapter 435 Unlikely Hero
"⌈Silverwind Shield!⌋"
Duelist Ptolema held her rapier up, barely activating her skill in
time to block a Crimson Phantom's chain swing.
She and her team were having a difficult time fending off the
creatures... A single lapse in judgment could prove lethal, even if
she was fighting a single one.
Thus far, she had chain-link bruises on her neck from having her
throat nearly crushed and a swollen forearm. In another world, her
sword-arm would have snapped in half, making her more useless
than she currently felt.
"I got it!" A black blur leapt to her aid.
Even though Guild Letalis wore similar dark armors, she

recognized the voice. He was a Letalis Ranger that introduced
himself as... the Lone Shadowdark... and he'd arrived to support
her even faster than anyone in her own Snowy Village guild.
Lone smashed a domineering dark-metal mace into the

Phantom's legs, dropping it to the ground. Then, with his off-hand
sword, he... cleaved his weapon down, through its chain-weapon,
and into half of its torso.
That thing was unbelievably sharp... The Crimson Phantoms'

chains were too durable to be cut by her own blade, even if she
used her skills.
"My thanks, Ranger," Ptolema gave Lone a nod as she massaged

a sore wrist.
"Yeap!" The helmeted Ranger nodded back.

The Ranger was out of position, well away from his own team...
not that Ptolema was complaining. Lone's thoughtlessness had
inadvertently eased the pressure on her and her tent-group.
...and then Lone dashed off again... like he was purposely trying
to evade his allies. A moment later, Karodin and his troop ran
past, desperately chasing.
"HI, PTOLEMAAAA!" Karodin shouted.
"Stay focused!!" Ptolema yelled back.
Without her warning, Karodin would have slammed head-first into

one of the sacrificial rocks.
"I will!!! LOVE YOUUUU!!"
Ptolema shook her head and sighed.
"I love you too... idiot," She whispered.
She didn't think her being a few weeks pregnant affected her
fighting prowess... so it did not feel good, at all, that she was
having issues in the Dungeon's first encounter.
Before the fight-- before the quest, really, she decided that if her
abilities deteriorated noticeably, she would take a break from
adventuring for a few moons. And she wouldn't let anyone give
her shite for it, either.
...Karodin would be ecstatic over it. The insufferable idiot always

wanted to be as helpful as he could... The Legionnaire offered
time and time again to terminate his contract with the Brazen
Guard to join and co-lead Snowy Village-- to ease the burden, he
said.
She adamantly refused. The coin was too good for Karodin as one
of Bannok's Decani... coin that was almost nonexistent in Guild
Snowy Village.
Seven hells... If it wasn't for her nagging, he wouldn't be able to

put his trousers on correctly. Sometimes she was surprised he'd
made it so far in both his military and adventuring career.
But while Guild Snowy Village was performing average to below...

Guild Letalis was certainly putting in the work to compensate.
Tycon, the Master Tactician, was using a long curved blade to

fend off the 20-pedes tall Guardian. Ptolema felt more than a little
stupid, seeing him in action... She recalled that she rejected his
help in the Icingdeath Dungeon and nearly died for her arrogance.
The white-helmeted Tactician wielded a sword as well as a

Legionnaire or Heavy Knight! How could she-- even in a thousand
years, imagine something like that? But the proof was in front of
her... one of Guild Letalis' many anomalies...
Ranger Lone and his metal wolf were wreaking havoc on the field,
roving around like ravenous predators. He didn't seem very
strong... and initially, she thought he looked like a bit of a
pushover.
When Ptolema was younger, she'd go to public houses and

specifically target loser-adventurers that looked and acted exactly
like Lone. The desperate, socially-awkward fool would pay for her
drinks the whole night... and when she left with her friends, she'd
show off about how she hadn't spent a single slug.
But Ptolema had thought wrong. Lone was very respectable... he

wielded weapons that inspired nothing short of awe... a fiery wolf-
hammer and a sword that could cut through stone and steel.
The black armor that the members of Guild Letalis wore was
definitely enchanted, too. The force of the Crimson Phantoms'
blows should have sent him crashing into the stones with cracked
ribs, but he ignored the attacks as if he were a fully-armored
Legionnaire.
Then there was Miss Athena, herself...
Ptolema had seen her fight... the little Bronze-Rank Warrior,

innocent and honest to a fault.
"Snowy Village, let's move!!" Seeing her about to be surrounded,
Ptolema signaled for her tent-group to follow, rushing towards her
position.
"⌈Bladesurge!⌋" The little frost-haired girl dashed forward, her four

blades whirling around her and devastating three Crimson
Phantoms in a group. Pirouetting in a circle, she cut them all
down...
Not completely finished, Athena locked her palms together and

pointed, angled upward, "⌈ICE BEEEEEAAAAMU!!⌋"
A whitish-blue beam of frost mana struck the Guardian in the side,

staggering it back.
Whatever she took to grow so much in strength between then and

now... Ptolema wanted some of it.
As Athena had no issues on her own, Ptolema called her group to

slow... quickly scanning the battlefield for more enemies to
engage with. Even though Athena could use attacks on the
Guardian, she couldn't risk her group to do the same.
Ptolema's eyes passed over the most impressive member of Guild

Letalis... a heavy-armored knight named Korr with unique black
armor, covered in spikes and doom and gloom. Their
asymmetrical helmet suggested that the warrior had one eye... or
maybe it had a weird enchantment on it? It didn't seem to hold
them back one bit.
The knight fought alone in the distance... wherever he stepped

erupted in cracked earth and rising flames. Wherever he felled his
black blade, the Crimson Phantoms fell to their knees, screaming
in pain from beyond death. Their chains sizzled molten-orange or
just melted outright.
In a foreboding echoing voice, he even raised his sword and

rallied everyone around with praises to the Eternal Flame.
If Ptolema wasn't so loyal to her reasonably handsome,

unreasonably stupid husband, she would have fallen in love in a
heartbeat.
...not that love was so easy, outside of the fairy tales.
Ptolema vaulted over another Crimson Phantom, stabbing it in the

back and kicking it forward for one of her Ruffians to finish off.
Her husband seemed to have a good relationship with both

Athena and the Tactician. Maybe after all this was over, she'd
seek a meeting with the littlest Vanzano...
According to Agathe, House Vanzano had gained a lot of

popularity from winning the Caeruleum Martial Tournament... and
they had a mysterious financial backer from outside the nation.
Ptolema didn't care where the Flamescarred coin came from.
Working for steady pay was a far more attractive option than
adventuring... especially as she was expecting a child.
Ugh. Karodin would be so happy about it.
But still... that stupid smile of his was the reason she fell for him,
in the first place.
",
Chapter 436 Parse
he longer the fight was prolonged, the more annoyed Tycondrius

T
grew.
The Guardian tried to... kick him.
Its execution was embarrassingly sloppy, only threatening

because of the construct's size and relative strength. To blunt the
force of the attack, Tycon smashed his adamantine scabbard into
its shin, the force easily capable of breaking half the bones in a
Gold-Rank creature's body.
His stamina reserves were being taxed heavily... but he had the
advantage of the soothing winds of Zenon's comfortable support
skills and whatever healing skills that Aria's healers were casting
on him. He was free of muscle fatigue... his focus remained... and
his skill activations were smooth and without the possibility of
recoil.
However... his head was beginning to ache... He felt a minute,

dull, throbbing sensation just behind his brows. If it wasn't a mana
or stamina issue... then he was merely suffering from general
frustration.
"Lookin' good, Boss," Sorina Capulet commented.
Tycon spun his helmeted head around so hard, his neck hurt,
"Sorina, what the hells are you doing this far in the front?!"
The drill-haired girl raised an eyebrow, "Observing the front line?

Like you told me to. Absolute willfulness and subservience to
orders, right?"
That was wrong.

The Guardian raised her blade to the sky, charging it with purplish,
noxious energy. With a fell swoop, it plummeted down towards the
two of them.
Tycon sighed, crouching down. Springing upward, he cut his blade

deep into the giant construct's wrists, stopping the attack's
momentum. Because the creature was made of mana... more an
idea or a concept than an actual being, it didn't cut completely
through. Still, it was nice that there were deep indentations left
where he had struck.
"Ooh, thanks, Boss!" Sorina squealed as Tycon landed. "We

nearly died!"
"YOU, young lady, nearly died," Tycon chided. "Now... please

withdraw to a safer place."
"Isn't the safest place where you are?"
Tycon pursed his lips, scrutinizing Sorina Capulet's armored form.

The Calculator had initially requested metal armor... but as she
had trouble moving in them, she wore Guild Letalis leathers
instead. That level of defense was not nearly enough to protect
her from the Guardians' attacks.
In theory, it was dangerous to keep the Calculator close... she

could be caught in the cross-fire of skills and cleaving sword
swipes. However... the fight was winding down. The construct was
steadily losing mana and its attacks were growing weaker (instead
of stronger-- which does inexplicably happen, sometimes.)
"Very well," With a lazy swipe of Tycon's off-hand scabbard, he

deflected another of the massive, Adamantine-Rank Guardian's
sword attacks... "Report."
"Who do you want first, Boss?"
"Does it matter?"
"Of course, it matters! I wanna save the best one for last!"
Tycon groaned, dipping his sword low... "⌈Orochi no ken wo
kurae.⌋"
After activating another ⌈Taste the Hydra Blade⌋, the Guardian

staggered back, trying to swat at the eight mana-created snakes
that bit into its form.
It allowed Tycon a moment to think...
"Then... how are my abilities, according to your ⌈Parse⌋ skill?"
"Oh, no! That one's last, Boss!" Sorina grinned, "Gotta keep the
SUSPENSE!!"
Tycon narrowed his eyes at the young, drill-haired brunette.
"[TASTE THE POWER OF MY ⌈BRUTAL-ER BLADE⌋!!!]" Korr

yelled.
That was wrong, as well. That attack's name should have been...
'More Brutal Blade.'
Korr leapt, rocketing upward from what appeared to be an

explosion. Landing on the Guardian's shoulder, she began to
batter the side of its head with her exceedingly ⌈Brutal Blade⌋
skills.
Her positioning was incredibly dangerous, as the archers and

mages were directed to fire their attacks at the creature's upper
torso. Her armor and what appeared to be a fiery ⌈Mana Ward⌋
kept her safe, though...
"How is Korr doing, then?" Tycon inquired.
"Korr's in the top 20% of Gold-Rank Berserker classes!" Sorina

declared proudly. "If we rate her just as a Martial class, she's even
higher in numerical damage per minute."
Tycon furrowed his brows. How did that skill quantify how much
damage was dealt over time? The Calculator class did remain
consistent across the Realm and over the ages... but asking about
the formulae behind the results was useless. It was something
only the gods knew.
"⌈Frozen ORB!!!⌋" "⌈WIND TUNNEL!!!⌋"
The combined attacks of Athena and Zenon tore a line through

the battlefield, piercing the bodies of several dozens of Crimson
Phantoms. Their synergistic training over the past few weeks had
reaped fantastic results.
"Athena's doing average, " The Calculator explained... "Top 45%

of Iron-Rank Martial Caster classes... Whew. Her numbers are
padded from all the area damage she's doing, so it's hard to
quantify exactly."
"And the Centurion?" Tycon asked, casually walking forward.
The scantily clad Guardian had fallen to a knee, its skin seeming
to melt like wax. Its helmet had cracked and broken, revealing
absolutely nothing inside of it. Whatever formation in place
keeping its form together was breaking down.
"Top 10%, Boss! He might even break through to Gold-Rank

soon!!"
Tycon chuckled at the young lady's optimism. The leap in power

from Iron-Rank to Gold was not small, especially when compared
to breaking through the lesser ranks. He judged that it would take
a few more years of experience for the young Centurion to grow in
both maturity and strength-- barring special circumstances, of
course.
His development was steady and solid, though. If he hadn't had

his mana circuits broken and repaired, he'd have estimated his
breakthrough to take decades, instead.
"Uh... Boss??!" Sorina called out in a panic.
Tycon rolled his eyes, not bothering to look back, "What is it now,
Capulet?"
"Boss! Help!"
Tycon focused for a moment, keeping his eyes on the frenzied,

thrashing Guardian, but using his other senses to detect what was
going on behind him. Two Crimson Phantoms were aiming for
Sorina's life... "Lone!!"
"I'LL SAVE YOU, SORINA!!" Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark

yelled at the top of his lungs.
"No, thanks, I'm good," Sorina groaned. "I'll wait for Boss."
"Hi-yah! DIE!! ⌈Whirl Shot!!⌋ ⌈Wolf-Fang Fist!!⌋ GUOH!!! ⌈Face-to-

foot Technique!!!⌋"
Tycon sighed... If Sorina was injured, he'd break all of Lone's

limbs.
Chapter 437 Highest
Percentile
"⌈Iron Dragon Rend.⌋"
Tycondrius swung his blade to the side, cleanly severing the

Snake Cult Guardian's wrists. As the skill was originally developed
to cleave apart terrain, it worked well on inanimate objects and,
interestingly, construct-type creatures.
He still didn't like using it, though. As a Gold-Rank, Tycon had the
mana reserves to handle it, but it was... an uncomfortable skill to
activate-- for whatever reason.
The Guardian's hands and the heavy sword it held fell to the
ground, dissipating into a thick burst of fine... powdery mana
dust...
Tycon sneezed. Ugh... It was quite painful. The second sneeze

was even more so.
How annoying...
The mana dust began collecting in a circular spinning shape along

the ground... It whirled about several times over before, all at
once, launching upward into the sky.
Tycon sniffed and rubbed his nose with his wrist... "My thanks,
Brother-Zenon."
Zenon floated magically to Tycon's side, "Not a problem, Optio."
Nearby, Athena landed gracefully on a tiptoed foot, "Are you okay,

Sir Tycon?"
"I'm fine, thanks."
"[I WILL BE THE ONE TO PROTECT YOU, LEADER,]" Korr

offered.
Tycon knew she was trying to be helpful, but her echoing voice
made it sound more like a threat than a kindness.
Lone walked up, both eyes swollen and blood flowing freely down
his nostrils... Sorina stood behind him, crossing her arms and
looking aggrieved.
"We're good, Boss!" The Ranger snorted ungently.
"Oh?" Tycon nodded, pleased with Lone's heroics.
He gestured to the Calculator, "Miss Sorina, how are Mister

Lone's numbers?"
The drill-haired girl stuck out her lips in defiance.
"Rank 1 Bronze-Rank Ranger..." She whispered, too quiet for

anyone to hear-- save Tycon and Zenon, of course.
Interesting.
"I'm what?" Lone asked.
"You're trash. Don't talk to me, scum," Sorina glared.
"Oh. Sorry."
A beam of light flew up high into the sky... as a silver-haired

gentleman with glowing white wings levitated there.
"THIS!! IS MY ⌈OATH!!!⌋" Tanamar shouted, "DEATH TO THE

ENEMIES OF GUILD LETALIS!!!"
"That's the signal," Tycon grinned. "Friends and allies, hear me!
Use your strongest skills on the Guardian, if you would!"
"You got it, Optio!" "Yes, Sir Tycon!" "[YES, LEADER!!]" "ON IT,
BOSS!!"
Tycon sheathed his curved blade... raised his arm... and snapped
his fingers.
...
Cheers resounded throughout the battlefield as the Guardians fell,

dissipating into heaps of mana dust.
In the distance, the heavy temple doors rumbled and shook,

sliding open... and the mosaics adjacent to them, crumbled into
dust and debris.
Tycon placed his Sword of Venom back into his spatial ring and
turned to his companions, "Well, that was nice. Shall we break for
lunch?"
"Is uh... that it?" Sorina asked. "That didn't seem so bad. How
come you didn't bring me on any Dungeons before?!"
Tycon chuckled, choosing not to respond.
The encounter was not difficult thanks to the effectiveness of the

two Gold-Rank front-liners. If he and Weaponmaster Bannok were
not able to easily nullify the Guardians' attacks and restrict their
movement, the battlefield would have been far more dangerous
and chaotic.
It was refreshing to be able to display his strength so openly.
In the Icingdeath Dungeon and when traveling with the Rhodok

Guild, Tycon hid his power in order to avoid dangerous
responsibilities. He had priorities at the time that had nothing to do
with quest completion and his survival was paramount.
Now that he had Guild Letalis, he could act more willfully. In any
situation they encountered, no matter how difficult, Tycon
estimated that he had a high chance to both survive and lead his
companions to victory.
The powerful area-effect abilities utilized by Invictus and Letalis

were integral in culling the additional summoned mana
constructs... Librarian Zenon's rending winds, Athena's various ice
spells, Korr's raging flames. Even Lone and his Dark Iron Wolf,
(as lost as they seemed to be,) kept Brazen Guard casualties to a
minimum.
Then there was the final burst window, suggested by Tanamar

during the strategy meeting. The Holy Lancer's ⌈Oath⌋ skill, the
focused barrage of Salt and the other gunners, and Tycon's
⌈Commander's Strike⌋ skill ensured the Guardians would fall
before activating any fail-safe measures.
"Brother Zenon, Sister Athena," Tycon gestured to the two of

them. "As you two boast the highest mana-sensitivity amongst
Guild Letalis, would you assist the Brazen Guard with gathering
the residual mana dust? I'll return with the others to prepare
lunch."
"Can we have the cheesy fried potatoes?" Athena asked,

practically drooling.
"You said you had bread dough in your spatial ring, Optio?" Zenon
asked, "And the cheese and the garlic?"
Tycon sighed, turning and walking away. The two certainly

deserved their choice of meal, with how much they'd improved
over the past several moons.
"Look forward to it."
On the return trip, they'd learn the consequences. All the

ingredients to their favorite dishes would have been well used up,
by then.
...
⟬ Two bells afterward. ⟭

Tycondrius of Charm and Sorina Capulet arrived at the Brazen
Guard Command Tent for the strategy meeting. However, Tycon
was met with the incredulous stares of two elves and one of the
two humans.
Tanamar was already aware of Tycon's ability with his curved

blade, the Sword of Venom. When Tycon wielded it, the defensive
skills taught to him by Samurai Garock were activated as if they
were at higher Completion Rates than they were.
The others were quite insistent upon learning what had changed
between the Icingdeath Dungeon and the Halls of the Dead
Serpent...
As Tycon did not want to subject himself to suspicion, he credited

his massive spike in power to his weapon and the weapon spirit
that inhabited it. That noble, Gold-Rank Samurai theoretically
guided his blade.
The prior training he'd undertaken with Garock was a form of

guidance... However, it was not the active, in-combat guidance
that Tycon alluded to.
Aria and Felinus were immediately appeased, the latter admitting

to having a conjecture that it was so.
'Wizards were at fault' was more than enough explanation for

those two.
Bannok, as a human unfamiliar with the general tomfoolery and

scumminess of said wizards, was left wanting.
Chapter 438 Dwarven Halls
ycondrius sat patiently, listening to Sorina Capulet report to the

T
Brazen Guard leadership. The Calculator was detailing the
efficacy numbers of the various guilds in the collective.
The results were mostly unsurprising.
Guild Letalis boasted the highest percentile ratings of the

Calculator's ⌈Parse⌋ charts. As such, Tycon allowed his mind to
wander, only paying attention when familiar names were
mentioned.
Overall, other guilds performed... average to below average, with

obvious outliers that were somewhat obvious to everyone in the
command tent.
The Gold-Ranks were exceptional, even amongst others sharing

their rank and class.
Legionnaire Karodin of Emberhold stood out, even though he had

ranked up only recently. Surprisingly, Duelist Ptolema had
performed poorly... at which point Aria informed the table that she
was a few weeks pregnant.
Much to Tycon's chagrin, Reaver Tancred of the Stormbrands

performed well above average, garish armor be damned.
Cleric Occam performed... average if he were rated as a Martial

class... and absolutely horrid, rated as a Support.
Guild Stormbrand suffered the most casualties among their

number. How they continued to recruit Bronze-Rank fodder in
sufficient numbers was baffling.
Bannok openly expressed his intention to allow their contract to
expire without renewal.
The fact pleased Tycon. He enjoyed learning about the oncoming

difficulties of the people he did not like.
After a half-bell of speaking on the topic, Sorina was able to

identify a few members of the Brazen Guard collective that had
performed extraordinarily well-- adventurers that the leaders were
unaware of. In the missions to follow, they would be observed
closely... possibly granted leadership positions and additional pay.
Following that, Tanamar and Felinus reported what they and the
scouts had found. (Also, the Hunter complained about the stench
of the Letalis' Gunners' Hextech... something that Bannok and
Aria willfully ignored, as their effectiveness was worth the elf's
annoyance.)
The temple entrance gave way to a descent of winding stairs,

culminating into a long hallway... a dark and dangerous
environment, filled with possible traps and hostile Dungeon
creatures.
Felinus provided rough sketches of the sights they'd observed...

architecture, doorways, symbols etched into the stone.
Tycon identified them as Dwarven... something he was surprised

the elf was unable to glean on his own. In particular, the heraldry
symbol belonged to the Krakhammer Clan... a piece of information
that he absolutely did not volunteer.
Diamantia Krakhammer personally crafted Athena's Arcanite

blades. Their family crest was also etched into the metal armor
sets worn by Raging Flame Knight and Heavy Gunner William
Lawrence.
That an oft-used symbol in the Halls of the Dead Serpent was also
on Guild Letalis' armor would bring about unnecessary suspicion.
Thankfully... though the elves were known for their eyesight and
other perceptive abilities... there was something in works of
metallurgy that made it difficult for them to properly analyze and
judge masterwork Dwarven craftsmanship.
Further, the crests were well-hidden in the Dwarven designs, only

obvious to dwarves and master blacksmiths... and for normal
persons, only discovered after intense and thorough scrutiny.
Tycon reasoned that his secret would be well-kept unless the

Gold-Rank Bannok chanced upon them or the information was
otherwise freely offered.
As for why the Krakhammer's symbol was within the halls... he

recalled that the clan had joined with Isidor's Faction after leaving
their previous home, so many years and epochs ago. It was likely
that this was that place.
...Which begged a new question.
Something within the halls was capable of ousting a Dwarven

Warband... and Tycon highly doubted the Warlocks of the Snake
Cult and their very human followers were capable of doing so.
What else was hidden in these halls?
"Dwarven architecture, huh?" Bannok mulled over the thought,

"So it should be... sensible, logical, right?"
Ariadne waved her paper fan, failing to hide the rolling of her
eyes, "You mean 'boring', hun."
Tycon nodded quietly. He rather preferred the structured senses

of the dwarves... as opposed to buildings shoddily built by humans
or... the strange, winding, and often wooden structures coaxed
into existence by the elves.
Bannok grimaced, "Should be simple enough, clearin' the

hallways, checkin' out each chamber, lookin' for the Dungeon
Core."
Tycon brooded, deep in thought... he hoped it would be as simple

as Bannok surmised.
It often was not.
...
Following Felinuns' scouts into the depths of the Halls of the Dead
Serpent, Tycon carried his curved blade in its scabbard on his
waist. It was a large, relatively ungainly weapon, much different
than the short sword he preferred. Still, as the weapon spirit within
it improved his defensive abilities, he could essentially perform as
a different class.
As such, Tycon had a reason for carrying an unwieldy weapon.
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, did not.
"Mister Lone..."
"Yeah, Boss?"
"Why are you carrying... that?"
The Bronze-Rank Ranger was carrying a heavy wooden maul, its

head covered in spikes, its original purpose likely as a tenderizer
for large slabs of meat.
"Oh, this?" Lone idly scratched at a scar on his cheek, "This is my

mimic-breaking weapon."
"...Ah."
It made sense...
Lone had previous issues with mimics, a type of uncommon

dungeon creature. Mimics secreted an adhesive that made them
difficult to fight in close combat for a prolonged duration. The
raised points on the weapon head reduced its surface area,
simultaneously reducing the likelihood of the weapon sticking.
However... it would make more sense to use something akin to a

mining pick-- a weapon with a singular point instead of many.
"Yeap! Spent my last paycheck on it!"

Tycon narrowed his eyes... "You did what?"
"My last paycheck, Boss?" Lone's bottom lip quivered as if he

expected to be scolded. "I get paid. With money."
"Mister Lone... who did... you pay for such an item?"
"I submitted the request to Mister Cecil?"
"Oh, very well," Tycon nodded. "Carry on."
Lone was scammed out of his coin, as the cheap wooden weapon
was certainly not worth the whole of his two-week pay. However,
Sergeant Cecil Salt forwarded weapon requests to Sorina
Capulet. As Lone's coin was essentially being returned to Guild
Invictus, he had no issues with the young man's frivolous
spending.
Chapter 439 Dwarven Bridge
Dwarven Bridge
The hundred-man collective walked through the wide stone

hallways, their way lit by held torches and a pathetic few
Elementary Rank illumination spells. A faint touch of magic
present in the atmosphere colored the Dungeon stone a deep
green.
The effect seemed intended... to match the snake motif. Squiggles

left behind on faded murals looked like they could have been
snakes. Minimalistic snakes were sporadically etched into the
floor. Hypo-realistic snake statues lined the path, fat and
unrealistically simplified exaggerations.
"[CUTE...]" Korr remarked.
Tycon quietly hoped that the Snake Cultists did not pay for such
artistry. Korr's opinion aside, none of it was very good.
More troubling were the occasional bouts of script scrawled into

the walls and tiles. They were written in crude draconic, a
language that should have been rightfully lost. Translated, they
provided little use... inane prayers to the snake god... filled with
grammatical errors and misshapen runes.
...Probably written by a human.
Tycon did not particularly like the snake god. He met him once,
the insufferable, arrogant prick. He tolerated the fellow for less
than five minutes before punching him in the face.
Raphael of Cannes hurried from the front of the formation, waving

to Tycon to catch his attention.
⟬ Raphael, Bronze-Rank Human Bravo. Guild Letalis. ⟭
The curly-haired, hatchet-wielding gentleman served as their

guild's scout, boasting a practiced speed similar to one of their
Iron-Ranks.
The gentleman saluted, "Sir Tycon, word from the front."
Tycon returned the salute, "Report."
"Armored statues and... magical formations, Sir. Holy Lancer

Tanamar said you might have something to say about it."
"Very well, Mister Raphael. Lead the way."
...
Tycon was led to a wide bridge that crossed a dark pit, ten men
wide. Even with Tycon's ability to see well through the darkness,
he could not gauge the distance the depths fell. Lining the bridge,
arranged in formation at the sides, were dozens of armored
adventurers... petrified as white-stone statues.
"I said we should just break the Flame-scarred things,"

Weaponmaster Bannok groaned. "But Ari said it'd be best to send
for you to make sense of 'em, first."
Even from the distance, Tycon could see the expressions the
dead adventurers wore. Fear was frozen in their faces. If they
were indeed guardians of the area, they were unwilling ones.
The adventurers, frozen in time, wore hints of Tyrion weapons and

armor... they were former soldiers or frugal ladies and gentlemen
who bought cheap, military-grade surplus. However, that meant
they were likely not affiliated with the Snake Cult. On account of
their state-supported persecution, the cultists tended to shun their
national heraldry.
Tycon did have the ability to return ⌈Stone to Flesh⌋, but that
would heavily tax his mana reserves for even a single person,
never mind several dozen. As these people had nothing to do with
him, he was unwilling to reveal such an ability.
"At first glance, the statues seem safe to break from a distance,"
Tycon offered.
Bannok nodded, "Right. Hero!!"
Tanamar waved in acknowledgment, loading his wooden bow with

a conjured, lance-sized arrow, "Got it!"
Led by the Holy Lancer, the Brazen Guard forward team

immediately set about breaking the statues.
Saving adventurers who had long ago died was not in Tycon's
best interests. The Mosaic Guardians they had encountered
earlier were made of solidified mana. Within reason, a similar spell
could activate the lifeless white-stone statues as hostile
defenders. Advising their complete destruction was better to keep
his current allies safe.
"Master Tactician," Felinus called out.
Tycon excused himself from his conversation with Bannok to see

what Hunter Felinus had discovered... a series of alien shapes
marring a corner of the stone bridge. The elf had no idea what it
was, only that it seemed out-of-place.
Just as dwarves had difficulty appreciating Elven craft, it seemed

that Dwarven masonry baffled elves.
Upon a cursory inspection, Tycon explained that the formation

seemed to be a trigger for the destruction of the bridge. The
spellcraft was quite complex, its initial and obvious effect
activating earth-type magic to forcibly adjust the hardness of the
stones... It would be an irreversible defensive measure.
Also held within the formation were... personal notes left by the
nameless Dwarven Formation Mage that had constructed it, lazily
marked off in the code as inactive script. Within that were
grumblings and complaints concerning his thoughts on the rest of
the underground structure... including a rough diagram of the
various floors.
It would take some time to parse, but it could serve useful. Tycon
utilized his System to record it for later perusal.
"Tactician, your findings?" Felinus asked.
"Thoughts written by a dwarf..." Tycon stood up from the kneeling.

"Are you interested?"
"I am not," Felinus admitted. With a nod, he turned back, drawing

his bow to join with Tanamar and the others.
Tycon smirked as he followed suit. He didn't think the elf would be.
...
After a brief conversation, the Brazen Guard leadership decided

that the various guilds would split up to explore in teams of 10 or
so, meeting up in two bells after.
Crossing the bridge, there were a myriad of Dwarven stone

structures, stairways to upper and lower floors, and winding
pathways that would lead deeper into the Dungeon. Reasonably,
the first buildings encountered would have been primarily
commercial in nature. There should be a guard barracks for
defense... and merchant shops for any visitors.
The weaker guilds would remain near the bridge for safety and the
chance at enchanted equipment left behind.
Finding even a single piece of equipment would greatly increase

the overall power levels of those guilds... The already well-
equipped forces of Letalis Serpentia or the Brazen Guard forward
team... not so much.
Unfortunately, finding any left-behind Dwarven goods was unlikely.

The Halls of the Dead Serpent were well known for housing
human Snake Cultists, after all.
For safety purposes, if a guild near the bridge were overrun by
enemies, they could withdraw there, gaining the benefit of a
funneling point. Failing that, they could retreat to the stairs and to
the temple entrance where the Brazen Guard collective had set up
camp.
Tycon would lead his friends and allies deeper into the Dungeon.
Guild Letalis had not joined the collective for mindless looting, but
to gain experience. In particular, Athena would grow more familiar
with her role as a guild leader and working with a team of
competent adventurers.
As long as Tycon could keep all, if not most, of Letalis alive, they'd
come out of this Dungeon stronger and wiser.
Chapter 440 Chosen Path
ycondrius sought to use Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, as

T
their lead scout with Raphael of Cannes as his second.
The young Ranger seemed to have a predisposition for finding

traps and mimics. He would serve well to keep the other members
of Letalis safe from harm. He'd be fine, too, as long as he wasn't
killed in a single attack.
Raphael, a high-tier Bravo class, was skilled at weaving in and out

of close combat with his pair of axes. He could keep himself alive.
Failing that, his death could provide ample opportunity for the
others to reassess the situation and possibly withdraw.
Besides, Lone wielded his mimic-destroying hammer and had

expressed his willingness and excitement to utilize it.
"With the gods as my witness, I will break every single suspicious

looking wooden thing we see," Lone seethed. "I don't even care."
"Letalis! A moment, if you would!" A hooded mage in black and

silver robes approached their group, waving genially in greeting.

Guard. ⟭
The perfect diplomat, Athena rushed to greet him, "Mister Photios!

Hello! What can we help you with?"
"Miss Athena!" Photios bowed politely, "You did some good work,
out there! Have you been training with Centurion Zenon?"
"Ehehe~!" Athena giggled. "Yiss. Sir Tycon said I reached Iron-

Rank!"
"Oho!" Photios pulled his hood back, scratching at his regulation-
length hair and granting the young lady a crooked-tooth grin. "You
beat me by almost ten years. You must've put in a lot of training."
The arrogant Pyromancer was being... more humble than usual.

As he was speaking to Athena, who was technically a noble, that
was reasonable.
Tycon glanced at the Calculator at his side, "Sorina, what does the
⌈Parse⌋ skill say about his power level?"
Sorina narrowed her eyes to squints before grabbing her Armor

Cube and squeezing it dramatically, "It's over 8000..."
"What? 8000?" Tycon grimaced.
"Eight-thousannnnd..." She nodded, deep in thought.
Tycon sighed, shaking his head, "What does that mean?"
"Oh," She released her Armor Cube, allowing it to continue its

orbit around her head. "He rates in the top 10% of offensive
casters... with numbers above Athena, but below Zenon."
Tycon nodded. In the previous encounter, Photios served a similar

role as the Letalis mages, focusing his pyromancy spells on
groups of targets, as opposed to focusing on the Guardian. It also
meant that-- though the spellcaster was a veteran member of the
Brazen Guard, his effectiveness was below that of Tanamar and
each of the Iron-Rank members of Guild Letalis.
He was weak... but only in comparison to himself and his powerful

collection of allies.
"Ignus Cantor..." Zenon approached the Pyromancer, offering a

hand in greeting. "Great to see you're doing well."
Photios shook the taller gentleman's hand, his smile more honest
than the one worn only moments prior, "Sanctum Librarius, you've
grown stronger. Maybe I should join your guild?"
"Hahaha!" Zenon laughed, "Our guild's doors are always open to
new talent."
This was true... but Tycon would advise against accepting Photios'
application. An older mage would be welcome in any guild,
especially one at Iron-Rank... but their guild's member population
was designed for stability and growth.
Nearly all of the members of Guild Letalis were made of younger,

(easily-brainwashed) recruits... or men and women that were
nurtured from Unranked or Bronze, armed and armored high
above their grade. Their loyalty was without question... and they
were especially beholden to Sorina Capulet's very, very thorough
magical contracts.
Photios... who left the service of the Church of the Eternal

Flame... and was the only mage survivor in his group of
spellcasters in the Icingdeath Dungeon... was a less-than-ideal
Letalis candidate.
The Pyromancer chuckled derisively... "I was wondering if you

guys needed a mage? The uh... others..."
"What about the others?" Zenon asked.
Photios hesitated, shaking his head... "No, nevermind. I was just

hoping you guys would have me."
Tanamar looked to Athena. Athena looked to Tycon. Tycon

crossed his arms, thinking it over.
The Letalis tent-group had trained together for several weeks and
were practiced in combat formations and other esoteric tactics.
Adding another combatant could be more problematic than
helpful.
"Well, well, welllllllllllll~! Look what we haaaaavvve heeeeeere..."
A certain raven-haired Cleric approached their group. Slung lazily

over his back was his oversized hafted warscythe and flopping
around in his lips as he spoke was a smoking white cylinder. The
Stormbrands trailed behind him like mewling pups mindlessly
following their scraggly, unhygienic mother.
⟬ Occam, Iron-Rank Human Cleric. Guild Stormbrand. ⟭
"It's Photios, the Retardant Flame! And it's the LIIIGHTHOUSE!!!

Har har harrr!!" Occam cackled... His lips remained tight to hold
onto his cylinder, making his speech sound peculiar.
Tycon grimaced... tilting his head up to stare at the cavernous

ceiling and taking a deep breath. He was having a decent sun...
and then the Stormbrands arrived to ruin his mood.
"Oh, Tactician!" Occam turned, his eyes widened in surprise.

"That's you in the white helmet, right? I dunno why you gotta hang
out with these two numb-nut Witches. People like us, masters of
THE BLAAAADE are better than that."
Tycon hesitated.
He was torn.
He generally disliked the fellow... but his annoyance was

somewhat alleviated with his blade skills being so deservedly
praised...
"Mister Occam," Tycon nodded.
"The Stormbrands are headin' that way," The Cleric took his
smoking cylinder out of his mouth, pointing down the hallway that
Tycon was planning on leading Letalis. "How 'bout you guys?"
"We were reviewing our options," Tycon admitted. "By all means,
Occam of the Stormbrands, go right ahead."
As the Stormbrands walked past... a tall gentleman wearing dark,

spiked, half-metal, half-leather armor stood in their way. Centurion
Zenon Skyreaper stood, arms crossed and wearing a deeply set
grimace on his handsome, mustachioed face.
Tycon noticed bits of dust and debris on the stone floor rising up.
Zenon was passively emanating a copious amount of mana in his
displeasure.
"Ehhh?" Occam looked up to meet Zenon's gaze, "You got a

problem, Witch?"
The Stormbrands at the Cleric's back fidgeted nervously. Some

dropped their hands to the hilts of their weapons.
Conversely, every single member of Guild Letalis besides Zenon

consciously reached for theirs.
Chapter 441 Stand Off
ycondrius observed the situation, keeping his face impassive--

T
trying especially to hide his amusement. He was curious as to
what his friend and loyal ally, Zenon Skyreaper, was planning.
The Librarian with a regulation haircut loomed over Occam, more

than a head taller than the Stormbrand. Zenon's polished,
professional, and spiky armor made the Cleric in his ragged
faded-black overcoat look like a vagrant in comparison.
The Centurion's eyes glowed whitish-blue as the two wicked,

serrated blades attached to his armored forearms sparked with
lightning magic.
Tycon mused internally that if Zenon had chosen to wear his

helmet, the intimidation factor would have been even greater.
However, the Librarian went without it. Similar to Athena and
Tanamar, wearing helmets slightly inhibited their skill activations
and aim.
Zenon Skyreaper had improved greatly since the last time he

dealt with Guild Stormbrand, both in confidence and in power. If
the gentleman decided to teach them... a lesson, Tycon would not
stop him.
Zenon's mouth curled up into a sneer, "How about you stay the
f*ck away from me, unless you want to crash against the
Flamescarred rocks?"
Occam's face fell into disgust, "Why you..."
Reaver Tancred, the circus clown, placed a hand on the raven-

haired Cleric's shoulder. He silently shook his head.

Occam growled, appearing ready to continue his hostility... until he
glanced at the other members of Guild Letalis... at the large
human, Heavy Gunner Lawrence, inspecting his scattergun... and
the sleek-armored Korr who was having a private conversation
with her two-handed blackblade.
"Whatever..." Occam groaned, dusted off his coat, and adjusted

his direction to walk around Zenon instead of past him. The other
Stormbrands followed in a disorganized gaggle, shooting various
levels of angry and anxious glares at the Centurion.
"Thanasius," Tancred motioned for his twin brother to speak with

him.
Tanamar, real name Athanasius Mors, approached without a hint

of caution, "Yeah?"
The Reaver raised an eyebrow, flicking a finger to test the

hardness of his brother's black armor... "Looks good."
"...Thanks."
Tycon thought the two looked nothing alike, Tancred larger and
wider, Tanamar a few ilms taller and with a lithe, more athletic
build. If it weren't for their matching hair color and passably similar
facial features, Tycon would have never guessed their blood
relation.
"You guys should head back," Tancred warned... "--maybe loot the
buildings near the bridge."
"What's it matter to you, where we go?" Tanamar shot back with

an unnecessarily high level of hostility.
The Reaver narrowed his eyes, grimacing... "You know... you've

never been able to beat me in single combat."
Tanamar twisted his lips... but offered nothing in return.
--like the fact that he won the Martial Tournament in Caeruleum

while Tancred lost miserably. Or the fact that Tanamar was
infinitely more useful to the Brazen Guard collective than the
entire Stormbrand guild. Or that, as a part of Guild Letalis,
Tanamar was armed and armored equal or better than the
rainbow of enchanted miscellany that Tancred shamelessly wore.
...Or that he was far closer to winning Athena's heart than Tancred
ever could be.
Tycon sighed internally. Such things were not his problem.
"You should go back, Thanasius," Tancred warned once more. He

turned, walking to follow Occam and the rest of his group...
"Consider it," The Reaver waved his hand in departure, his back
turned.
Tycon approached the silver-haired footman's side... watching the

greataxe on Tancred's back as he disappeared down the dark
hallway.
Tanamar had a strange expression on his face-- one that Tycon

dared to say was doubt. Tycon could surmise that, for the young
man, emotions were at play over logic.
"Raphael," Tycon gestured to the Bravo with a hand signal.
The gentleman approached with a sly grin, his eyes gleaming red
with mana... ready to fight. He spoke fluently in the Old Tongue of
the Kingdom, "(I hear and obey, Lord Baron.)"
Tycon pursed his lips... "(Are you confident in following them and
remaining unseen?)"
"(If only that, I am 100% certain,)" Brave Raphael scoffed as if

such a task was beneath him.
Tycon flicked his wrist, summoning an elongated potion bottle

containing the ⌈Pass Without Trace⌋ spell and offering it to the
Brave. It was expensive... but with the Letalis members he chose
to bring, not a single casualty was permissible if there was no
great benefit.
"There are enough for two uses in that, lasting one bell each. (Go.
Report back if you observe anything suspicious.)"
Narrowing his eyes, Tycon stressed one last command, "(Do *not*
engage.)"
"I hear you," The gentleman saluted with a closed fist to his chest.
He took the potion and placed it in a belt pouch, "(Death to the
enemies of Invictus.)"
"Indeed," Tycon nodded... "Also, I want that bottle back."
Clear glass bottles were expensive.
...
Tycon advised Photios to seek out Duelist Ptolema.
The sanctified spellcasters in her Snowy Village Guild had

suffered substantial casualties in the Icingdeath Dungeon. Silver
Pyromancer Photios would be more useful attached to them. Also,
Legionnaire Karodin of the Brazen Guard was with them, making
it one of the safer groups to travel with.
...Tycon was insistent upon making the decision... and Athena

accepted it without complaint.
It was a bit unfair to the young lady, as she was theoretically the
leader of Guild Letalis. Thus, he tasked her with leading the group
to their next destination.
There were dozens of pathways and doors to be explored in the

once-Dwarven settlement... As the Halls of the Dead Snake was
classified as a Dungeon with a Core, there would be loot and
enemies, wherever they would go. The only reliable sensibility
was that the deeper they delved, the stronger the opposition
would be...
Admittedly, that wasn't a certainty, either... especially if the

Dungeon had other inhabitants other than the creatures nurtured
by the Dungeon Core.
Athena was excited to lead, though the weight of responsibility
marked her commands with a bit of uncertainty. Still, everyone
was supportive of her.
Even if one or two of Sergeant Salt's Gunners were not keen on

her leadership, none of them would dare to question an Iron-Rank
Frostblade. Athena could thoroughly trounce any of them, their
Gunner lead included... and likely all at once, if she needed to.
And so Athena chose the pathway. Then, she chose a door.
Then Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, and Sol Invictus' Master
Ranger kicked open the door with his mimic-smashing hammer in
hand.
Chapter 442 Immortal?
one entered the room... and almost immediately his form

L
blurred... It was as if he had stepped into a murky cloud.
No... it was more like a... thickened clear soup.
Unperturbed, Lone slowly moved forward... his movement slowed,

as if he were walking through a heavy syrup. Finally, he placed his
hands in front of him, fingers pointed forward... then brought his
arms to the side, propelling him a fulm or so.
"Oh, no!" Athena exclaimed in worry, her hands retracted against

her white-armored chest, "What's wrong with him, Sir Tycon?"
Tycon pursed his lips, "It appears he's stepped into a...
transparent slime... perhaps a dungeon creature known as a
Gelatinous Cube."
⟬ Gelatinous Cube, Bronze-Rank Ooze. ⟭
Lone floated helplessly inside of the cube, the creature's paralytic

poison taking full effect.
"[LEADER, SHALL I RESCUE HIM?]" Korr offered.
Tycon glanced over to the worried Athena before addressing Korr,

"Yes, please do."
...
Korr made short work of the ooze, the creature not particularly
resistant to her fire-sheathed sword.
Once Lone was resuscitated with the help of Tycon's ⌈Inspirational

Surge⌋ skill, Athena chose a different room. For Lone's peace of
mind, it was a smaller room that could in no way fit another room-
sized Gelatinous Cube.
...Though a smaller ooze-type creature was quite possible.
Lone entered warily... far more observant of his surroundings than

previously.
"Ehehe..." Athena giggled to herself quietly.
"What'cha thinkin' bouuuut?" Sorina asked.
"Ohhh, nothinnnnnng," The frosty-haired noble replied playfully...

"I was just thinking that maybe Mister Lone's just as clumsy as I
am."
Tanamar averted his gaze. Tycon quietly placed his white helmet
back on his head, fully hiding his expression. In a way, the young
lady's clumsiness could be blamed for choosing such a hazardous
room for Lone to enter.
"Room's clear!" Lone called out, emerging with a broad smile on

his face.
Tycon peeked into the door behind him... He hadn't paid attention
earlier, but the room wasn't even 10 square fulms wide. Also,
there was a hole in the floor...
It was a toilet.
"Mister Lone, what took you so long?"
Lone turned, grinning, "Had to make sure it was safe, Boss! I even
put my head in the hole in the floor to look down below. No
enemies, whatsoever!"
Tycon glanced behind Lone... at the concerned expressions of

Frostblade Athena
and the curious look worn by Calculator Sorina. The other

members of Guild Letalis were also staring intently at Lone's back.
Pursing his lips, Tycon grasped onto Lone's shoulders to restrict
his movement.
"...Boss?" Lone frowned. His eyes grew moist and he looked as if

he were about to cry, "There's something behind me, isn't there?"
��Very likely," Tycon nodded. "Ah... Miss Athena, would you

inform the two of us what you see?"
"Well... they're kinda like... pink birds?" Athena grimaced, "Six?

Wings? And they're really creepy looking!"
"Oh, gods. Oh, gods... get them off me," Lone begged, tears
forming in his eyes.
Tycon inquired further, "And what are they doing?"
"Their beaks are... stuck in Lone's armor?"
Tycon nodded, mentally reviewing the information with his

System. He also noted that Lone's face was beginning to pale.
"Bloodsucking parasites... not poisonous--"
"Ehehe..." Athena giggled nervously, "That's a relief."
"--but they could be diseased," Tycon finished.
Lone began to weep openly, "Not again..."
Tycon pursed his lips... then he asked a question that would not
have an answer he liked... "How many of them?"
"Twenty-six!" Calculator Sorina exclaimed, almost proudly.
"Mister Lone..." Tycon frowned.
"Y-y-yes... Boss...?"
"How are you not dead?"
...
The fist-sized, bird-parasites beat their wings as fast as
hummingbirds. Thankfully, in Lone selflessly allowing his flesh to
be pierced through his leather armor, the creatures remained
immobile as they fed on his life essence. Athena, with her precise
frost mana control, carefully picked them off, one by one.
Twenty-six dead creatures later... Lone was restored to health by

a combination of a healing potion and Centurion Zenon's high-
mana cost ⌈Soothing Wind⌋.
Athena apologized profusely for directing Lone into two near-

death situations.
Lone apologized for *wasting* so much of Guild Letalis' mana.
Sorina expressed amusement-- which Tycon had to scold her for.

He was greatly annoyed at the taxing of their resources.
As consolation for his difficulties, the clever Athena offered Lone

the task of decided Guild Letalis' next destination.
The young Ranger grew elated, oblivious to the fact that such a
decision had little bearing on what their group would encounter
next. It could be another Bronze-Rank Gelatinous Cube. It could
be a dozen Gold-Rank Undead.
And so... Lone went down an unexplored hallway, taking his time
in choosing amongst the doors and paths.
Lone pressed his ear to the dry wood of one door... heedless to
the danger. Door traps tended to be pressure or movement-
activated... via a depressed plate in front of it or from sensing a
vibration against the frame or handle.
He knew this. Tycon berated the young man for it.
Still optimistic, Lone apologized sheepishly, then opened the door

and entered the room.
What the Ranger saw within... made his jaw drop.

It was a storage room... full of lockboxes... wardrobe chests... and
large clay containers.
Tycon briefly glanced back to Frostblade Athena, who was looking

on in wonder, and to Calculator Sorina, her eyes full of greed.
Most adventurers would rejoice at the discovery of such a room.

There was an endless amount of possible loot-- most would be
useless, but the excitement of possible world-altering magical
treasures within was reasonable cause for excitement.
But Lone... no, he would not have seen it the same way.
Raising his spiked wooden hammer above his head, the Ranger
loosed a shrill battlecry and charged into the room.
"AHHHHHHHH!!! ⌈WHIRL STRIIIIIIIKE!!!⌋" Lone mercilessly

smashed a heavy barrel with his hammer, leaping with a spin and
kicking a lonely clay jar on a high shelf. Destroyed, both items
leaked some vinegary liquid that had long-dissolved whatever it
held.
Lone grabbed his Dark Iron wolf-hammer off of his waist and
hurled it at a large chest, "TRES LECHES!! I CHOOSE YOU!!"
The chest burst open upon impact, spilling out clothing that was
still in reasonable condition... until Lone's summoned companion
emerged from the pile in a gout of flame.
The Dark-Iron wolf... 'Tres Leches' was all too happy to join Lone
in his... excitement. It immediately began to tear apart the
remaining unburnt clothing scattered on the ground.
"[PUPPY...]" Korr took the opportunity to grab a thick coat, trying

to pull it away from the playfully growling wolf.
Chapter 443 Lootbox
" Should... we stop him?" Athena wrung her hands nervously,

looking to Tycondrius with wide eyes... "He looks really mad."
Tycon pursed his lips... "This is something that he must do... I

suppose."
"Oh..." The swords levitating behind her back drooped, seeming to

match her mood.
In a gratuitous display of acrobatics, Barza Keith, the Lone

Shadowdark, ran up a wall, flipped, and landed atop another
wooden chest. He stood, roaring at the top of his lungs and raising
his hammer high overhead.
"DEATH TO THE ENEMIES OF INVICTUS!!"
Lone was an unstoppable force of destruction, his hatred for

storage-containers clear for all to see.
With every strike of his hammer, the cackling Ranger sent wood
splinters and articles of clothing across the room. He grabbed jars
of preserved food and sent them crashing upon the Dungeon
stones. He used the Shatterspike longsword to cleave apart
barrels of spoiled, vinegary wine.
In his fury, he picked up an impossibly heavy crate containing

pieces of metal armor and tossed it against the wall, its contents
clattering about.
"⌈FLAMEWOLF RUSH!!!⌋"
Lone's wolf leapt away from Korr and into the sets of armor. Its
Dark-Iron coat glowed gold, then white-hot... melting the steel
around it with the extreme heat.
Tycon took a precautionary step back from the blaze. He was glad
that his armor provided light resistance against the flames. If he
was wearing his usual hooded cloak, it would have certainly
caught fire.
Lone's performance was nothing short of incredible. He had a

clear upward spike in mana... and his skill usage was not one he
was familiar with... not in name, nor in level.
« System, analysis: Skill level. »
⟬ System response: Second-Circle. ⟭
« ...System, analysis: Lone's basic information. »
⟬ System response: Lone Shadowdark, Iron-Rank Idiot. ⟭
« System, change setting: Reset Lone's species and class to

default. »
⟬ Setting change complete. Lone Shadowdark, Iron-Rank Human

Ranger. ⟭
Tycon nodded in approval... sighing as he thought about how

difficult it had been cultivating the young man's growth. In the
young Ranger pushing his mana and physical limits, he achieved
a breakthrough in power.
Athena and Zenon looked on in awe, cognizant of the impressive

surge of mana that Lone was emitting.
Sorina looked displeased. While the Calculator was not as mana-

sensitive as the other two, her Calculator abilities could accurately
determine Lone's increase in rank.
She'd manage.
Tanamar was the only one who did not seem impressed. He
shrugged, walking forward, "I'll go help him."
...
"Athanasius!" Tycon lazily followed Tanamar into a lonely corner of
the storage room, "Hold-- if you would."
The silver-haired footman had raised his lance up in one arm,

ready to spear one of the final remaining yet-undamaged
containers. With Tycon's polite request, Tanamar released his holy
lance, allowing it to shatter into glass-like fragments of light and
dissipate into mana dust.
"What's up, Tycon? You think there's somethin' inside this thing?"
Tycon walked over, crossing his arms, "Perhaps, but that is not
the reason I stopped you..."
The two of them stood above the miniature lockbox. It appeared

indistinct and mundane, an old pale-wooden box reinforced by
brass and exhibiting a tiny keyhole.
Its size appeared useful only for storing jewelry or other equally
small trinkets or baubles. That, by itself, was reason enough to
treat it with care, as it had the possibility to hold one or more
treasures. Tiny, enchanted items often had spectacular effects,
such as his own spatial ring.
Smirking, Tycon gestured Tanamar's attention towards the small

box, "Take a look."
It was... trembling.
« System, analyze: This little one. »
⟬ System response: Mimic, Bronze-Rank Aberration. ⟭
He found it interesting. Most mimics were Iron-Rank creatures.
Tycon glanced over his shoulder, looking back at Lone.
The young Ranger was collapsed against a wall, drenched in

liquid, and likely suffering mana fatigue. He was like a child who'd
thrown a tantrum and was ready for a nap. With him temporarily
disabled, Tycon could deal with the mimic without the worry of
Lone's somewhat irrational, container-obliterating rampage.
Tanamar knelt down, scooping the box up in his hands. It stopped

shaking, becoming perfectly still and lifeless.
"Huh. Did I do something wrong?" He asked... "Oh. Weird... It

feels... rough... scratchy, almost."
Tycon flicked at the box's metallic keyhole. Though it should have

clinked like metal, it clunked as if made from stone... "You're not
fooling anyone, child."
Immediately, the jewelry box began to shudder once more. Its lid
opened minutely as it pleaded for its life, "P-p-please... d-d-d-don't
hurt me..."
The mimic's androgynous voice was youthful and high-pitched,

supporting Tycon's assumption on its immaturity.
"[I WANT IT.]"
Both Tycon and Tanamar leapt away defensively, surprised by

Korr's sudden appearance beside them.
"Awwwww!!" Athena squealed, "It's just a BABY!!"
Fearless, she immediately rushed over to Korr's side and stared at

the tiny mimic in awe.
Though Tycon could not see Korr's face hidden by her helmet, he
could tell she was having difficulty. After a few moments of
indecision, she offered the child mimic to the young Athena, who
took it with care.
"Ooh, you're heavier than you look..." Athena cooed. "Do you
have any treasure? How do I open you?"
Tycon chuckled softly at the young lady's innocent display, "Little

one, do you have a name?"
The mimic's shaking had ceased, seeming to have calmed
considerably in Athena's arms... "I... I don't have one, Sir..."
"Safeway," Sorina puffed her chest out in pride.
"Lootbox!" Athena countered.
"Ooh, that's pretty *crate*!" Sorina exclaimed... "Hum... We can

stuff him with chocolates and call him Life?"
"F...firewood..." Lone groaned in the distance.
Sorina's Armor Cube lit up, displaying two box shapes on its front.
Perhaps it was trying to say, 'Box-Box,' an admittedly endearing
name.
"...Lunchbox," Tycon offered. It had been four bells since lunch

and he was growing hungry.
"P-please don't eat me," The mimic pleaded. "My nutritional value
is... very... poor."
It was a well-spoken mimic. That was pleasant to hear.
"We won't eat you, young one," Tycon assured him... "As long as
you do as we say."
...Within minutes, Sorina Capulet drafted a magical contract,

recruiting the child-mimic as the newest member of Guild Letalis...
for the next hundred years. As long as he remained helpful and
willing, he would be paid a modicum of coin or treasure (adjusting
for inflation.)
After several more minutes of deliberation, it was decided that the

mimic be named Box-tholomaeus... Boxy for short. As all mimics
had the capability for limited shape-changing, Boxy transformed
himself into a small, wooden, humanoid doll to be carried around.
He could be used as a limited spatial item, Boxtholomaeus'

contents remaining constant, no matter the form he took. With the
rarity of proper spatial items in the Realm, gaining the allegiance
of the young mimic would be a great boon to Athena and Guild
Letalis.
...
"Sir Tycon..."
Tycondrius raised an eyebrow as Sergeant Cecil Salt approached

him. In doing so, Salt had distanced himself from the others in the
Letalis group... likely to converse with him in private.
"Speak your mind, Sergeant."
Salt removed his helmet, laughing nervously... "I'm uh... just a little
concerned, Sir."
The Sergeant glanced to the side, at Athena in particular.
Boxtholomaeus was tied to the side of her adventuring pack,

clattering as she walked. In his doll-form, he was only a fulm in
height. The doll was ordinary if poor in appearance... augmented
by his tattered and partially burnt clothing, knee-length trousers
and a child-sized tunic.
"Thing's cursed, Sir..." Salt muttered.
Tycon pursed his lips, recalling the superstitious natures of Salt's

previous profession as a ship captain and a sailor, both.
"The creature is a mimic, Sergeant. It's as cursed as a

shapeshifting dog."
Salt furrowed his eyebrows... "Like a Sea Wolf, Sir?"
...The gentleman had made an excellent counterpoint. The Sea

Wolves were cursed with a form of lycanthrope that gave them
strange traits.
Tycon paused... "Failed analogies, aside, Mister Boxtholomaeus is

not inherently cursed... Do you have any evidence to the
contrary?"
Salt nervously brushed his hand against his armored chest, "I just
think... it's unnatural, that's all."
"Hm..." Tycon pursed his lips in amusement, "I must remind you
that the gunnery you and your team utilizes are just-as, if not more
unnatural."
Salt grimaced, his main hand idly gripping the handle of the
Turathi rifle strapped to his chest... "With... with respect, Sir, these
guns are technological advancements-- they're science."
Those were the largest words Tycon had heard out of Cecil Salt's
mouth.
It was also... not entirely true. What was deemed as 'Hextech' was
an amalgamation of well-researched formation magic and volatile
and inexact abyssal magic. The weapon engineers of Bael Turath
don't highly guard their secrets, as other nations do. Turathi
weaponry is impossible to replicate without intimate knowledge of
the magics and sciences available only in that nation.
Tycon shrugged, "Advanced science is practically the same as

magic. Just because we don't know the particulars to how it
works, doesn't mean it's any less useful... or that it's cursed."
Salt nodded... "Well... if you say so, Boss..."
"Think about it. Keep an open mind... but remain vigilant, as you
have been," Tycon grinned. "That's what will keep you alive,
young Sergeant."
Chapter 444 Unknown Legion
"Mister Lone... what are you waiting for?"
Tycondrius stood with his arms crossed, impatiently tapping a

finger against his bicep.
The bronze-skinned Ranger was spending an overlong amount of

time inspecting a set of ornately carved double doors. The
concentrated care and cautiousness he was displaying was...
bizarre, particularly for him.
He was being timid.
"I uh... I dunno, Boss..." Lone idly scratched the scar on his cheek,
"Every time I go into one of these rooms, I get really hurt..."
The first two rooms, it was Lone's fault that he blundered into
injury. In the storeroom-- notably free of hostiles, he overdrew
from his mana reserves. Each instance was his own thrice-
damned fault.
"Move," Tycon ordered, "If you won't open the door, I'll breach it
for us."
"I mean... if you want. But I really should be the one--"
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Away, Mister Lone."
"Aye aye, Boss..."
Tycon smashed the center of the double-doors with his boot, the
sound of a thick wooden barricade snapping behind it.
Hm... His knee ached from the impact, but he took no substantial
damage. He leisurely leaned over to stretch his leg while
observing the open room. Beyond was a chapel-like area, filled
with chairs and benches, with various iconography for many gods
on the walls. At the end was a carved stone table elevated by a
few small steps.
There was dried blood on it-- an unsurprising feature, thus far.
Displayed behind the stone altar was the symbol of the snake
god, the most prominent of deific representations... a small
venomous snake, inside of and wrapping around a broken human
skull.
Finding such a symbol in this Dungeon was... unsurprising.
Also, the snake was not a hooded cobra. It was probably a viper.
There was a single, roughly hewn stone statue in the chapel. A bit
over ten fulms tall, it was nothing near the height of the Mosaic
Guardians they encountered earlier. Thankfully, this one wore
proper armor, as to not purposely offend Tycon's senses.
As mediocre as the craftsmanship was, the armor carried a hint of

familiarity.
"Athanasius... is that?"
Tanamar walked to Tycon's side, his arms crossed and wearing an

expression of deep loathing, "It is. It's *his* armor."
Tycon nodded in thought. The human-shaped armored statue was

reminiscent of that of Tanamar's teacher, a Divine Blacksmith
named Harkus Mors. As such, the statue was probably Harkus'
student-turned-traitor, Orcus... the Oathbreaker, the so-called
'greatest' Champion of the Snake Cult. Tycon spotted an
engraving near its base that proved his assumption correct.
Zenon crinkled his mustache... "You think it'll come alive and
attack us, Optio?"
"Likely," Tycon shrugged noncommittally.

The Lone Shadowdark groaned as he warily entered the room...
"There's no way it's only going to be just one enemy..."
"Agreed," Tycon nodded, "Shall we inspect the area or get this

over with? Athanasius?"
Tanamar looked back to Athena, who raised both of her hands,

lifting both thumbs and smiling radiantly. Nodding to her, the Holy
Lancer pointed his left arm forward, raising his right fist adjacent
to his ear. Forming a lance in hand, he hurled it at the statue's
chest.
Instead of obliterating the stone... it merely cracked, the mana-

created weapon shattering and dissipating into residuum.
Fragments of stone began to peel and fall off... unveiling dull
metal underneath...
--which made absolutely no sense to Tycon.
He threw his hands up in incredulity, "What kind of MAD wizard

encases a perfectly good set of armor inside hardening clay?"
Zenon pat Tycon on the shoulder, "I uh... I think you just answered
your own question, Optio."
Of course.
As the metal construct began to break free from its prison, Tycon
noted two things. First were the red, profane lines of runes that lit
up around the chapel, previously not quite so apparent. Second
was... the merest glimpse of moving shadows in a darkened
corner.
« System, analyze: The first creature. »
⟬ Lesser Steel Golem, Gold-Rank Construct. ⟭
Gold?
...Only?
To Tycon's memory, Steel Golems were costly, thirty-fulm tall,
Adamantine-Rank city-destroyers. The golem at the opposite end
of the chapel looked like it could threaten a small village, at best. It
was a glorified autonomous set of armor, rather than a 'proper'
magitech monstrosity.
Concerning the runic script on the floors and walls... and the
obvious wafting of fire and brimstone, it seemed a few small
portals to one of the seven hells were opening up.
Predictably, Sergeant Salt's squad and the members of Guild

Letalis fell into a panic. The large gentleman that was William
Lawrence was literally shaking in his boots-- he looked absurd.
Lone looked bored. Korr was staring at a random wall, no emotion

apparent. Sorina was playing with her Armor Cube-- not noticing
or caring that they would shortly be under attack.
Tycon shook his head. He'd let his companions deal with it...
"Korr, for this encounter, help only when necessary. Ensure no
one dies. The rest of you, defeat the enemies before you with
great prejudice and without mercy."
Korr nodded without complaint. It was nice that she didn't ask
where he was going. He appreciated that trust.
"Where are you going, Sir Tycon?" Athena's wore a sulky pout,
her concern apparent.
...It was nice that she asked. Tycon appreciated that his frost-
haired ally worried about him.
Tycon smirked and walked off, refusing to answer.
"Focus on the battle, young lady. I will be back shortly."
...
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark set his mimic-smashing

hammer against the side of the chapel double doors. He grabbed
his Dark Iron wolf-hammer from his waist and casually tossed it
up. A deep, chilling howl split the air as it transformed into his loyal
companion.
Formerly known as Moon-Moon-Moon, the metal wolf covered in

flames had a different name... Tres Leches.
It meant Three Moons-- at least he was pretty sure it did.
He drew the Shatterspike from its scabbard and began to walk

forward... the chapel walls in a dozen places began to tear away,
revealing a reddish hellscape beyond. At the very end was a big,
bad-ass set of metal armor, hefting its greataxe in its hands.
"Hmm..." Lone pursed his lips, "Doesn't look... too tough."
Looking at it a second time... it did look... a little tough. Hm. It

looked really tough. But... he had a feeling-- a weird, not quite
unfamiliar feeling, that there was nothing to be afraid of... not with
the allies at his back, anyroad.
He wondered if Boss used a skill on him that took away his fear.
Whatever it was, he felt a lot better than he usually did... which
was generally terrified.
"Mister Lone!" Athena shouted, "Be careful!"
"Lord Ranger!" Cecil called out, "What should we do?"
Lone rolled his shoulders, switching the Shatterspike to his left

and rotating his wrist to spin it threateningly, "Cover me, I guess."
He glanced to the side... meeting Sorina's gaze.
She turned away in a huff, crossing her arms... "Don't die."
"I can't, even if I wanted to," Lone smirked.
He was immortal, after all.
Lone knelt down... then broke into a full run, Tres Leches running
by his side, ready to play-- which for him, was just another game.
He dashed to the left around the stone altar as his wolf sped right,
"⌈Flamewolf Rush.⌋"
Tres Leches dashed ahead, the glow of his coat turning bright-
white with searing heat. He crashed into the side of the tall metal
statue, allowing Lone to leap up and bring down the Shatterspike
on its neck.
One slice! The statue's head was severed clean off!
Landing at the armor's feet, Lone spun his body, smashing his
shin into its heels and toppling the heavy thing onto its back.
Seven hells, his leg hurt... but it wasn't broken, or anything, so

he'd manage. Deep in a Dungeon like this one, a broken leg
would be a death sentence.
Creatures began to spill out from the Gates on the walls... familiar,
red-skinned horned creatures from the depths of the seven hells,
they climbed into the world choking and gasping for air like
drowned victims crawling out of a lake.
Lone knew of them... and just like the ones before, they looked
really, really weak. When he encountered devils before, he nearly
pissed himself. Invading warriors from the hellish planes in the
stories? Just the thought of it sounded like an impossible
challenge.
But they were just like people... Err... They were people, too?
There were strong devils... and there were incredibly weak ones.
And the ones coming out of the portals? They looked like they
were half-dead, just from crossing through.
Ignoring the fallen and decapitated suit of armor, Lone dashed to

a Gate with a red, muscled arm reaching halfway out of it. He
stabbed his sword through the meat of its forearm... then pulled
the creature forward so its head and torso were just out of the
magic portal.
Red face and skin. Tusked, jagged, and misshapen yellow teeth.
Black spikes and runic tattoos covering its head. All the devils
were a little unique but easily identifiable as... devilish.
It wore a surprised look in its eyes, clenching its teeth in pain... "L-
legion armor...? What BATTALION is this??! Who... ARE you
people?!"
"I have no idea," Lone answered honestly.
He drew his Hextech pistol with his right hand and jammed it into
the devil's mouth and down its throat.
He clicked off the safety, "Requiescat in pace."

Chapter 445 Hatchlings (Part
One)
ith three pulls of the trigger, Lone put two bullets into the back of
W
the devil's throat and one into its bony forehead. He planted a
solid kick into its chest, forcing it back through the Gate, to
wherever the hells it came from.
Sighing, he spun his body and put two more rounds into the chest
of a devil approaching from behind. Slashing his sharper-than-
steel sword, he cut the front half of the woman's neck, dark blood
spilling out as she dropped to the chapel floors.
"⌈Whirl Shot,⌋ ⌈Whirl Shot...⌋ and... ⌈Whirl Shot.⌋"
Lone weaved through the chapel, swiping his sword. He swayed

and spun to dodge the devils' scythe-arms, claws, and teeth. He
fired his pistol another dozen times until it was far too hot to keep
using.
A four-armed devil with a snapping, slavering maw on its stomach

and no mouth was rushing at him out of desperation.
Lone wondered if that was what he looked like when he was

losing... Because it looked really, really dumb.
He stabbed his longsword into its chest, avoiding its roaring

stomach-mouth. Using the momentum, he flipped the devil up and
over him... Then, he pressed his burning hot weapon against the
pathetic creature's eyes, melting the whites into jelly.
Grabbing it by the horns, he slammed its face against the wall

before cutting its head off. Then a leg too, just in case.
Lone holstered his pistol to allow it to cool down... But the
situation was weird. Why were there so many enemies?
Rotating his body, he dodged a shallow thrust of a bony spear,

simultaneously grasping a skinny devil by the throat.
"GRARRHAWRRRRGH!!!" It screamed, rancid, hot saliva spilling

onto his face. Gross.
Lone pushed his sword through the devil's belly like it was a
flame-hot knife through butter. Unlike what people said about him,
he had become very proficient at melting butter.
Training made everything better.
He pulled the Shatterspike to the side, spilling the guy's blood and
insides onto the floor...
Turning to Guild Letalis, Lone raised an eyebrow, "I could use

some help?"
Sergeant Salt and the rest of the gunners were staring, but didn't
move an ilm. Mister Lawrence didn't even have his hands on his
scattergun, both of them grasping the sides of his horned helmet
like he was having a headache.
Korr waved politely, "[YOU'RE DOING A GOOD JOB.]"
Oh. It was kind of nice to be complimented... but Lone really didn't

want to fight all of the devils by himself.
"Guys?" Lone asked.
Suddenly, the green-helmeted Sergeant seemed to... wake up,

"Gunners! Assist the Lord Ranger!!"
Maybe they were affected by magic that clouded their minds?

Whatever it was, it looked like they were okay, now.
"R-r-r-right!" Athena shouted, "We have to help, too! Tanamar!

Mister Z! Let's go!!"
"To deliver mankind from the evil of the xenos!!" Zenon shouted,
"Death to the mutant and to the heretic!!"
"Right," Tanamar nodded, "What he said."
...
Azalea slithered away from the old chapel as fast as she could.
She stuck to the shadows, where she knew she'd be safe... just
like her bloodline memories taught her.
"(Monty... Monty... who in the seven hells were those people?

Those aren't humans!)"
The larger snake hissed at her in annoyance, his clear white eyes
glowing in the shadows that sheathed his body.
"(Of course, they're humans, Izzy.)" Monty insisted, "(They're

just... dressed weird, that's all. Like... like Legion Devils. Exactly
like Legion Devils.)"
"(Okay... okay... Just... just let me breathe...)" Izzy took a deep

breath, staring, but trying not to stare too-hard at Monty's eyes. He
hated it when she stared, but it was the only thing that calmed her
down.
The plan was simple. They just had to get back to Lady Ananta
and report that there were humans... and they... and they...
"(WHY ARE THEY DRESSED LIKE DEVILS, MONTY??!?)" Izzy

shrieked.
Monty reared back, swaying in distress and rising in height.
...Oops. She was being too loud.
"(Quiet DOWN, will you?!)" He scolded, "(How in the seven hells

would I know that, you cracked egg!?)"
"(I'm not an egg!)" Izzy hissed indignantly... "(And... and I'm not
cracked, either!)"
"(You should be nice to your juniors,)" A male voice said.
"(YEAH!!)" Izzy wiggled happily to show her appreciation, "(You

should be nice to-- oh...)"
She and Monty looked... up.
It was... another shadow snake, just like they were... but it was
big... huge, almost. Titanic, maybe!! He was covered in thick,
black fog... which meant he was strong... maybe even Iron-Rank!!
And... and his eyes weren't white like theirs were-- but a very, very
scary gold.
Izzy wanted to slither awayyyyyyy as fast as she could. Her body

didn't let her, though-- she was so scared, she coiled up, instead.
"(PLEASE DON'T EAT US!!!)" Izzy begged, bowing her head.
"(PLEASE DON'T EAT ME!!)" Monty pleaded, wiggling with all of

his might.
Izzy let loose a furious hiss, slapping her tail on the stones. She
didn't care how noisy she was being, she was so mad, "(We're in
this together, MONTY!!! If we get eaten right here, right now, the
Lord Master has to eat BOTH OF US!!)"
"(What?! No way! Lord Emperor, please eat Izzy first-- so I can

escape!! I don't deserve to diiiiiie!!)"
"(YOU don't deserve to die?!)" Izzy couldn't believe what she was
hearing, "(You're OLDER!! It's your DUTY to sacrifice yourself for
the younger generation to live on!!!)"
"(I'm only a few suns older than you, you cracked egg!!)"
Izzy bared her fangs and the white inside of her mouth, "(I'm NOT
a cracked egg!!!)"
It hurt a little bit that Monty kept calling her that.
"(Then we'll ask the Lord God-King what HE thinks!!)"

"(Oh yeah?! I bet you the Titan-Godslayer Lord will side with
ME!!!)"
Izzy wasn't sure if it was true... she just wanted to get the last
word in. Monty was insufferable!
The two shadow snakes turned to where the larger snake was...
And there was no one there.
Izzy looked up, to the left and right... in a crack in the floor below
her. Where had he gone?
...Was it an illusion? Was she being pranked?
"I'm over here."
"(Oh, okay... Phew,)" Izzy breathed a sigh of relief. She hated

being pranked.
Chapter 446 Hatchlings (Part
Two)
" (You idiot!!)" Monty whacked Azalea with his tail, flicking his
tongue judgmentally, "(Now our EXIT'S blocked off!)"
"(Sh-shut up!!)" Izzy hissed back, "(I was thinking about something
important!!)"
Yeah... That was it.
One of the humans in the black devil armor sat on his helmet, in
front of their exit path. His green hair spilt handsomely down his
brow-- not that Izzy was entirely certain what a handsome human
was supposed to look like.
He had the same golden eyes... and looked pretty scary... and he
probably wasn't going to let her and Monty past...
"Are you two quite done?" The human asked.
"(NO!)" "(YEAH!!)"
Izzy and Monty shared a look of an annoyance.
"(YES!)" "(NO!!)"
"(Now listen here, you mushroom-brained male!)"
"(Empty night, Izzy, can you just THINK for one gods-forsaken--)"
"That will be enough," The human commanded. "Answer my

questions or I'll kill you."
"(I ain't scared of you, human!!)" Monty hissed... thrumming his tail
to the stones like a warning rattle. He had been practicing his
intimidation technique-- which meant he was actually very scared.
"(Um... Monty...)"
"(WHAAAT?!)"
Izzy hesitated... Something was strange about the golden-eyed

human... something familiar, "(The um... the human can
understand Parseltongue.)"
"(TSS! Like I care! He's just a-- wait... hold on!)"
The human stood up and began walking towards Monty. Even

though it looked like he was walking slowly, Monty was smoothly
snatched up by the tail and held upside down before he could
react.
As quick as a flash of light, Monty shot forward and tried to sink

his fangs into the human's leg... but he couldn't pierce through the
metal.
The human spoke in a low voice... slow, like a cold, unfeeling

murderer... "When I whip you like a rope, the force will break your
spine and sever your spinal cord. You will die instantaneously."
"(WAIT! HOLD ON!! I'm sorry! I'M SORRYYYY!!!)" Monty cried, "
(IZZY!! DO SOMETHING!!!)"
Izzy quickly scanned the room for an exit... but there was nowhere
she could fit through that wasn't the way they came and the way
the human was blocking, "(If you distract him, I can rush past and
escape!!)"
"(I mean-- SAVE ME!!!)"
"(Oh! I'm coming!)"
Izzy coiled up and flung herself through the air... at the human's
unguarded neck. She was going to get it! She tried to sink her
fangs into that soft, human flesh...
...She gnawed, trying to get her fangs to pierce into that soft,
squishy...
She steadied herself, wrapping her body around the human's

waist, "(MONTY!! It's not working!!!)"
"(What do you MEAN it's not working?!)"
"(I can't bite him!!)"
"(What do you mean you CAN'T BITE HIM?! You're RIGHT there!
Just-- just put your teeth into him! That's what BITING IS!!!)"
"(I know, but it's like-- it's like his skin is made of metal!! My fangs
slip right off!)"
Izzy felt cold, gauntleted hands grasp her body... It was as she'd
feared.
She was going to die. Regret filled her heart of all the things she
wished she could have done!
...Regret filled her heart that she had no life goals to speak of!
But she wanted to live! To LIIIIIIVE!!!
"Name?" The human asked.
"(Azalea!! And I'll do anything! Anything you want! Just let me

liiiiiive!!!)"
The human lifted up Monty by his tail, "And you?"
"(Anthemon!! I'll do anything she can do, but better!! No one in the
Realm wants to live more than I do!!!!)"
The golden-eyed human sighed... "Miss Azalea, Mister

Anthemon... allow me to rephrase my earlier statement... If you
answer my questions, the both of you will live."
Monty held still, allowing himself to swing as if he were dead, "

(Uh, yeah. That works for me.)"
Izzy nodded, "(Y-yeah... That's fine.)"
"Now..." The human raised an eyebrow, "What can you tell me

about the Snake Cult?"
...
Tycondrius had followed two young shadow snakes out of the

chapel area. They were very handsome individuals, with gentle
wisps of dark smoke diffusing from their deep onyx scales.
By their sizes... each longer than his arm, they should have been
at least a few years old... and ironically, the female was smaller
than the male... However, they acted like they were barely
hatchlings.
Initially, Tycon was planning on killing them both.
But they were idiots... idiots that were more a danger to

themselves than to anyone around them.
Tycon decided to kill them only if they upset him... or if they

proved to have no value.
Thus, he used them as a source of information.
After the threat of death and a subsequent offer of life, they

were... surprisingly informative.
If Mister Anthemon answered one of his questions, then Miss

Azalea, not to be outdone, filled in the gaps. The same happened,
with the roles reversed.
Tycon asked about the Snake Cult... They were all dead and
gone.
He asked about the Dwarves... They disappeared, as well.
Apparently, all that was down in the Halls of the Dead Serpent
were serpents and... the dead.
Apt.
"(Wh... who are you, Lord? Who can transform into a human?)"
Azalea tilted her tiny triangular head. Tycon appreciated her
youthful curiosity.
"(Izzy! You can't just ask a straight question like that!?)" Anthemon
snapped, "Lord... would you grace us with the honor of learning
thy name?)
Respectful courtesy. Tycon appreciated that, as well.
Still seated on his helmet, he reclined his back against a wall...

"One day, should you decide to serve me, I will grant you my
name. As of now, young hatchlings, neither of you are qualified."
The two younger snakes looked at each other incredulously...
...Tycon nodded, feeling proud of himself. He was a Prince among

snake-kind, after all. Serving under him would be an honor.
"(Ehh... you don't really look all that important,") Anthemon

nonchalantly cleaned his eyes with his tongue.
"(You probably enslave all of your girls...)" Azalea groaned.
Tycon sighed as he grabbed the two hatchlings by their tails.
"(PLEASE!!! SIR LORD GRAND SERGEANT CAPTAIN!! I ONLY

WISH TO SERVE!!)" Anthemon hissed in desperation, "(Use my
body as you will, against THY ENEMIES!!!)"
"(Please ENSLAVE ME, MASTER EMPEROR-ICAL LORD SIR!!

I'll serve WAYYYYY better than Monty can!! I can even do the
SEX!!)"
...Azalea's offer somehow managed to be even worse than her

companion's.
Tycon took a deep breath. Then another. He was very... very close
to killing them both.
"Listen closely, younglings... Do you see the symbol on my

shoulder?"
Chapter 447 Doubt
" (I see it, Master!)" Azalea happily hissed to Tycondrius, "(It's--

it's... what is it?)"
"(Eh?)" Anthemon flicked his tongue in dissatisfaction, "(It's just a

weird eye? That's different from all the other ones.)"
"The *other* shoulder, hatchling," Tycon sighed.
On the Letalis Serpentia sets of armor, the left shoulder plate was
emblazoned with their guild emblem: the snake skull atop the
Vanzano lightning bolts. On Tycon's right shoulder was his
designated role, in his case and that of the Letalis Sergeants, an
eye drawn in a minimalistic design.
"(Ohhhh. Got it,)" Anthemon nodded... "(Eh... Why's it gotta be a

snake skull? Aren't you a snake, too?)"
"(It's pretty... but a little scary, too...)" Azalea admitted, coiling

herself around Tycon's arm.
"Those that wear the snake skull sigil are under my protection,"
Tycon warned, "Inform your peers... I trust there will be no
issues?"
Tycon had previously revealed himself as a larger, stronger snake.

Unless the Shadow Snakes followed a creature or group of
creatures stronger than himself, his order would be followed
without question.
"(Yeah! Makes sense! We'll let everyone know!)" Anthemon

wriggled in excitement, "(And we get to live, right?)"
"(Um... Master...)" Azalea shyly peeked out of her coils, "(What

about the humans that don't wear that?)"
Tycon grimaced, "I do not like repeating myself, child."
He dropped the two, Anthemon clumsily clunking onto the stone

floor while Azalea had the mindfulness to display a modicum of
grace and self-respect.
Tycon crossed his arms... "Well?"
The two hatchlings stared blankly.
Tycon reached for the curved blade on his side.
"(We must be GOING, Lord!!)" Anthemon slithered away at his top

speed.
"(Have a pleasant stay!!!)" Azalea hissed and bowed her head

before turning to chase after the other one.
Tycon took yet another deep breath... He even went as far as

retrieving a piece of dried jerky to munch on. It improved his mood
tenfold.
Those two hatchlings were idiots... but even idiots would prove
useful as long as one knew how to utilize them.
With his snack complete and information collected, Tycon made

his way back to the chapel...
...
Stepping into the doorway, Tycon placed his palm over his eyes,
"You lot... are you seriously not yet finished?"
The Gates were closed. The floors were slick with devil blood.
However, Athena, Tanamar, Lone, and Zenon were still battling
the Lesser Iron Golem, now a headless suit of armor.
Librarian Zenon fired a concentrated blast of wind at the construct.

It succeeded in staggering it for a moment but didn't seem to have
much effect otherwise.
Frostblade Athena levitated a few fulms in the air, her four blades
rotating around her. Her frost-blue hair flowed upward as she
focused her mana channeled a quick ⌈Ice Beam⌋ of respectable
strength. It was aimed a bit behind the construct... as if she
expected her immobilized opponent to dodge in that direction.
She turned back, grinning like a mischievous thief, "I missed, Sir
Tycon... Ehehe..."
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I can see that."
Tanamar and Lone closed with the set of armor, engaging it with
holy lance, sword, and hammer. The suit focused on defending
against Lone's Shatterspike and ignored Tanamar's furious spear
attacks.
While the Iron Golem's kill-threat seemed laughably low, it had

proved quite resilient.
Tycon turned to Korr, "And they haven't asked for help?"
"[THEY SEEM FINE,]" The dark-armored Korr shrugged.
"And why are you and your men just standing about, Salt?"
Sergeant Cecil Salt took off his green helmet, revealing a troubled
expression, "Our bullets aren't really effective on that thing like
they are on flesh and blood demons, Sir."
"Very well..." Tycon nodded, "Sergeant, be advised... those were

devils. As a subsidiary of Guild Invictus, you'd best know the
difference, 'lest we run into troublesome issues later on."
"Ah... aye aye, Sir..." Salt shivered and grew quiet in

contemplation.
In the future, it wouldn't be entirely surprising if Tycon was forced

to wage war against one of the eleven heavens or seven hells. His
forces weren't quite up to par at the moment, but it was always
best, looking towards the future.
"Brother Zenon!!" Tycon shouted.
Barring Lone and the Shatterspike, Librarian Zenon Skyreaper's

magic would be the simplest and most effective way to disable the
Iron Golem.
Zenon dashed to Tycon's side, levitating slightly off the ground as

he did so, "What's up, Optio?"
Tycon pointed at the construct, spinning his finger about, "Use

ah... lightning-type magic on that thing."
The Librarian crinkled his mustache... "I uh... I don't have any
lightning magic, Brother-Tycon."
"...You're a Wind Mage. What do you mean you don't have

lightning magic?"
"I... dunno what to tell you, man," Zenon planted his two feet on
the ground and bared his teeth, "I just don't."
"Your arm-blades literally spark," Tycon glared. "--with lightning

magic."
"I uh... yeah," The tall Centurion scratched the back of his head, "I
don't actually know why they do that."
Tycon took a deep breath. Arguing would not bring him the results
he wanted.
"Channel a sphere of wind magic," He ordered.
"Huh?" Zenon raised his eyebrows, "Right here?"
Tycon nodded, shaking his wrists and stretching his fingers. For
all intents and purposes, he was only an Elementary Mage-- a
Half-Circle Caster at best. However, he understood the
fundamentals of elemental mana enough to provide useful advice.
Zenon held his arms forward and turned his palms up... conjuring
and concentrating on a blurry sphere of gentle, flowing wind.
"Tss," Tycon scoffed. "Typical. A nostalgic zephyr... to soothe the
wounds of the injured... to remind us of better times... Tell me,
Brother-Zenon... do you still doubt?"
Zenon shook his head, "A good Centurion commands without

doubt..."
"Doubt is natural." Tycon shrugged, "Falling prey to it is folly. In a

similar vein, fear is natural."
"Fear is a weakness," The Centurion argued. His expression

betrayed his growing agitation.
"Fear is a weapon. It can be honed and it can be wielded," Tycon

smirked. "Those who respect your magic... those who fear your
abilities... they do not fear your gentle breeze. They fear the
unrelenting hurricane. They fear the merciless tornado. They fear
catastrophe... destruction... the loss of life you leave in your
wake..."
"I... don't understand," Zenon frowned, pursing his lips in

confusion.
Tycon took a deep breath and grinned, "You will."

Chapter 448 Take It
ycondrius raised his hand and slowly closed his fingers,

T
borrowing some of the mana Zenon had presented.
A small blur of wind visibly rotated around his clenched fist... "The
way I see it, Centurion... within these winds... is a spark. Within
it... is something you are subconsciously aware of."
Tycon smirked... "Something that exists... but is forbidden to

speak of... against your nature to seek out..."
He shook his head, chuckling... "--especially for you."
A deep grimace set into Zenon's mustachioed face... "Why

especially me?"
"Because you incorrectly believe that wind magic... is all you are
capable of."
Playfully, Tycon tapped his finger on Sorina Capulet's shoulder,

causing the young lady to jerk.
"Ow! That came as... quite a *shock*, Boss!" The Calculator

grinned toothily, rubbing the surface of her shoulder armor.
Zenon averted his gaze, "I... I don't know how to be more than I
think I am."
That was quite obvious.
Tycon gestured Zenon towards the Iron Golem, "Go. Give it a try."
Zenon turned reluctantly, taking a few steps towards the

construct... He lifted a palm up, forming a larger wind sphere,
nearly the size of little Athena.
A few moons ago, channeling such a spell would have cost him
half his mana pool.
"Zenon, tell me truthfully..." Tycon growled low... "Have you ever

doubted yourself?"
Tyrions do not doubt. In the doctrine of the Church of the Eternal

Flame, doubt was... a sin. A man of the Church like Zenon would
receive severe punishments for such heresy.
The Librarian shut his eyes... "Y-yeah... all the time."
"Have you ever felt... useless?"
"...Too often, Optio."
Tycon stoked the flames of uncertainty within his friend. The

Centurion was... so very close to achieving a mental
breakthrough. Somewhere locked in the human's psyche was the
potential for greatness... power beyond that of his class and rank.
Tycon had seen it when they fought against House Galanis... and
at the Martial Tournament in Caeruluem.
Somewhere hidden in the Centurion's friendly smile was a

mountain of rage... a deep sea of hopelessness. He had seen
hints of it when the man cast away his own self-safety... when he
grew desperate... when he had a primal need for more power,
more violence.
There was something else that Tycon knew... a fact that he would
never try to teach a denizen of the Holy Country.
Clerics and Warlocks were the same class, their subclasses

included. Instruments of their gods' agendas, they harnessed
powers beyond mortal ken and willed it to change the world
around them.
In theory, Zenon's magical prowess was a gift from his patron, the
Eternal Flame. Such power was well within his grasp. To become
stronger... he just had to ask for more.
"Think on that..." Tycon whispered... "--your desire to improve, to
grow strong... to gain... respect... You are not so foolish to think
that to come without a cost?"
The cost was his physical well-being... The cost was his sanity.
There was a reason all powerful wizards were mad.
Zenon opened his eyes as they glowed stark white with mana... "I
am no fool."
He seemed to have figured something out. All Tycon had to do

was to give the slightest push.
"That power... it's yours to command." Tycon hissed softly...

"Tttake ittttt."
"Grahhhh..." Zenon growled low, the roiling wind in his palms

increasing in size and growing chaotic... resentful... and violent.
"Letalis front!!!" Tycon called out, "withhhhh-DRAW!!"
Immediately, Tanamar, Lone, and Athena retreated backward--

such orders were drilled into those three, time and time again.
"Is that ALL, Zenon?!?" Tycon shouted to be heard amongst the

whipping winds and clattering debris. "Is this all you have to offer?
All I see is FEAR!!! All you reveal is your HELPLESSNESS!!!"
The flow of air, spinning around the room grew so strong that the
stone seats in the chapel began to rumble. Starting with Athena,
the members of Guild Letalis started to grab hold of each other's
arms to keep steady.
"GRAHHHHHH!!!" Zenon was screaming... which arguably could

have helped. Adrenaline tended to increase the power of spells at
the cost of... finesse.
The headless Iron Golem slowly walked forward... hafted greataxe

resting steadily over its shoulder. Its weight allowed it to remain
stable.
Tycon clenched his teeth, his voice a demeaning whisper. With
the storm brewing in the chapel, only the Wind Mage would be
able to hear him.
"Pathetic. Centurion... is this the extent of your hatred?"
"MY... HATRED..." Beams of light shot out of Zenon's eyes as he

screamed... his voice cracking as he did so. He reached a palm
forward, thrusting it through the ripping and tearing wind sphere.
"KNOWS. NO. BOUUUUNDS!!!!"
An arc of lightning... bright... bloody... red... streamed from

Zenon's fingertips, striking a score of points on the Iron Golem's
body. The construct twitched and fell to a knee, dropping its
weapon as it lost control of its functions.
"IS. THAT. ALLLLLLLL?!??!" Tycon yelled, empowering his voice

with mana.
"GRARRHRRGHHHH!!!" The glowing-eyed Centurion screamed

incoherently. He pointed both palms forward, the arcing crimson
bolts of lightning increasing in strength and ferocity.
The Iron Golem collapsed to the ground, writhing, whirring, and

groaning.
Tycon carefully estimated Zenon's mana usage... The output was

high but acceptable. The Centurion would suffer the effects of
fatigue, but not mana exhaustion... as long as he was stopped--
"HOLD!!!" Tycon ordered.
Obediently, Zenon retracted his hands, ceasing the flow of magic.

He wobbled shakily and Tycon grasped the taller man's arm and
steadied him. It stung-- as some of the residual lightning mana
sped through Tycon's body.
"O... optio..." Zenon groaned weakly, "What... what in the...

seven... hells... was that?"
"It was a lesson," Tycon smiled politely, gesturing towards the
partially melted heap of scrap near the center of the chapel. "Take
a look. You won."
Zenon took a seat on one of the stone pews and stared at his
charred leather gloves, "I... that... was that... lightning magic?"
"Not... quite," Tycon admitted. "But it will do."
"I'm... I'm not so sure I like that spell..." Zenon grimaced.
His hands shook. His face had paled.
Tycon shrugged, "You're a member of Sol Invictus. Our abilities

are powered by hate or... rage... sheer arrogance, at times.
However you choose to cultivate... know that we will fight
alongside you."
Zenon nodded as he clasped his trembling hands together. His

eyes were elsewhere as he fell into deep contemplation.
Chapter 449 Missing
Iron golems had a few exploitable weaknesses that Tycondrius

knew well. The constructs were incredibly resilient against normal
spells. However, a shock of lightning magic would disrupt their
internal formations, slow their functions, and lower their level of
threat. Debilitated as such, they would be far easier to defeat by
an adventuring team.
However... Zenon Skyreaper defeated the construct with magic

alone.
Tycon surmised that Zenon's new crimson lightning skill was

similar to Silver Pyromancer Photios' flames. The spell wasn't
quite elemental in nature... instead, the effect was divine--
supernatural god-magic.
Theories aside... the ability was certainly powerful. If Zenon could

learn to harness that power reliably, he would be able to
consistently challenge opponents above his rank.
Lone approached Tycon with a troubled look on his face...
"Boss... there's a weird gas coming out of the armor-thing."
Tycon looked over with annoyance... scanning the noxious cloud

with his System.
Hm... That was troublesome.
"Brother-Zenon, I'd like you to take care of that, if you would..."
"Huh?" The Librarian snapped out of his reverie, "Oh. Sure thing,
Optio.
Tycon would have rather not tasked the gentleman immediately,
hoping to grant him time to reflect. However, the cloud the Iron
Golem emitted after its defeat had the potential to kill one or more
Letalis members.
A gust of wind later, the deadly cloud diffused, allowing the

members of Guild Letalis to safely search through the corpses for
loot. When none was found, Lone, Salt, and the other Gunners
began to sever body parts from the fallen, as well as recovering
their Legion insignias.
Athena had questions.
Tycon answered her, the best he could.
The Tyrion Adventurer's Guild provided monetary rewards for

proof of Dungeon monster kills. The coin reward for devil-hunting
was higher than that of the weak bird-parasites-- the wings they
did not bother to collect. Also, the block of jelly that Korr had
defeated a bell earlier hadn't left any substantial evidence of its
passing.
Also, quite obviously... the Mosaic Guardians had dissipated into

mana dust, which had already been collected and was worth
slightly more raw, rather than converted to coin.
It was somewhat a macabre task to collect devil parts... but Tycon

assured the little Vanzano that devils don't die. They get banished
for a period of time, from a few years to hundreds, and would
reincarnate afterward... often in a weaker form, depending on the
nature of their death.
Such information didn't seem to ease her comfort, for whatever

reason.
Tycon checked his pocket watch. It was time to return to the rest
of the Brazen Guard collective. He looked forward to the sharing
of information and discussing the overall group's next course of
action.
...
Guild Letalis remained uncontested in returning to the bridge area.
Tycon did observe a young, Iron-Rank Shadow Snake spying on

them from a dark crevice. In response to a murderous glare, it had
the wisdom to dart away before being properly discovered. Tycon
hoped that Anthemon and Azalea had properly informed their kin
of his message:
Guild Letalis was not to be targeted.
Though Tycon did not wish to, he had no compunctions against

committing genocide against a snake-blooded faction that dared
to show him blatant disrespect.
The weak must respect the strong.
...yet it is within their right to challenge their oppressors, to see

where the balance truly lies. Tycon would play that 'game'. He and
his guild were more than strong enough to win by way of brutality,
murder, and threats of the aforementioned.
Such a social game was far more complex amongst humans... but
its core concept remained simple.
Take what you deserve. Concede, if reasonable. When the

balance of power shifts, repeat.
Guild Letalis had returned a quarter-bell early, a coincidental

circumstance rather than an intended one. Among the few guilds
that had arrived, Tycon recognized Legionnaire Karodin and Guild
Snowy Village, the Brightstars, and a few others.
Guild Stormbrand had not yet returned... nor had Raphael of

Cannes.
He found the fact unnerving. He did not consider the Letalis Bravo
a lazy gentleman. The fellow had a good sense of both
professionalism and punctuality, as both a minor noble and a
former soldier of the Kingdom. Tycon feared that Raphael had
encountered a situation he could not easily withdraw from.
"Hey, green-hair!" Weaponmaster Bannok sauntered towards
Tycon with a smirk on his face. Blood had dried on his helmeted
forehead from a minor injury, "You're only fifteen minutes prior!
That means you're LATE!"
Tycon smiled grimly. If Guild Letalis was late, so was near-half of

the collective. He assumed the grinning human was poking fun at
him by citing a concept drilled into military veterans.
"Brother Bannok," He nodded. "Have you found anything of

value?"
"Eh, not really." Bannok removed his helmet, wiping blood and
sweat from his bald brow, "Found a lot of ghouls and ghosts.... got
a few pieces of Dwarven loot, good for coin or as minor upgrades
for some of the kids. How 'bout you guyses?"
"Mimics," Tycon shrugged, "A minor ⌈Summon Devil⌋ ritual.

Nothing too unusual."
"Devils? Flame take me..." Bannok groaned. "We fightin' some of

those Bael Turath pukes?"
Tycon shook his head, "The facts are inconclusive. The Gates
were basic. It is probable that our enemies have or *had* a
Second-Circle caster in their employ... and even that is uncertain."
It did reinforce the fact that there were at least two different
Formation Mages who had worked on the various Dungeon
defenses. A Dwarven mage had crafted the powerful barrier that
guarded the entrance and the defensive measures on the bridge.
A lesser-skilled mage had converted the entrance barrier into a
Guardian summoning and was likely responsible for the Gates
and the Lesser Iron Golem that Letalis encountered.
Bannok replaced his helmet and scratched at his bearded chin...

"Well... you're the expert."
"I feel the need to remind you that both your wife and scoutmaster
are just as versed in such knowledges."
The human looked to the floor, chuckling quietly... "Ahh... You got
me there, guy."
Chapter 450 Sudden But
Inevitable
annok informed Tycondrius of the Brazen Guard's next actions.

B
Once all the guilds in the collective would gather, they would
share information, and then return to Dungeon delving for a few
more bells-- on the current floor and higher. The lower, more
dangerous floors would be explored on the following sun.
Tycon nodded. The plan was sound. However, the absence of the
Stormbrands and his Bravo still bothered him.
"Brother Bannok... have you heard anything from Guild

Stormbrand?"
"Ugh," The Weaponmaster rolled his eyes. "What is it? If it's

another sexual harassment thing, I oughta--"
Tycon raised a hand to interrupt the gentleman, "--not quite.

Earlier, I had sent one of my scouts to follow them."
Bannok narrowed his gaze, his mouth twisted in disgust... "You

suspect those cocksuckers of foul play?"
"...Something like that," Tycon shrugged. At the time, he deemed

sending Raphael to track them as a low-risk endeavor, expecting
little or nothing to gain.
"Shouldn't bother," Bannok crossed his arms, "That lot's just a

bunch of idiots."
"Fools can be unpredictable," Tycon warned.
Bannok paused... sinking deep into thought... "Eh... can't argue

with that."
Tycon grimaced, feeling the vibrations in the ground before any of
his human allies could sense it.
"Brother-Bannok, brace yourself."
"What the hells do you mean--"
A loud explosion shook the stone floors that nearly took Bannok
off his feet, soon followed by the raucous crumbling of heavy
stones.
"By the FLAME, what in the seven gods-damned hells was that?!"
Bannok roared.
The Weaponmaster dashed off, with Tycon following close

behind... and they were joined by dozens of adventurers,
clamoring to see the source of the noise.
The bridge had been destroyed... and through the cloud of dust,
standing on the opposite side were the members of Guild
Stormbrand.
"OCCAMMM!!!!" Bannok's voice boomed, shaking the bridge and

finishing off the feeble stones desperately trying to remain intact,
"What the HELLS do you think you're doing?!"
The raven-haired Stormbrand Cleric held out his fists forward,

revealing two obscene gestures, "F*CK YOU, BANNOK!!!"
Tycon wondered how the Stormbrands managed to cross the

bridge without him or Bannok noticing. He spied a weapon he had
not yet encountered... one wielded by Tancred Mors.
The Reaver carried a second greataxe... its haft made from

bones. It looked suspiciously similar to the spine of a large snake.
« System, analysis: Tancred's axe. »
⟬ Snake Spine Greataxe. Third-Circle Magical Greataxe. Warning:

The weapon is inhabited by the Sandstone Reaver, the
Oathbreaker. The weapon spirit may possess the user. Soulbound
to Tancred Mors. ⟭
Empty night.
"I know that weapon," Bannok growled. "HERETICS!!! You don't

know who or WHAT you're f*cking with!!!"
"FFFFF*CK!! YOU!! GUYS!!! Ha har harr!!" Occam replied with the

most eloquent words in his minuscule vocabulary, "Phew. Always
wanted to say that."
"We're leaving," Tancred ordered.
"WAIT!!!" A voice called out.
Tycon and the rest of the Brazen Guard collective turned to see...
Pyromancer Photios approach the edge of the broken bridge, his
palm raised out towards the Stormbrands.
"Ignus Cantor..." Zenon looked to his friend, doubt clouding his

expression... "What're you doing, man?"
The slouching Pyromancer shrugged in response, grinning without

shame, "You're a frog at the bottom of the well, Librarian. You're
trash, just like I am. But I... I have a way out."
Before anyone else could react, Photios' body was fading into
dark smoke, "⌈Riftwalk.⌋"
The mage spell utilized crossing into the Void, effectively

emulating short-distance teleportation. Such a spell was not
uncommon amongst Warlocks and dark casters from other
nations... but was considered heretical by denizens of the Holy
Country.
Photios reappeared in the midst of the Stormbrands, "Take me

with you! I'm good for it-- you know I am."
"Hah! Hahaha! Hahahaharr harr!!" Occam cackled madly before

pausing to catch his breath...
"No."
The raven-haired Cleric planted a solid boot into Photios' chest.

Screaming for his life, the Silver Pyromancer plummeted down to
the depths below.
Simultaneously, a teeth-tingling zap forced Tycon to briefly

wince... an effect that drew similar reactions from Zenon and
Athena, nearby. A thin, nigh-transparent magical barrier had
formed between the ends of the bridge that would block the
approach of any of the Brazen Guard's flight abilities.
Zenon appeared ready to leap over, assisted by his wind magic. In

a similar vein, Tanamar summoned his wings of light, seeking to
do the same.
Tycon held out a hand to stop them, "Hold."
With hand-crossbow in hand, he knelt down at the edge of the

precipice... and delivered an accurate poisoned bolt to Photios'
chest, ilms away from his heart.
Everyone else seemed too preoccupied by the Stormbrands'

betrayal to ensure the mage's death. Tycon liked being thorough.
"Optio, why?!" Zenon growled.
"Concerning the bolt or the chase?"
The Centurion was furious, "The Stormbrands! They're getting

away!!!"
Tycon shook his head, "Take a second look. There's a Fourth-

Circle barrier in the way. We must find another way to exit this
place."
Once more, the cavernous walls began to shake and tremble.

Both the mundane torches and the light enchantments of the
Brazen Guard dimmed as a wave of dark magic washed over
them.
"MUHUHAHAHAHA!!!!!" An eerie voice echoed off of the walls,
"As if I... the MASSSTER of these HALLSSS... would allow the
enemiessss of the SSSSSSNAKE CULT to essscape!!!"
In a lackluster puff of noxious smoke, a dark-robed caster

appeared behind the collective. Shirtless, scrawny, and slightly
translucent, the male mage wore a tall helmet in the likeness... of
a hooded cobra.
Tycon shook his head, sighing in annoyance even as the humans

around him began to panic.
In the span of a few moments, additional bursts of smoke

summoned more ghostly Snake Cult warriors, savages wearing
piecemeal sets of armor, wielding shoddy spears and looted
blades. Dozens of Iron-Rank Shadow Snakes, too, slithered out of
cracks in the floors and walls... not that Tycon was particularly
wary of them.
The Brazen Guard was surrounded by enemies.
Such was a battlefield that Tycon's Warlord class thrived.
Tycon drew the Sword of Venom out of its scabbard and raised it
skyward, "Friends and allies of the Brazen Guard, rally around--"
"DIE, HERETIC SCUM!!!" Weaponmaster Bannok dropped his

shield, both hands on his battleaxe as he charged recklessly into
the crowd of Snake Cult apparitions. "PURGE!!!! CLEANSE!!!!
KILLLLLLLLL!!!!!"
Tycon pointed his sword forward, "I am of the same mind."

Chapter 451 The Usual
he members of the Brazen Guard collective followed their guild

T
leader, Bannok. Frothing at the mouth, the Gold-Rank
Weaponmaster led a screaming, barbaric charge into 'glorious'
combat.
Sergeant Salt called for his Gunners to fire at will. That was fine.
Tycondrius had other plans.
"Avoid firing at the wizard, Sergeant."
Salt aimed down the barrel of his rifle, and with a loud bang,
melted a hole through the chest of an axe-wielding ghost, "Aye
aye, Sir!!"
"Letalis forward team," Tycon raised his offhand, signaling to his

allies, "--with me."
Lightly jogging forward, he was followed by Korr, Lone, Athena,

and Tanamar. Tycon shot a not-so-subtle glare at Zenon and the
Centurion followed, as well.
Lone ran alongside him, wolf-hammer and sword in hand, "The

usual, Boss?"
"Indeed," Tycon flourished his long, curved sword, pointing it

directly at the cobra-helmed undead, "Geek the mage, if you
would."
⟬ ⌈Lamb to the Slaughter⌋ activating... Support ability. Allies within

target. ⟭
"GEEK THE MAGE!!!" Lone smashed his mace into the ground,
having it transform into his fiery Dark Iron wolf.
"[GEEK. THE MAGE!]" Korr echoed. Her wicked, roiling flames

sheathed her blackblade, making Lone's wolf look like a mundane
torch in comparison.
"GEEK THE MAAAAGE!!!" Athena shouted in her high-pitched

voice, her four floating Arcanite blades pointing forward as she
ran.
"Geek the mage..." Tanamar summoned not one, but two holy
lances, running low to the ground with one in each hand.
"With the Eternal Flame as my witness..." Zenon growled, his arm-

blades sparking with electricity, "--this foul WITCH shall be
GEEKED!!!"
Tycon, himself, resheathed his weapon, keeping his speed, but

allowing the others to charge in first.
« System, analyze: Basic information. »
⟬ Gold-Rank Construct Dread Mage. ⟭
The mage was defended by a quartet of Iron-Rank Ghost

Warriors. They appeared to be the most elite amongst the
apparitions, wearing and wielding armor and weaponry barely
better than the other Snake Cult ghosts.
They would be useless in defending their ward.
Tycon knew it. The Dread Mage knew it. Every member of Guild
Letalis knew it.
Fight. Flight. Freeze. Such were the three responses to fear.
The mage... he abruptly halted his actions. His helmet revealed no

expression, but his fingers stopped moving.
It was... inconceivable.
The undead were a special kind of opponent. He recalled the war
chants of the Sleeping Country and their armies, bolstered by elite
undead soldiers.
'Never tire. Never hunger. Never fear,' they said...
And still... Tycon sensed fear in the Dread Mage. In that fear, the
wizard halted his own spell channeling.
He did not run. He did not ready his magical staff in a defensive
manner.
He froze.
Not that the mage had the luxury of choosing, but out of the three
responses, freezing was... the most unfortunate.
For him, anyroad.
As their opponent had been so generous to gift Letalis with the

opportunity... it would be rude if he and his team were to grant
them anything less than utter annihilation.
The fastest to engage were Lone and his wolf, Tres Leches. The
Dark-Iron wolf charged forward, the Ghost Warriors' weapons
ricocheting off of its hardened spikes. Opening its smoldering maw
to bite the mage's throat... it crashed against the Dread Mage's
⌈Mana Ward⌋, forming visible white cracks in the translucent
barrier.
The wolf... bounced, yelping in surprise. As it would only be dazed

and receive no lasting damage, Tycon found it humorous.
Lone dashed through the Ghost Warriors, grabbing his wolf's tail
and, in a flash of fiery mana, wielding his hammer once more.
Shatterspike and wolf-hammer in hand, he drew them in a cross,
attacking the mage's magical shield.
With a loud and reverberating metallic crack, the barrier shattered.
Broken in two attacks. Also unfortunate.

The Dread Mage's ⌈Mana Ward⌋ was much weaker than Tycon
had surmised. Lone was very, very strong for an Iron-Rank and
the wizard was conversely very, very weak for a Gold.
Korr left a blazing trail in her wake as she ran. With the blackblade
in her right hand, she skidded to a stop, her metal greaves
screeching on the Dungeon stones. Dipping her body low and to
the left... she delivered a devastating, fire-sheathed left hook to
the low-side of the mage's abdomen.
That was where... the kidney would be. If the mage were human,
he'd be dead, in shock... and would, at the very least, be urinating
blood for well over a week.
The mage immediately keeled over, holding his side in pain.
"KORR!!!" Athena yelled.
The white-armored noble was running with all of her might, but as
she called out, she allowed her magic to take over. She glided
towards her target, her Arcanite blades arrayed behind her like
wings.
Korr grabbed the injured wizard by an arm and... flung him

towards Athena. Interestingly enough, the mage did not fall... but
ran along with the momentum, his cobra helmet bobbing up and
down like a fool.
"⌈CROSS-CHOP OF MARKET EQUILIBRIUM!!!!⌋" Athena

shrieked.
The young lady drew her hand across her opposite shoulder...
then delivered a running, back-handed whack to the mage's upper
chest. The mana-empowered force of her strike caused the mage
to flip, heels over head... twice. His head struck the ground so
hard that it rebounded nearly a fulm back up.
Tycon narrowed his eyes. That was not... a Frostblade skill.
He surmised it was a skill Athena had learned from that dolt,

Sorina Capulet. Tycon would have to scold her for teaching the
young noble cross-class skills.
How much time had she *wasted* to achieve middle completion

with that??
If Tycon wasn't currently jogging towards their target, he would

have immediately sought to beat his Calculator.
The mage began to levitate, interrupting his thoughts.
Six fulms above the ground, the half-transparent fellow's helmet

had fallen off. Underneath was a miserable, rough-shaven and--
honestly nondescript, curly-haired Tyrion human.
He was flailing his weak arms about, obviously not in control of

himself.
Zenon flung a hand upward, "DIE, HERETIC!!!"

Chapter 452 Helping
Tycondrius stared up at the Dread Mage, struggling in mid-air.
With a wave of Zenon Skyreaper's hand, the ghostly human

rocketed skyward towards the tall Dungeon ceiling.
High above, the silver-haired Holy Lancer, Tanamar, hovered on

wings of light... He rotated his body, increasing in rotational speed,
spinning like... a top. The mage collided with the whirling blur,
struck in the shoulder by the footman's holy lance. He spiraled
back downward at a sharp angle, the velocity no less than a
moment prior.
Tycon sighed internally, changing his direction... trying to judge

where exactly the mage would land. If the fellow wasn't already
dead, then he'd finish him off with a slash of his Sword of Venom.
"I GOT IT!!!" Sorina Capulet yelled.
With absolutely reckless abandon, the drill-haired girl weaved

through dozens of Ghost Warriors... through the Shadow Snakes'
hail of magical bolts, and into the loud and treacherous storm of
gunfire from Salt and his squad.
Tycon.
SCREAMED.
"SORINA-WHAT-ARE-YOU-DOOIIIIIIINNNNG??!?!"
As he watched his Calculator risk certain death for no gods-

damned reason, he found it admirable that Sorina had trained her
athletic ability to a reasonably high level. Earlier in her career, she
was unable to run a half-malm, much less the same distance
while fully sprinting through battlefield CROSSFIRE.
However, Tycon was far more *concerned*... than he was proud.
As a credit to her class, the Calculator had instantly and perfectly

determined the mage's trajectory. Leaping through the air, she
thrust out her left knee.
"I'm... HELPING!!" She declared.
With an audible and echoing crack of Bronze-Rank bone, she

struck the half-transparent mage in the side of his thick head.
The mage fell motionlessly onto the Dungeon stones.
Sorina also fell.
She clumsily rolled about onto the Dungeon stones, falling flat
onto her chest, arms outstretched. She was dazed, bleeding, and
her left leg was bent at an awkward angle-- because it was
BROKEN from the impact.
Stupid. Thrice-damned. Girl.
Did she not CALCULATE what was going to happen?
"W-worth it..." She groaned.
So. she. did...
Tycon once more adjusted his running direction, quickly

approaching the downed mage. Leaping up and drawing his
sword, he cleaved down into the mage's neck.
The Dread Mage was decapitated.
Also, Tycon had not broken any bones in doing so.
Spinning his curved blade, he stabbed its end into the human-like
mana-construct for good measure.
Keeping his attention mostly on the mage, he extended his

senses to the battlefield around him.
The members of Guild Letalis had refocused their efforts on
defeating the Ghost Warriors around them, cutting them down
safely and systematically.
The Brazen Guard had sustained a few casualties... not from the
undead, but from the bolts of dark magic cast by the score of
Shadow Snakes.
The clever creatures kept their distance and were difficult to hit in
the shadows. Tycon particularly noted the sharp-eyed Elven
Hunter, Felinus, shooting at the Snake Cultists rather than the
enemy ranged units.
Tycon considered ordering Zenon and Athena to use their area-

effect spells... but that would exhaust their mana reserves quickly.
...It would be best to seek cover.
"BANNOK!!" Tycon shouted to the human in the distance.
The Weaponmaster had a Ghost Warrior held by the throat,

repeatedly smashing his helmet into his opponent's face. Tossing
his unmoving opponent to the ground, he retrieved his battleaxe
from the head of a different Warrior, before separating the first
Ghost's upper torso from its lower.
"WHAAAAT?!"
"We must withdraw! I advise we descend!! To the lower floors!"
"GRARRRGH!!!" Bannok kicked at his fallen opponent before

turning to observe the battlefield. His face fell in horror as he
realized the casualties incurred, "Flame TAKE it all!!!"
He grabbed a horn from his side and blew on it... sounding the
retreat.
"Hur... HUR HURR... HURR!!!" A pained, ghostly echo emanated

from the head of the decapitated mage... where Tycon was still
standing.
"Your reTREATTTT... is imPoSSSIBLE!!!" The head coughed.

"The F*CK is that??!!" Bannok yelled.
"Lead our troops!" Tycon shouted back, "I'll handle this!!"
Tycon groaned, "Let me guess, wizard. You're going to seal the

entrances to the lower floors with your... 'formations'?"
"HRR... HAR.... HURRR... You.... you underssstand... the folly...

of--"
Tycon shook his head. This was one of the Formation Mages that
had arranged so many traps in the Dungeon. If there were only
two, this one was the amateur.
« System, analysis: What is this creature? »
⟬ System response: The Dread Mage is a mana-construct, created

by a formation. ⟭
Tycon had guessed as much. Performing a hasty scan of the

area, he found no sign of the mage's main defensive formation...
but it was just as well.
It was not uncommon to create a formation that held a soul or

spirit. For the Formation Mage to achieve his pseudo-immortality,
it seemed he'd done just that.
The more complete the transfer was, the more memories and
sentience that spirit would retain. Normally, that spirit would lose
more and more of its mindfulness and 'humanity' as the effective
magic waned over time.
Unfortunately, this particular mana-construct had a glaring flaw.
It was... too human.
It retained its arrogance and sought to verbally abuse its

opponents. It was capable of fear. It keeled over when struck by
Korr's left hook.
It was capable of pain... also, it likely kept its sense of taste and
other nice things.
It was still very stupid to keep the sense of pain, though.
Tycon lifted his knee to his chest.
The mage's severed head widened its eyes in realization,

"Whatttt.... thattt are you doing?"
"Shattering the formation," Tycon confided, merely loud enough

for the mage to hear. "Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus... you
stupid idiot."
He allowed mana to course through his body, focusing his Gold-

Rank strength into his lifted leg.
Without love. Without mercy. Without even hatred.
Tycon stomped down on the fallen mage's groin.
And again.
And... again.
The mage opened his mouth to shriek, to scream, to cry or beg...

but Tycon continued. It was not until the construct's body began to
dissipate into mana dust that he stopped.
« System, inquiry: Does the mage's spirit still exist? »
Even if it escaped, the mage would likely be in no state to contest

them.
⟬ System response: The Dread Mage's spirit has been destroyed.

⟭
Pathetic.
Tycon turned to his guild members, "Letalis! We're retreating!!

Lone, grab Sorina!!"
Chapter 453 Champion
hadow Snakes hiding in corners and crevices continued to rain

S
deadly bolts of shadowy magic onto the Brazen Guard collective.
Though Tycondrius was fairly certain they would not directly target
the members of Guild Letalis, they could still be injured in the
chaos.
He stopped near Bannok, waving for Sergeant Salt and the others
to go on ahead.
"We're going ahead, Brother-Bannok."
"Don't have to tell me twice, guy." Bannok shouted, lifting up his

shield to block a dark, smoky glob of mana, "Why you still standin'
around? GO!!!"
Tycon was about to turn to leave when he sensed Hunter Felinus

dropping down from a nearby building wall. The elf landed near
the two of them, longbow in hand.
"Bannok. Tactician," Felinus nodded.
Bannok half-turned his head, scowling, "Not NOW, Fel! I'm kinda...
BUSY!! GRAHH!!"
Two more bolts burst against Bannok's enchanted shield, with

Felinus casually swaying his body to the side to dodge a third.
"Ahem," The elf cleared his throat... "Brother Bannok..."
Bannok's scowl turned to shock, then twisted back into anger. He

growled, deep and low... "No. Absolutely not."
Felinus' face remained impassive, as elves were wont to do, "I

have honored my end of the bargain, friend of the elves."
"Flame take you, Fel. You can't," Bannok insisted, near shouting
as he reigned in his temper, "Not here... not now."
Felinus shook his head, "According to our prior agreements, I

have the discretion on when to terminate my contract. I am
exercising that right-- effective now."
Tycon loosened his curved blade from its catch. Had Felinus also
decided to betray the Brazen Guard? The danger a hostile Gold-
Rank adventurer presented was far worse than an Iron-Rank
guild's defection.
"That won't be necessary, Tactician," the elf said nonchalantly. He

turned, walking away... back towards the battlefield. "Give the
young hero, Athanasius, my regards. He will take my place as
Scoutmaster."
...It was then that Tycon understood what the conversation

concerned. He removed his helmet to better burn the image of
what was about to pass into his memory.
"Master Hunter... I wish to know your reasoning."
Felinus hesitated, turning back... "If there's anything the snakes

hate more than humans... it's elves."
Tycon didn't think that was fair, but he kept his peace.
"FEL!!" Bannok shouted, "Where in the seven GODS-DAMNED

hells do you think you're going?!"
The elf sighed... "A place I am doubtful I can return from."
Felinus drew back his longbow... and aimed at a pocket of

shadow.
Tycon narrowed his gaze...
The elf could see them.
He hadn't chosen to reveal that fact until now... to gather their

attention, all at once.
In the span of a few seconds, the Elven Hunter accurately shot,
injured, and killed a dozen shadow snakes before sprinting in the
direction opposite of the Brazen Guards' retreat.
In the elf's airy, musical language, Felinus delivered his battlecry...
"(Foul creatures of the snake god's brood, hear my name! I am

Felinus, champion of the elf god!! My arrows I have slain
THOUSANDS of your kin, and you shall die THE SAME!!!)"
Bannok ground his teeth, shutting his eyes and taking a deep
breath...
"BRAZEN GUARD!!! MOVE YOUR GODS-DAMNED ARSES!!!!"
Taking position at the Weaponmaster's side, Tycon replaced his

helmet and fully drew his sword. With an arcing swipe, he cut
down an errant, thrown pilum that would have speared one of the
withdrawing adventurers.
Bannok turned with an incredulous, furious look, "And why the

HELLS are you still here, GUY?!"
Tycon kept his attention on the battlefield... "Felinus' chances of

survival are increased if there are two Gold-Rank defensive
classes covering the retreat, rather than one."
"You... PAH!!" Bannok spat to the side, before cleaving his

enchanted axe into a charging Ghost Warrior, "Do whatever the
hells you want! I don't give a single shite!!"
Tycon quietly scoffed. He would do as he pleased, no matter the

human's opinion.
...
Though Felinus killed over a score of Shadow Snakes on his own,

he was in a battlefield full of dozens more. Besides those, tent-
groups of Snake Cultists and a handful of Bronze-Rank Undead
Warlocks focused their attention on the single combatant away
from the safety of a group.
The elf took an attack from a skeletal spellcaster... a burning,
green-flame palm in close range. Though Felinus' blades split the
Warlock's spine and ribcage, the injury would prove fatal.
Slowed by the magical burn, the elf took a shadowy bolt to the
shoulder... then another upon his upper back. Surrounded by
enemies, he defeated two undead cultists before finally
succumbing to sword, spear, and axe.
Hunter Felinus died a miserable death, his head severed from his
body and dashed bloody upon the stones.
Tycon was glad he stayed behind. The normally unflappable

human Weaponmaster was clearly distraught by the elf's death.
Tycon grabbed onto the man's wrist... and had to pull on his armor
to physically hold him back.
If he hadn't done so, he was fairly certain the human would have
recklessly charged into his demise.
Tycon still needed him.
Bannok remained silent as they withdrew with the other members

of the Brazen Guard... leaving behind over a tenth of their number
as corpses littering the ground. The only sounds the human made
were the gnashing of teeth and curses in the old tongue.
As the Brazen Guard descended deeper into the depths of the

Halls of the Dead Serpent, the enemies halted their chase. Tycon
surmised that the undead summoning ritual had a certain area or
range... or perhaps the destruction of the formation mage played
some part.
Whatever the reason, the decimated Gold-Rank guild had

escaped to relative safety...
The buildings on the lower floor were larger, more separated from
each other.
One of the adventurers remarked on the fact. Did they belong to

wealthier dwarves? More miserly, perhaps? Such buildings were
prime targets for looting, but none of the guilds advocated their
exploration.
Tycon was of the same mind. He was not keen on encountering

any new traps or enemies within the structures... not without the
safety of a forward camp to withdraw to if the situation turned
awry.
Without an order or command, the adventurers of the Brazen

Guard chose to rest away from the buildings, against a large
dungeon wall. Without tent supplies and with limited medical
equipment, Priestess Ariadne and her healers set up an
impromptu triage area.
Chapter 454 Need To Rest
ycondrius had Legionnaire Karodin pass word to the other guild

T
leaders. They would convene in two bells to discuss their next
course of action.
He doubted that Bannok was in a proper state of mind to call the

order, himself.
Centurion Zenon assisted Aria with triage. Sorina had her broken
leg healed. However, in her weakened state, she could manage a
slow jog at best. She seemed to grow very, slightly closer to Lone
in that time... a small positive in what was generally a shite
situation.
Sergeant Salt and his gunners kept watch at the perimeter... their
ranged weaponry loud enough to alert the entire camp of attack.
Tycon asked Athena and Tanamar to guard him as he sat, cross-

legged in a quiet corner and... appeared to meditate.
The Dwarven notes he collected earlier with musings and rough

sketches about the city's layout had abruptly become far more
important than they originally had been. He needed a short time to
compile the information and parse anything useful out of it.
There had to be another way out of the city... or failing that, they
needed to find a way to break the Fourth-Circle barrier that sealed
them inside of it.
...
⟬ Brazen Guard collective meeting. ⟭
Tycon narrowed his eyes upon seeing the Dark Elven Priestess,
Ariadne. She had come from the triage area and had yet to put on
her armor... The colorful pink tunic she wore had splotches of
blood.
She wore a haggard expression, likely from mana exhaustion...

The white glow of the tattoos on her dark skin had dimmed.
She needed to rest.
Unfortunately, they did not have the luxury to grant her more than
a few bells.
"Aria, where is Brother Bannok?" He inquired.
"Oh," The Priestess fanned herself with her hand, "Mah husband's
feelin' a bit under the weather-- oh, err... He's not feelin' too good."
Tycon closed his eyes and nodded quietly. The absence of the
Brazen Guard's leader surprised him. Recent events must have
weighed upon the man heavily...
While unsurprising, it was also inconvenient.
He cleared his throat and addressed the adventurers gathered...
"Leaders of the Brazen Guard collective... Upon analysis of some

Dwarven plans I happened upon, I have reason to believe there
may be an exit at the very bottom of the Dungeon."
Tycon briefly gauged the reaction of the crowd before continuing.

Morale was pitifully low with the betrayal of a dozen Stormbrands
and the loss of a score of adventurers, including an Iron-Rank
Silver Pyromancer and a Gold-Rank Hunter.
He sat on the ground between Aria and Tanamar... where Bannok

would sit. If the human would not command, then as the most
capable Gold-Rank amongst them, he would do so in his stead.
In doing so, he would maximize the collective's chance of

survival...
"There is a flowing, underground river that should lead to the

outside. Guild Letalis will lead the way."
An Iron-Rank Scout seethed in contempt, "--And why in the seven
hells should we listen to you, Tactician? When your gods-damned
plans got us into this situation in the first place?!"
That was grossly incorrect. Humans in their weakened mental

states would seek to assign blame to anything they could, no
matter how illogical.
...It was rather annoying, though.
"Now hold on fer jus' a Flame-flippin' minute!!" Aria stood up in a

huff.
Tycon held up a hand to calm the enraged Priestess... "I say

again... Guild *Letalis* will be descending deeper into the
Dungeon. Any and all are welcome to join us. Any and all are
welcome to strike off on your own...
"Though in doing so... you will most certainly die."
Any and all that dared to bar his path, Tycon would dispatch,
personally. He was not in the mood for social games. The
members of Guild Letalis would survive, even if he, himself, had to
drag them out of the depths of one of the seven hells.
...
Tycon spent some time conversing with his guild members. As the
situation had the potential to become even more difficult, their
morale and mental stability were paramount as they descended
deeper into the Halls of the Dead Serpent.
Sergeant Salt and his gunners were busy performing gear

maintenance, cleaning out their rifle barrels and repairing nicks
and cuts in their armors. There had suffered no casualties, thus
far... but their group had emptied their stock of healing potions.
Tanamar and Athena were doing well, supporting each other as

they have been. Thankfully, Tycon didn't have to worry about
those two.
Sorina was sleeping to recover the energy spent after being
magically healed. Lone quietly watched over her.
Zenon was still upset from Photios' betrayal... but the Centurion
agreed that getting through the situation was more important than
dwelling on the fact.
Korr seemed... fine? They had a brief conversation about...

archery, of all things. Either she wasn't concerned about recent
events or speaking about nonsense was her way of coping. She
did express that she liked working with the Brazen Guard and that
it was a shame to lose the men and women they did.
Tycon sought to maintain his own arms and armor. He was

cleaning the dust and soot off of his helm when he was sought out
by Legionnaire Karodin of Emberhold. Interestingly, Duelist
Ptolema of Guild Snowy Village had accompanied him.
"M-m-master Tactician!!" Karodin was out of breath for some

reason.
"I'm really sorry about this, Tactician," the short-haired Duelist

sighed. "I told him you were busy-- but he insisted."
"It's fine." Tycon raised an eyebrow... "Good afternoon, Miss

Ptolema, Mister Karodin. I have a cross pein hammer if you'd like
to remove the dent from your helmet."
"Good afternoon," Karodin saluted, "And yes, I'd like to borrow

that if-- THAT'S NOT THE POINT!!"
Tycon pursed his lips in confusion... "Very well. May I ask what
the--"
"There's an emergency!!" Karodin insisted, gripping his fists like a

petulant child.
"...Very... well. What is... your emergency?"
"Bannok's gone missing!"

"I fail to see how that is an issue. Out of anyone in the Brazen
Guard, that gentleman can take care of himself."
"I mean-- well... I uh... err... I--" Karodin fumbled for human words,
"I'm just worried about him."
Tycon nodded. He returned his curved blade to its scabbard

before summoning the maintenance hammer from his spatial ring.
"I want this returned," Tycon politely stated, as he handed it over.
"R-right," Karodin nodded.
"I'll make sure of it, Tactician," Ptolema bowed politely.
"Before I search for our gentleman friend..." Tycon hesitated... "I'd

like a word in private, Miss Ptolema."
Chapter 455 Best Laid Plans
tolema of Guild Snowy Village walked with Tycondrius a short

P
distance away from the Letalis area, out of earshot of Mister
Karodin.
Her rapier was enchanted with a low-level illumination spell, and

she held it out to light her path, avoiding obstacles and careful of
uneven terrain. As she led the way, Tycon observed her trying and
failing to hide the fact that she was wincing in pain...
"What's this about, Tactician?" The Duelist asked, her patience

waning the further she walked.
"You're injured."
It was not a question. She smelled of blood.
The Duelist idly placed a hand over her lower abdomen... "It's
nothing."
Tycon shifted his weight and grimaced, prompting her to continue

with his silent stare.
Ptolema averted her gaze, her lips quivering in weakness...

"Just... I know. I'll manage, somehow... Just don't tell Karodin...
please."
Tycon pursed his lips and took a deep breath... "Is it a combat
injury? Or..."
The woman crossed her arms defensively... "It's... a girl thing."
An unfortunate realization dawned in Tycon's mind... "I see... Stay

strong. We'll worry about the particulars after I get you and
Karodin out of this-- alive."
Tycon donned his white helmet, quietly lamenting that he could
not offer the young Duelist more.
Ptolema gave a slow nod, standing and watching Tycon as he left.
...
"GRRRRAH!" Weaponmaster Bannok cleaved an undead dwarf's

head in two, dropping it to the floor of what was likely its home
when it was still living.
Tycon had followed Bannok's footprints and a handful of defeated

Unranked undead to inside one of the Dwarven buildings. He
stared at the man's armored back as the human stood over his
latest defeated opponent.
"Thirty-seven years... thirty... seven... Flame-taken years..."

Bannok growled, deep and low. "--and he went out like... that.
"You. Killed. MY. FRIEND!!!" He suddenly turned, swinging his

battleaxe at Tycon's chest.
Tycon was ready for the attack... but the Weaponmaster was far
faster than he was.
He was barely able to bring up his adamantine scabbard to block.

Receiving the forceful strike, Tycon's back collided against a
sturdy wall.
"Augh..." He groaned, "I'm going to assume you were talking to

someone else?"
"Tactician?!" Bannok wore a surprised expression... which

immediately twisted into a furious glare, "What in the seven hells
are you doing here?"
Tycon stretched his back and removed his white helmet. It had
saved him from a nasty lump on the back of his head, "I think it
quite obvious. I was looking for you."
"For ME?!" Bannok roared, gripping his battleax like he was going
to continue his assault.
"...Yes. For you."
Tycon wondered if he misspoke.
The light of a magical staff spilled into the Dwarven domicile, a

certain dark elf stepping lightly over the threshold of a broken front
door.
"I thought I'd find you here, hon," Priestess Ariadne frowned, "Oh!
Howdy, Mister Tactician."
All the strength appeared to drain from Bannok's body... "I don't
wanna talk about it, Ari. It's not something you'd understand."
Priestess Ariadne placed a hand on her hip, "Now you just lis'n
here, Mister..."
"Not NOW, woman!!" Bannok shouted.
His face crumpled in regret almost immediately, "Just... not now,

Ari..."
"Of all the-- arrrrgh!!" The Priestess fumed, "Mister Tactician,

could you please talk some sense into mah mushroom-brained
idjit of a husband?"
Tycon nodded... "Grant us a moment, Miss Aria."
Ariadne stomped out, leaving the two to their silence...
Tycon pulled up a Dwarven-carved chair, taking a seat and waiting

patiently.
Bannok stopped and stared... and finally conceded as he pulled

out another chair... "She... she doesn't understand..."
Tycon nodded... "Very few do understand the difficulties of our

positions."
Admittedly, she very likely did-- not that Bannok wished to hear of
it. Priestess Ariadne had a healing class. With the power to
literally save her allies from death, she, more than most, would
sorely feel every loss in the Brazen Guard collective.
"I already know what you's gonna say..." Bannok wiped the grime
off of his axe with his forearm, "You're gonna tell me to suck it up.
I don't wanna hear it, guy."
Tycon shook his head, "I was going to remind you that the time to
mourn can be afforded once our mission is complete."
"Mission?!" Bannok sat on the edge of his seat, "The mission's a

Flame-taken failure!! And it's all because of those thrice-damned,
no good..."
The human took a deep breath... seething in anger and grumbling

unintelligibly.
Tycon took a deep breath to match... "The mission, Brother-

Bannok... is to escape this foul place with as many survivors as
we can manage."
Bannok grew quiet, brooding...
Tycon stood up, walking towards the troubled human.
"Everything I can say, you already know. Hunter Felinus acted as

he thought best, at the time. You have a duty to yourself, to your
wife, and to your guild to continue onward," Tycon held his hand
forward. "Now, come along."
In his frustration, Bannok slapped Tycon's gauntleted hand away.
It hurt.
Still, Tycon reached his hand out again, "You cannot refuse me,
Bannok."
Bannok glared... "Or you'll do what?"
Tycon furrowed his brows in thought... "I'll ask again, I suppose.

I'm sure you are aware that I cannot defeat you in single combat."
...Not without the element of surprise or deception, anyroad.
Bannok stared at Tycon's hand for a long moment. Suddenly, he

scoffed. Chuckling derisively, he shook his head.
"You're a real piece of shite, Brother-Tycon," Bannok snorted as

he clasped and shook Tycon's wrist.
Tycon chose to ignore the human's particular diction and take it as

a... compliment.
"You're not the type to spurn your duty," Tycon smirked. "I merely
saved you a few bells."
"Of what?" Bannok groaned, "Wasting my time?"
"Of mistakenly thinking you were alone."
...
⟬ Two bells later. ⟭
The deepest parts of the Dungeon were composed of tall, twisting

corridors, the stone walls roughly hewn, but solid. For Dwarven
masonry, the quality of work was at the bare minimum.
There were more Dwarven structures, these carved into the tall
walls... though few and with long lengths of distance between.
They could have been filled with treasure. They could have been
filled with enemies. The Brazen Guard collective kept on alert,
watching for hostile eyes and arrows in those windows.
Tycon felt the vibrations of rushing water underneath the stone...

and he led the collective downstream. He hoped there would be
an opening... somewhere.
In the notes that Tycon had parsed, the Dwarven Formation Mage
had expressed the security concern the underground river
presented. However, the rushing rapids underfoot would be
difficult to enter the city from. Using it as an exit... should be
plausible.
"You see anything, Hero?" Bannok asked. Though the goatee-
wearing human was still in a surly mood, his confident and
commanding presence had returned.
"Just undead," Tanamar shut his eyes and shook his head...
"Though... there's a building we have to go through... and it's got...
metal-centaur-looking things."
Tycon's blood chilled with the Holy Lancer's words...
"Arrrgh... more of those damned constructs?" Bannok complained.
Tycon held up a shaky hand, "Athanasius... could you... describe

the creatures?"
"Huh?" Tanamar raised an eyebrow, "Yeah, sure. Human-like

torso with two arms, horse-like body with four hooves... Metal
scales for skin, bull's head... maybe eight feet long, twice as tall. "
Tycon took off his helmet to wipe off his brow... "Empty night."
"You know these things, Mister Tactician?" Priestess Ariadne

asked.
Tycon's eyes stung with frustration... "They... sound like gorgons."
"Doesn't sound so bad," Bannok frowned. "Just means 'dreadful',

don't it?"
"They're typically Gold-Rank and emit a petrification gas."
"Oh." Bannok's eyes widened and his face paled... "F*ck."
"My thoughts are similar," Tycon groaned.
The one good thing about having gorgons as opponents was...

they were all idiots who fought without a sense of tactics. The
worst thing about fighting gorgons... was they were all idiots who
fought senselessly and without tactics.
...
A short planning session later, the Brazen Guard collective
arranged in a combat formation outside of a large Dwarven
structure. According to Tycon's information, they were at the far
edge of the city. The underground river should be accessible
somewhere through that very building.
According to Tanamar... it was a mausoleum where dwarves and

Snake Cultists were buried. That meant there were likely hostile
undead there. And apparently, it was also guarded by a cadre of
gorgons.
The Holy Lancer and current Scoutmaster of the Brazen Guard

would enter with a team of scout-type classes... trying to lure the
gorgons out, one by one. Defeating each of them quickly enough
and relying on Zenon's wind magic to repel their petrification
breath would greatly minimize their casualties.
"GUOHHHH!!! (I'M VERY ANGRY!!!!)" A one-horned gorgon

roared in the old Tyrion tongue as it chased Tanamar out.
The Gold-Rank Idiot fell quickly to sword and spell.
The second pull was similar, though the gorgon ran around in a
circle, ineffectively trying to dodge attacks. Tycon was glad that
Salt and his gunners had so many hours of practice on a range.
Unfortunately, on the third pull, Tycon was reminded that the plans
they made would not always go smoothly.
"FOUR INCOMING!!!" Tanamar shouted, soaring out of the

structure on wings of light.
The other scouts in his team did not emerge.

Chapter 456 Stop The
Bleeding
" Salt, have your gunners open fire on the first gorgon," Tycondrius
ordered.
"Aye aye, Sir!" Cecil Salt saluted, before hurrying back to his firing
squad.
"Letalis FIRST!!" Tycon shouted.
"Guard SECOND!!" Tanamar responded, hovering overhead.
"Brightstars THIRD!!"
"Snowy Village FOURTH!!"
With their targets assigned, Tycon loosened his curved sword

from his scabbard.
Guild Letalis needed to defeat their target quickly. Only then could
Zenon focus on using his wind magic to defend the other tent-
groups.
"Us before them," Tycon reminded the Centurion.
Zenon grit his teeth, "I know, Optio... I know..."
When the first appeared, it was greeted wholeheartedly by loud

cracks of Turathi gunfire. The gorgon roared in pain and
frustration, stampeding fearlessly towards Tycon and his allies.
Tycon nodded to Korr.

The Flaming Rage Knight held her sword over her head...
"⌈SOUL-SCORCHING... BLAAAADE!!!⌋"
Tycon drew his own sword, "⌈Orochi no ken WO KURAE!!!⌋"
Slashing their weapons... nine mana-created snakes rushed

forward, each encased in deadly, burning mana. They were likely
hot enough to irreparably damage the gorgon's soul.
"(WHAT THE HELLS ARE THOSE THINGS??!)" The metal bull

screamed in open panic.
"PURGE!!!" Tycon shouted.
"CLEANSE!!!! KILL!!!!!!" The Brazen Guard collective roared in

response.
Tycon sprinted at full speed towards the gorgon, his sword reared
back and ready to cleave it through its body.
The two-armed, four-hooved gorgon responded by smashing its

hafted halberd into the Dungeon stones and holding a palm out.
A spell? Gorgons were creatures of magic. Mages amongst them

were unheard of-- but it wasn't entirely impossible.
Tycon slid to a stop, readying his curved blade to block or

defend...
"(HOLD ON!!!)" The gorgon roared as he desperately swatted at

the flames burning his metal hide.
...After a moment of confusion, Tycon's gaze narrowed to thin,

furious slits, "Why the hells would I 'hold on'?! We're ENEMIES,
you buffoon!!"
"(Y-yeah, but-- but still... Just give me a moment,)" The gorgon

huffed.
Tycon leapt forward, slicing a deep, horizontal line into the bull-
centaur's metallic chest.
"OW!! AUGHHH!! (Seven hells, man!! Come onnnnn!!)" The
injured gorgon snorted, exhaling a pale greenish gas.
Within seconds, the colored smoke collected and wisped up

towards the ceiling-- an effect from the supporting Zenon's wind
magic.
Athena and her Arcanite blades levitated at Tycon's side... "Sir

Tycon... Why does that sound a lot like the old Tyrion language?"
"Try not to think about it, young lady," Tycon shook his head.
Turning back to the gorgon, Tycon raised his voice, "Hurry up,
YOU!!"
"(Alright, alright... Almost...)"
The duration for Tycon's ⌈Taste the Hydra Blade⌋ soon expired...
and the gorgon was finally able to put out its soul-scorching
flames... "Whew... (Done! NOWWWW I'm READY!)"
Tycon had dashed to the side well before the gorgon could fully
recover. He sliced upward, cutting deep into the creature's lower
abdomen, then stabbed the point of his weapon right-underneath
where its lowest humanoid rib would be.
Both subsequent attacks left more grievous wounds than the first--
and the gorgon didn't even flinch.
Idiot.
Tycon side-stepped a heavy halberd slam and easily dodged the

kicks from bull-thing's front hooves. The gorgon was Gold-Rank
and had the speed to match... which was far slower than the
Adamantine-Rank constructs the Brazen Guard had fought earlier.
Thus far, Tycon didn't even have to use any defensive skills.
"(HOLD STILL, YOU... YOU-- DEVIL-GUY!!!)" The gorgon

bellowed.
"NO!!!" Tycon shouted in response.

"(PLEASE?)"
"ABSOLUTELY NOT!!!"
"(Let's just-- ergh... trade hits! One for one!!)"
"Lay down and DIE!!"
In the course of the next few moments, a painful layer of frost

covered the gorgon's hind legs, holy spears stuck in its hide, and
the metal on its right shoulder glowed white-hot. Still, the gorgon
did not fall.
"SALT!!!" Tycon shouted, "What the HELLS are your lot doing?!
Aim for its VITALS!!!"
"I GOT IT!!!" The large lumbering form of Mister Lawrence

barreled forward, breaking from the ranged line.
⟬ William Lawrence, Bronze-Rank Human Heavy Gunner. Guild

Letalis. ⟭
Knight armor was designed to defend against common weaponry-

- notably longswords and crossbow bolts. As a design necessity, a
proper set of armor had to allow an armored class full mobility. A
Knight or Shield Legionnaire or Heavy Gunner had to be able to
leap onto a horse or dash across the battlefield to meet the enemy
front line in close combat.
Still, seeing Mister Lawrence full-on-sprinting, thick cantankerous

plates clanging about as he ran, was... nothing short of awe-
inspiring.
"(I-- I got it, Monsieur Baron!!)" Lawrence shouted in the

Kingdom's old language. He stopped only ten fulms away from
Tycon and got to a knee, aiming down the sight of his scattergun.
With a satisfying boom, the weapon fired. Shot and shrapnel

launched at fantastical speed towards the gorgon's bull-head. In a
shower of pink mist and blood, the gorgon finally loosed an
agonized, high-pitched scream.
"(I.. I CAN'T SEE!!!! THIS IS-- I CAN'T FIGHT ANYMORE!!!)"
Tycon rolled his eyes, "What do you mean, you can't fight?!"
"(My... MY EYES!!! AUGHHH!! IT HURTS!!!)" The gorgon wailed.

It dropped its weapon and covered its face with its hands, sobbing
pitifully.
"Ugh..." Tycon groaned, "You daft cow, you have OTHER senses,
don't you? Can't you sense our movement from vibrations in the
ground?"
"UHUHU" It cried.... "(I.... I can't...)"
Oh. Maybe that was just him.
"Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat, "Can you sense the mana
fluctuations in the air?"
"(I can't do that NEITHER!!!)"
"Can you... smell my general location?" Tycon offered, quietly

making a hand signal to Athena.
At his direction, the littlest Vanzano arranged her swords in front of

and above her, allowing Tycon to step on the blade flats as if they
were stairs.
"(Oh. Ohhhh.)" The gorgon put down its hands, clenching its fists
in excitement... which unveiled its grinning face. Its eyes were
ruined and blood ran freely down the torn metallic flesh that
remained, "(YEAH!!! I can do that!! I CAN DO THAT!!!)"
It tilted its head... "(Smoked venison and mint tea?)"
Tycon leapt off the final blade, smashing his adamantine scabbard
into the back of the gorgon's head. Propelled forward, the
gorgon's snout hit the stones. Grabbing the massive fool's
massive head by the bull-horns, he smashed the fellow's face
several more times against the floor.
Korr finished it off with a ⌈Brutal Blade⌋ stab to the back of its
neck.
One down.
Tycon hastily observed the state of the battlefield. To the right,

Guild Snowy Village's front line was failing... and Guild Brightstar
was not doing much better. To the left, Bannok was fighting
spread out and defensively, taking great care to avoid their
gorgon's petrification breath.
This wasn't a trap set for two Adamantine-Ranks, enacted by a

hundred well-prepared adventurers. This was a filthy skirmish full
of exhausted, shite-morale men and women struggling to survive.
Tycon had a choice... to help the Brazen Guard forward team,

which would free their two Gold-Rankers to rotate...
...or to 'stop the bleeding' by supporting the weaker guilds.
Protecting his stronger assets was the wiser decision. There may
very well be tougher tribulations they'd encounter after this one...
However... could the weaker members of the collective hold out

until then?
"Tactician!!! H-help!!" Duelist Ptolema, the leader of Guild Snowy

Village, called out to him.
No. It was highly probable that they would all die if Tycon left them
alone.
"Wh-what do we do?" Athena asked, her voice low, a pink spray of

gorgon blood marring her face.
Tycon clenched his teeth hard... and made a decision counter to

his logic... and pandering to his emotions, "LETALIS!! Assist Guild
SNOWY VILLAGE!!!"
...
The area was well lit where the Brazen Guard collective was
fighting the gorgons. Adventurers wielded torches amplified by
magic or artifice, weapons enchanted to radiate light, and
weaponry made of divine light. Some of the battlefield illumination
consisted of flames hot and bright enough to burn souls.
Very few of their number could see well in the dark and shadows...
The Elven Hunter, Felinus, was deceased and therefore absent.
The Dark Elven Priestess, Ariadne, was quite busy in keeping her
husband alive and in good adventuring condition. That left Tycon
as the only one to notice a hooded figure shrouded in the
shadows of the cavernous walls.
...and he noticed them too late.
The lithe figure outstretched their pale hands and performed the
somatic gestures of a spell Tycon was unfamiliar with.
A triad of emerald-green globes materialized around them... that

split into five and into thirteen. Raising a hand, the spheres shot
up and outward, above the battlefield... where they began to
diffuse green smoke. Thick and heavy, the clouds began to drift
down towards the men and women Tycon very much wanted to
keep alive.
« System, analyze: Spell effect. »
⟬ Poison Globe. Second-Circle Necromancy. Inflicts heavy poison

damage to targets. ⟭
It was a simple spell without extraneous effects, but effective. The

Iron-Ranks amongst them would be debilitated, but the Bronze...
they would all die or be rendered useless.
"ZENON!!!" Tycon shouted, pointing upward.
The Centurion whipped his head around, panic on his face for the
briefest of moments, "I-- I got it, Optio!!"
With a wave of his arm, Zenon's wind magic kept the noxious
fumes at bay... which also meant that he was no longer guarding
against the gorgons' petrification breath.
Chapter 457 Lone’s Desire
ycondrius needed to close with Guild Snowy Village's gorgon

T
and defeat it as quickly as possible... but he could not allow the
cloaked spellcaster to do as they pleased.
"I'll leave it to you, then."
⟬ ⌈Venomous Shadow⌋ activating... Reaction ability. A shadowy

doppelganger appears behind the target, performing a single
weapon attack. ⟭
Tycon's shadow materialized by his side. As usual, it was...

nowhere near his target.
However, he had dealt with its eccentricity enough times to no

longer question it.
It was equipped in spiky, shadowy armor in the Guild Letalis style.

Different from his own, it was free of colored designs and heraldry
and also had thin wisps of smoke drifting off the metal like steam.
Its helmet, like all of its features, was smoky black... and two
piercing golden lights shone through its single-slit visor.
The shadow nodded to Tycon before dashing off towards the

mysterious mage, whipping a dark length of rope above its head,
its end tied into a noose.
Tycon pursed his lips. He had to remind himself to stop being so

surprised at his own skill activations.
...
Tycon defeated the second gorgon with the assistance of Letalis

and Snowy Village, finishing it off with a ⌈Legionbreaker⌋ and
Tanamar's ⌈Oath⌋ ability.
Unfortunately, in the few minutes it took, Guild Brightstar's front
line was affected by their gorgon's petrification breath. Frozen into
statues, the merciless (and petty) bull-centaur shattered the
humans into bits and pieces with a few swings of its hammer.
It was an inefficient course of action. The Brightstar ranged line

focused their efforts with renewed fervor... and desperation. That
bought Letalis and the still-capable members of Snowy Village
time to engage with the third gorgon.
Tycon stayed behind, taking note of the injured... Two of Salt's

gunners had fallen. A young teenage boy was beyond saving, but
the other was being nursed by Mister Lawrence. The large man
had removed his helmet and was force-feeding the still-living
young lady a healing potion. It was clumsy but full of care.
She'd live.
Duelist Ptolema had also taken injury, if superficial. It appeared

she had fallen on her face and right arm, sliding a distance across
the abrasive dungeon stones. If she were to get divine healing
from Aria or one of her healers within the sun, it shouldn't scar...
too badly.
She'd manage.
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark lied on the stones next to... the
Shatterspike longsword, his Dark Iron wolf-hammer... and a pool
of what Tycon assumed was the Ranger's vomit.
He somewhat regretted the choice of mushroom soup for their

earlier meal.
Tycon hurried to the young man's side to check on him, carefully

stepping around the... vomitus.
Lone had been afflicted by the mystery mage's Second-Circle

poison. While it hadn't killed him instantly, he was in a sorry state,
his face pale and blood running freely down his nostrils.
He'd... he'd live. Probably.

"You uh... are you well, Mister Lone?"
"Y-yeah..." The bronze-skinned Ranger groaned... "I'm sure I got...

somethin' in my bag... for this."
Lone reached for a side pouch... and revealed an empty potion

bottle... "N-nevermind."
Tycon crossed his arms... "And your next plan?"
"Boss..." Lone loosed a string of agonized, hacking coughs... "Y-

you... you gotta suck the poison out!!"
Tycon took a deep breath, "1: No. 2: In what Realm would that
even work? You've breathed in poisonous fumes, not taken injury."
"B-boss..." Lone blinked tears out of his eyes... "I... I don't think I'm
gonna make it... Beighhhh."
"Nonsense," Tycon reprimanded... though he was slightly less

confident than he'd been a few moments prior, "It would be a
shame if you died here."
The Ranger had only just reached Iron-Rank. He'd finally

achieved a breakthrough that made him far more useful than he'd
been previously. Tycon would be... inconvenienced if the young
man died.
"L-lift me up..." Lone coughed, "I'm... not long for this world."
Tycon glanced at the bloody vomit dribbling off of the human's

chin... "I'm not going to do that."
"Boss... please."
"No!" Tycon glared. "I can hear you just fine from here. Say what
you need to say."
"O... okay..." Lone acquiesced...
"...Well?"
"I'm... thinking."
"People are still fighting and dying, I'll have you think faster, Mister
Lone."
"Boss Tycon..." Lone grabbed at Tycon's leg... "I... I can't die

without your permission... But... but I did well... r-right?"
"Yes, I suppose you did," Tycon nodded.
Throughout the sun, Lone had effectively played the role of a

troubleshooter, roving amongst the various groups and assisting
according to his own judgment. In doing so, he'd reduced the
casualties not just in Guild Letalis, but in all guilds.
"Boss..." Lone twisted his face into a pathetic grimace... "R..

requesting permission... to die."
Tycon briefly considered his low mana reserves. He had already

used his strongest attacks multiple times and had even activated
his healing ability on Korr and Mister Lawrence. A third heal would
overexert himself... and their escape from the Dungeon was not
yet set in stone.
"Very well," Tycon nodded solemnly, "Permission granted."
"W-w-waaaait..." Lone cried out, "I don't wanna diiiiiie~"
"What?! Tycon shouted, "Then why would you ask such a

thing?!?"
"I... I don't knooooww..." Lone sobbed pitifully.
"Tell me, then," Tycon groaned in frustration. "What do you have

to live for?"
His ⌈Desire Trigger⌋ skill could boost the young Ranger's physical
ability to resist and overcome the effects of the magical poison...
and had a low mana cost. To improve the ability's efficacy, though,
Tycon needed to hone in on the young man's desire...
What resonated within the Lone Shadowdark's heart? What could
he believe in so strongly... that he could fend off death? Fame and
fortune? The pride of a victor? Honor, perhaps.
What was the reason he rejected death? To continue to fight at his

side?
"I..." Lone gulped... Judging by his expression, it was an action he

immediately regretted... "I've... always wanted a girlfriend."
Tycon crossed his arms.
That was the stupidest desire he'd ever heard. He would have no
part in it...
Chapter 458 With Shield Or...
ycondrius considered Lone a friend... his loyalty, unquestionable.

T
Though he was unwilling to personally assist him with... that
particular endeavor, he could cheer the young man on from the
sidelines.
"Right," Tycon nodded. "Get up and... you can work on that... (on
your own.)"
"But I'm... a loser..." A tear slid down the Lone Shadowdark's

cheek... a tear that Tycon could not pity.
"I don't see how that's my problem... or yours. You have plenty of
redeeming qualities."
"R-really?"
"According to probability, yes."
"Boss, I'm gonna-- ughhh... I'm... gonna hrk... die!" Lone

blubbered, dry heaving intermittently.
"Oh, hush. You will not," Tycon scolded. "Just get up, before I beat
you."
"C-can you help me get a girlfriend?"
"Why are you asking--"
"Bossss!!"
"Aughhhh!! ...Fine," Tycon conceded. "I will help you with... that."
⟬ ⌈Desire Trigger⌋ conditions met. Activate? Y/N? ⟭

« Yes, yes... »
Within moments, Lone's pallor changed, color flooding back into

his cheeks. Just as quickly, he shut his eyes and fell asleep...
snoring in his typical loud and grating wheezes.
Tycon ungently nudged the Ranger with his boot, "GET UP, you
fool!!"
Lone shot awake, rolling to the standing position, "Whuh?!"
"The enemy still stands!!" Tycon pointed to the gorgon Letalis had
engaged with, "Will you do NOTHING?!"
"YES, SIR!!" Lone shouted, crisply saluting. "I mean-- NO, SIR!!"
Simultaneously, Lone's Dark Iron hammer flashed in a gout of

flame. The Dark Iron wolf stood up on its hind legs, barking with
the same ferocity and fervor as its human companion.
"Good!" Tycon returned the wolf's salute, "Now MOVE!! Both of

you!!"
The two idiots sped off... Lone particularly leaving the

Shatterspike on the Dungeon stones.
Tycon picked it up and flung it after Lone, "Your SWORD, you

FOOL!!!"
Running at full speed and without looking, the Ranger reached his
hand up, catching the whirling sword.
"Thanks, Boss!!" He called back.
Tycon's mouth twitched.
Such a skillful display was... the smallest, most minute hint that
Lone could have the potential to be great.
He shook his head. No... it was certainly just wishful thinking.

...
Tycon had spent far too long dealing with matters of his own guild.
The oppressive flames of the Gold-Rank Rage Knight, Korr, and

the protective winds of the Iron-Rank Librarian, Zenon, were
enough to handle the Brightstars' gorgon.
Tycon turned and began to run, crossing the battlefield towards

the Brazen Guard forward team.
Weaponmaster Bannok had been locked in combat for the battle's

duration. His second, Legionnaire Karodin, could not easily take a
Gold-Rank gorgon's heavy sword-- nor could he easily avoid its
petrification breath.
Bannok had been fighting without reprieve.
Fatigue was weighing on the human, obvious by his heaving

breaths and slowed reaction speed. Priestess Ariadne was little
better, trembling as she and her healers cast their healing and
defensive magics.
The bull-headed gorgon was in a similar, sorry state. A deep

vertical cut had rendered his right eye useless and he'd suffered
numerous bloody gashes on its metal-scale hide. But still... the
magical beast was too stupid to be hindered by pain... or to grow
tired from constant fighting.
Bannok raised his shield and cleaved his battleaxe down on the
gorgon's wrist, cutting near a third of the way through... The
gorgon's massive sword fell out of its hands and clattered heavily
against the stones.
"GUHHHH..." The bull-centaur winced, groaning as if that was the

first injury it had taken.
"Flame-taken cow!!" Bannok shouted, "Just DIE, already!!"
It was a deadly lapse in judgment, to taunt the creature instead of

immediately drawing back.
The gorgon whipped its horns forward, smashing into Bannok's
shield, launching him back.
The Weaponmaster's enchanted battleaxe fell out of his hand.
"BANNOK!!!" Aria shouted.
With a series of desperate hand gestures, a divine golden barrier

appeared around her husband... and that barrier shattered when
the gorgon leapt up and tried to crush the human underneath its
front right hoof.
"(Not so tough without a weapon, are you, human?) Haaaaa...."

The gorgon snorted.
With a deep exhale, Bannok was shrouded in its pale green

breath.
Tycon and the Brazen Guard forward team watched in horror as

Bannok's skin began to pale. The human had been fighting for far
too long... physically and mentally exhausted... the petrification
magic quickly took effect.
"Bannok!!!" Karodin of Emberhold ran at the gorgon from behind...

but took a rear kick to the chest.
It was a strike capable of instantly killing a Bronze-Rank... As

resilient as the Legionnaire was, Tycon doubted the man was in
any condition to fight after that.
"Now hold yer GODS-DAMNED horses, you big PALOOKA!!!"

Ariadne stepped forward, twirling her staff, "That's MAH
HUSBAND yer F*CKING WITH!!!"
Tycon gulped. He had already used his strongest abilities multiple

times in the encounter... but Bannok... Bannok was worth the
overexertion. He activated ⌈Shadowfang Strike⌋ to hide his form
and drastically speed his movement.
The gorgon stepped away, calmly approaching Aria, looming over

the tiny dark elf. It crossed its muscular metal arms, sneering...
"And what can you do, little elf?"
Tears sparkled down the Priestess' face... "I... I'll do somethin'..."
She was doing very well at distracting the idiot. Tycon only
needed a few moments more...
"Perhaps in the next life," The gorgon raised up a domineering

fist, prepared to smash the elf into paste.
Tycon wasn't going to make it. His legs ached, his lungs burned,
his head felt like it was being crushed in a vise. He was sprinting
as fast as he could in his chain and leather armor, his movement
technique and the magic in his boots pushing him far past his
limits.
"NO ONE TOUCHES MY WIFE!!!"
The grey-skinned Bannok shoved Ariadne out of the way, his

shield raised.
The gorgon's fist fell upon a stone shield... cracking it... shattering
it, along with the arm behind it.
"BANNOK!!!!" Ariadne screamed.
"CENTURION!!!" Karodin shouted. The Legionnaire leapt up and

slashed his short sword into the creature's side, "⌈Power Attack!!⌋"
Cutting deep, the Dungeon stones at Karodin's feet grew slick with
gorgon blood.
Chapter 459 Fearsome Fist
he gorgon half-collapsed, its front hooves kneeling onto the

T
stones with loud metal bangs.
"GRAHH!!" Furious, the bull-centaur swiped his thick-muscled arm

out, back-handing Ariadne away and the fully-petrified Bannok
statue away.
"You... (disgusting... pink-skinned filth...)" His metallic hands

clawed at the ground, scraping lines into the Dungeon stone... "I'll
crush you... to PIECES!!!"
The horned creature raised its fist up high above the defiant
Karodin, snorting in a deep breath...
The human stood his ground, shield at the ready, sword poised to
strike... He was the exemplar of a perfect Tyrion Legionnaire, his
will unwavering, his courage beyond reason or logic.
Tycondrius would not allow him to die this sun.
"Stand STRONG!!!" Tycon bellowed, "Legionnaire

KARODINNN!!!!"
⟬ ⌈Jumping Knee Counter⌋ activated. Reaction ability. Targeted

against an enemy with increased accuracy. ⟭
Something felt like it snapped in Tycon's head. His headache

eased slightly and he felt a line of blood drip down his nose. It was
reckless of him to activate a second skill while his movement
speed was increased by his ⌈Shadowfang Strike⌋...
The gorgon's heavy fist slammed against Karodin's shield, the
metal-on-metal clang reverberating throughout the cavernous
Dungeon. Screaming like a madman, Legionnaire Karodin thrust
his sword into the gorgon's bull-nose, then slammed his Tyrion
shield into the side of the creature's head. Holding onto his shield
with both hands... Karodin thrust it upward, striking the underside
of the bull-centaur's chin and turning its gaze skyward.
Tycon ended his stealth effect in front of the gorgon, between its
front hooves... and he sank his short sword deep in its abdomen.
Urging his body to move faster than he could think, he drew his
long curved blade, slicing in an arc above him. With the creature's
throat slit, he was showered in the beast's filthy blood.
Finally, he threw his adamantine scabbard at Karodin's shield. The

human didn't even have time to yelp in surprise before being sent
sliding across the stones from the impact... to safety.
If he could survive a Gold-Rank rear kick from a near twenty-fulm

tall magical metal bull, he... should reasonably be able to survive
that, too.
Then... the gorgon breathed its last breath... and Tycon was
shrouded in the noxious green gas...
...
⟬ Some time later... ⟭
Karodin of Emberhold ran his hands down his sturdy tower shield.
A vicious crack ran down its center from where the Tactician
threw... something at it. He would abandon it in the Halls of the
Dead Serpent... replacing it with one of the too-many shields from
the fallen.
It felt like he lost something... lost a lot, actually.
Felinus had died.

He and the Elven Hunter hadn't really spoken much... and the guy
only appeared when he wanted to... and honestly, Karodin was a
little creeped out that he was friends with what seemed like a
ghost.
...but Felinus was an integral part of the Brazen Guard. And it was
nice to think that an allied Gold-Rank was watching from the
shadows, no matter how pointed his ears were.
And Bannok...
Karodin shook his head... but was suddenly overcome by a fit of

coughing.
He stifled it with his hand... opening it after. Dimly lit by the

Dungeon's luminance, his hand was covered in blood.
He had internal injuries, for sure. It had been a little hard to

breathe... so that made sense.
Was it darker than normal blood? That would be bad...
"Karodin..." Ptolema gently cooed, approaching him from behind...

"You need to see a healer."
He silently cursed to himself. He wasn't able to hide his injuries

from his wife... That meant he could expect a few bells of her well-
meaning nagging.
"What, this?" Karodin put on a smile, hiding his hand behind his
back. It was always easy to smile around her... "I'm fine, for now...
There are others with more severe injuries. More importantly, how
are you? Are you fine?"
"Have you seen my face?" Ptolema sighed, betraying a soft smile,

"It feels like it's on fire. Is it starting to scab yet?"
"Still as beautiful as the day I first saw you," Karodin bowed his
head... which he wished he hadn't, because a sharp pain jolted
through his chest. He probably had a broken rib or two. He was in
such a good mood, seeing Ptolema, that he'd honestly forgotten...
The Duelist rolled her eyes, "Back then, my hair was so short, you
thought I was a man."
"Well, I mean after," Karodin bared his teeth.
He was really no good at talking to women... especially the one

woman he liked.
"It's fine..." Ptolema glanced to her left and right... then she shyly
and stealthily kissed Karodin on the cheek.
Warmth flooded his heart. That was all the healing he needed.
"I don't trust that Flame-taken Tactician..." A too-loud voice

echoed off the walls. It came from one of the guild huddles,
nearby.
Just when Karodin thought everything was going to be alright,

Anger immediately welled up in his chest-- anger intermixed with
the pain of his fractured ribs. Who would be so stupid to talk that
way about the Brazen Guard's best chance for survival?
"It's not worth it, Karodin," Ptolema hardened her gaze.
Ahhh... Even when she was upset, she was cute.
"It is, to me."
Karodin swept off his armor and began walking towards where
he'd heard the voice, "Hey! What are you guys talking about?!"
The huddle opened up, allowing him in.
Looking around, Karodin identified the voice as belonging to the

guild leader of the Brightstars, a veteran Iron-Rank Scout named
Pavlos.
"Hey, Karodin-- we were just talkin' about--"
"And before you tell me..." Karodin took a deep breath... "I wanna
know who the f*ck you think you are?"
"What the?" The Scout's smile fell into a confused grimace... "I'm
a Flamescarred leader of a guild that's been with the collective for
twelve years, Karodin. You can't talk to me like that! I have
*seniority* over you."
Chapter 460 The Shield Of
Aethra
Seniority. What a joke.
Karodin jammed a thumb against his muscled chest plate,

"Karodin of Emerbold, rank of Decanus at 18, Tesserarius at 22,
and the youngest Pilus Prior in the history of the Aethra Legion's
2nd Cohort. If you want to play the rank game, Decanos Pavlos,
I'll bend you over my knee and fistf*ck you in the arse-- don't.
F*CK. with me!"
Karodin clenched his jaw, gnashing his teeth. He hated talking like
a Centurion... His military days were long behind him.
Seven hells... He shouldn't HAVE to talk like that anymore!
He begrudgingly accepted that there were times... though rare,

that he had to let his military background show. Some people
thought they could do or say whatever they wanted because they
had rank or seniority.
There were two types of people that survived in the Tyrion military.
There were arseholes and there were people who knew how to
deal with them. Karodin didn't think he was the former... but he
had learned from early on his career that sometimes, he had to
throw his achievements around to gain respect.
Eventually, his rank spoke for him. But... it seemed that some
people in the Brazen Guard collective remained woefully unaware
of who the f*ck he was.
He didn't earn the rank of Centurion... or become the Pilus Prior of

an entire cohort because he was soft. He hadn't become Bannok's
Optio because of his nice and polite personality.
He worked his arse off. He completed so many Flame-taken
missions and brought so many adventurers back alive that
Bannok would have had to be deaf or blind to promote anyone
else.
"Optio..." A messy-haired Legionnaire from Guild Eagle Sentinel

stepped forward, "--requesting permission to speak."
"Go ahead," Karodin scowled.
It hurt his cheeks to twist his face like that. A long time ago, he
was told that his weird facial muscle spasms made him look like a
rabid dog... so he had that going for him.
"With respect, Sir, Pavlos raised some really good points."
Karodin raised an eyebrow, "He did, did he? And were any of
them any better ideas for getting out of this Flamescarred shite
hole? ...Because last I Flame-taking checked, only the Tactician,
formerly known as DUPLICARIUS TYCON, had anything at
f*cking all."
The Eagle Sentinel gulped audibly. Unconsciously, the man had

fixed his posture, his spine as straight as an iron spear... It was
ridiculous. Neither of them were in the military proper, anymore...
but at least with this guy playing along, everyone else should
know not to talk back to him.
Legionnaire Karodin slowly looked over the adventurers in the

huddle, all of them on edge. Glancing at his side, Ptolema was
showing him a look of concern.
Oh. Hm. Was he overdoing it?
"Decanus Pavlos."
"I hear you, Optio," The older Scout stood at attention-- granting
him the basic respect he rightfully deserved.
"I'd like to hear what you have to say."
"Ah... Optio Karodin... I don't know if it's really appropriate--"

Karodin grabbed the Brightstar guild leader by the throat, throttling
him-- choking the life out of him, "Did I F*CKING ASK if it was
FLAME-F*CKING APPROPRIATE???!!"
"Karodin, no!" Ptolema hurried forward.
The various adventurers surged forth, eventually peeling Karodin

off of the weaker man.
"Answer me, DECANUS!!!" Karodin powered his left arm forward,

sending two adventurers sprawling onto the Dungeon floor. He
didn't do the same to his right, because Ptolema was there,
desperately holding on.
"N-no, Optio," Pavlos coughed, averting his gaze. Illuminated by

the torchlight, his neck was already beginning to bruise.
"Look at me, Decanus!!" Karodin shouted, spitting and slavering

like a combat instructor, "LOOK ME IN THE EYES WHEN YOU
OPEN YOUR COCKSUCKING MOUTH!!!"
"Yes, Optio! I hear you, Optio!!" Pavlos trembled as he tried to

stand straight and rigid. Rather than a leader of a guild, he looked
more like a fish, freshly-recruited from his farming village, wishing
for nothing more than to go home and suck on his mother's tit.
"Good," Karodin relaxed his shoulders, shaking the various

adventurers off of him... "Now, I say again... tell me what you
said."
"I... I..."
Karodin crossed his arms, seething... "It would *behoove* you to

not test what little patience I have left."
Pavlos gulped again... "I was jus' sayin'... It's weird that-- that
Guild Letalis hasn't had any casualties."
The other adventurers murmured in reluctant agreement.
"Decanus. Pavlos..." Karodin whispered in a hoarse voice, trying

to restrain his fury... for Ptolema's sake... "Tell me, right now... that
you're joking."
"That, by itself, is a fact, Optio Karodin," Ptolema quietly reminded

him.
"Doesn't. mean. SHITE!" Karodin pointed the thumb and fingers of

his hand at Pavlos, "Every single member of Guild Letalis is
outfitted with advanced armor and weaponry, rivaling that of our
GOLD-RANK forward team. Their ranged line has put
COUNTLESS bells down-range. Their sanctified psykers match
every single Brazen Guard psyker AND outclass them in age. And
their assault line...
"One is probably not human-- my guess is he's a pagan god of

fire. Another literally has the most awesome metal wolf I've ever
seen in my life-- isn't that right? Guild Metal Wolf?"
"True..." The leader of Guild Metal Wolves chimed in, taking off his
helmet. "She's a beauty. Her name is Tres Leches-- it means
Three Moons, her owner says."
"And the Tactician," Karodin continued-- "Can shoot DRAGONS

out of his Flamescarred sword. Can YOU, Decanus Pavlos, shoot
DRAGONS out of your bow??"
"N-no, Optio," Pavlos sniffed.
"If you could shoot DRAGONS out of your bow... do you think
you'd be a liiiiiiitttle bit stronger?"
"Y... yes, Optio..."
"Now..." Karodin took a deep breath, "is it a little more reasonable

that Guild Letalis is in a better state than anyone else?"
He clenched his fist on the hilt of the sword on his side. He might
have drawn it... if not for Ptolema holding onto his wrist... "Or do
you still think it's some sort of Flamescarred conspiracy?"
Pavlos grimaced, "I'm good, Optio... No complaints."

"Very well," Karodin turned away. "If you get a good idea to get
outta here, that's one thing. If you're gonna doubt the people that
are tryin' their Flame-taken best to keep you alive, then you better
have a damn. good. reason... You hear me, Decanus?"
"I hear you, Optio!" Pavlos replied faithfully.
"Good... Good. Let's go, Decanus Ptolema."
As his adrenaline was beginning to wane, the pain started to

return... literally everywhere. He decided to follow his wife's advice
and see Priestess Aria's healers...
Ptolema sighed... "I hear you, Optio."
As Karodin walked away, he heard Ptolema get the last word in to

Pavlos... "You'd better thank the Flame that I was here. That
could've gone so much worse."
Hm. How true that was...

Chapter 461 Stone To Flesh
The dark elf's ears twitched, sensing Tycondrius approach.
...He was far too tired to be overly careful of his steps. He'd
activated too many skills in succession, in defeating the final
gorgon. It felt like his brain was roasting on hot coals... like the
heat was expanding the liquid within. When it finally popped, he'd
hopefully reincarnate somewhere nicer. It'd all be over for the him
in this world... but at least he'd be over this blasted headache.
Aria sat alone on the empty battlefield... adjacent to the magically

petrified statue of Gold-Rank Weaponmaster Bannok. Nearby,
stone debris laid about, remnants of the human's shield and
shield-arm. Those were beyond saving.
The Priestess had stripped off her light armor and tossed the
pieces haphazardly around her. In naught but a bloody pink
tunic... and with dark circles underneath her reddened eyes, she
looked pitiable and frail.
"I'm fine, hon..." She muttered in his general direction, "Ya don't
hafta worry 'bout li'l ol' Ari..."
Tycondrius did not consider himself good at determining

emotions... but he could tell that the elf was being deceitful.
'Fine' was subjective.
The Priestess was in a state of mourning and was in-fact, still

weeping. Her mate had just been effectively killed-- and with his
last breath, he sacrificed his body to defend her.
Her magical tattoos, usually a stark white on her dark skin, looked
mundane and blurry. Her life force was waning, such was her
grief.
Aria was not 'fine' by any definitions Tycon knew of.
He took off his helmet and used it as a seat to quietly sit beside
her.
......Hm.
He offered some of his rations, "Would you like a... dried apple
slice?"
Elves liked dried apples.
"No... Not quite in the hankerin' fer foodstuffs', Mister Tactician..."

Aria smiled politely... "I reckon it won't sit well."
It seemed that Aria was suffering from psychosomatic symptoms,

so severe was her distress. Tycon's concern grew exponentially.
Tycon leaned forward, supporting his chin with his fist... trying to
strategize his next words.
Thankfully, the dark elf spoke first.
"You know... my momma didn't want me to marry a human..." She

chuckled to herself... sad and somewhat derisively... "'He's no
good for you,' she'd say. 'Humans are all no-good, unfaithful
wretches that only think about one thing... Fightin', fightin' and
more fightin''"
Tycon nodded, his mind still distracted... "So technically... three

things?"
He was rewarded by the elf's light giggle, a more honest one...

shortly followed by more tears silently sparkling down from her
eyes.
"Yeah... Papa was all for it, though. I like to think he could tell
Bannok was a good man. I just..."
"You just?"
"...I didn't think he'd leave me... not like this," The Priestess
sniffed. "Ah always thought-- you know, we'd go out together.
Dyin' in a blaze of glory. Big fight, spells explodin' every which
way. You know, fightin' fer the Flame! Hah... and he goes off and
gets put under... and he does it savin' me from an overgrown
cow."
Tycon remained solemn and silent. He had plenty to say about

their gorgon opponents... He could hail their martial prowess... or
he could insult their general stupidity.
He chose to say nothing, fearing he'd worsen the woman's mood.
"Right after his best friend dies in front'a him..." Aria twisted her
lips to each side... "Right after a buncha shites he trusted with his
life turned out to be a buncha damn dirty heretics...
"Why... jus'... why couldn't I have saved him?" She began to cry in
earnest... "Why... why couldn't it've been me?"
Tycon inhaled deeply. He was going to take a very large risk.
"...Bannok can still be saved."
Aria's tearful face abruptly contorted into a hateful glare, "Don't

you start with me, Mister. I know full well what it takes to save mah
husband... and it's a SIXTH. CIRCLE. spell. Now *I* don't know
any Sixth-Circle mages-- and even if ah did, none of 'em wouldn't
walk three STEPS to piss on a human, even if he were on FIRE."
Tycon gulped. His mouth was quite dry... "And if I told you I had a
way?"
Aria took a deep breath to calm herself... and still, she quivered in
tears and rage... "I'll... I'd do anything to get him back."
Her voice cracked as she spoke... Tycon's chest grew tight,

listening to his relatively attractive traveling companion weep. He
wanted to help her. More than that, he wanted to help himself by
restoring a Gold-Rank ally to relative fighting condition.
"Help him, Mister Tactician..." Aria bowed her head, her tears
dripping onto the cold, green Dungeon stones. "Anythin' you hafta
do... even if Bannok hates you for it, even if his heart don't beat no
more... I'll take all that hate. I'll tell him I made you do it. He can't
never be mad at me-- you know that."
"I... will do so," Tycon grimaced... "But I am almost certain that I

will regret it."
"Please..." Aria looked up with wide, sparkling eyes... "I'm beggin'

you... Anythin' you want that I can give-- it's yours."
Tycon sighed again, standing up... "Very well."
He walked over to the Bannok statue... hatred still deeply set into
the human's face.
It was somewhat of a shame. He 'died' well. Tycon was bringing

him back for his and Aria's selfish purposes.
Tycon channeled his life force into his lungs... and into his breath.
Shutting his eyes... he breathed.
The focused breath of a male from his bloodline had the magical
power to undo magical petrification. Even if he wasn't the Ivory
Prince... the offspring of Rylania, the Queen of Stone, he would
have had an elevated status amongst his people, based purely on
the rarity of his existence.
Flecks of stone began to fall from Bannok's form, revealing the

color of his skin and armor. So, too, did blood begin to pool onto
the floor from his missing arm.
After a few moments, the fully-fleshed, one-armed Bannok

collapsed into Priestess Ariadne's arms.
Dazed, Tycon took in a breath through his teeth... The headache

only became worse, affecting his balance and clouding his vision.
He was teetering on the brink of mana exhaustion. Still... he still
needed to stop the bleeding... "Aria, allow me to--"
"Stay back, Maedar," The Priestess warned in a hard voice. She
cradled her husband in her arms... almost defensively, "You've
done enough."
Tycon swallowed... nodding.
She knew.
Chapter 462 Equal
Opportunity
aedar was a term lost to the ages... In Tycondrius displaying his

M
ability, Ariadne knew he was a male of the medusa bloodline.
The Priestess cast one of her divine healing spells to heal her
husband. It was somewhat foolish of her, as her mana reserves
were even lower than his. She quickly descended into an
agonized coughing fit after doing so...
Tycon steadied himself, crossing his arms and trying to convince

himself that the pounding in his head would eventually go away...
"Priestess Ariadne... does my bloodline change your opinion of
me?"
Ariadne did not look up as she embraced her sleeping husband,

pressing her face to his chest... "I... never... would have
expected... the reasonin' behind the color of your eyes."
Tycon surmised that the answer was yes. The Priestess' opinion
of him had changed drastically.
"Ya know..." Ariadne lifted her head but she still did not meet his
gaze... "The elves will never work with you... not unless the
dragons dare to return."
"I am aware..." Tycon twisted his lips... "Then, for the favor you
have promised... you will work with me until at least the Brazen
Guard collective leaves this Dungeon."
"I gave you my word... I'll trust you this last time, snake."
...
"Sir Tycon. Got a logistics concern," Sergeant Salt waved Tycon
over.
"If this is concerning the absence of Mister Lawrence..." Tycon

groaned, approaching with his helmet beneath an arm, "the
gentleman is tasked with carrying and protecting the weakened
Bannok-- at least until he has recovered somewhat."
Salt swept back his wet hair, still drenched from sweat, though the
battle had ended a half-bell prior, "It's not that, Sir... I uh... was just
worried about our ammunition and the power cores. Had one of
'em blow in the last fight-- I think it ran outta juice."
"...Juice, Sergeant?"
"Eh... magic, Sir. Whatever's swirlin' around in these things that

make the bad guys fall down?"
Tycon took a deep breath... "Reasonable."
He mentally opened a System menu, detailing the contents of his

spatial ring. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a crate of
bullets and a half-dozen carefully wrapped Khyber crystals.
Salt crossed his arms, frowning... "I don't suppose you're holdin'
out on us, Boss? This is barely enough for one more
engagement."
"I am not," Tycon shook his head. "These were my personal

stores. Tell your team to conserve ammunition..."
"We were good up until the battle on the bridge," Salt let out a
heavy sigh... "Was pretty tough to conserve ammo then."
Tycon pat the man on his shoulder plate, "No need to make
excuses to me, Brother-Sergeant. I do not need to berate you.
You and your team are keenly aware of the consequences of your
wastefulness."
Salt brooded over his words for a moment... before suddenly

perking up, "One more thing, Sir... what... should we do about the
prisoner?"
"...The prisoner?" Tycon furrowed his brows, "What prisoner?

...Did you... capture one of the gorgons?"
A gorgon would be nothing but trouble. They don't listen to orders

and loved to complain... and loudly. No, Tycon would not have
that. He'd order them killed immediately.
"The uh... girl, Sir."
Tycon narrowed his gaze to judgmental squints, "You captured a

female gorgon? We are an equal opportunity guild, Sergeant. I
would have her executed just as--"
"--Sir."
Tycon hooked Salt's neck with his arm and powered a knee into
his side, "--don't interrupt me, young man. Now... what was I
saying? Ah, yes, equal opportunity."
...
Tycon met with Athena in Guild Letalis' dim corner of the

Dungeon.
"Two questions," he started. "The first is-- I'm honestly curious and
not trying to be rude... but why are *you* still here?"
Athena was playing cards with Tycon's shadow, the limbless,

black-armored, golden-eyed blur of magic. It gestured Tycon
towards it. Revealing its hand of cards to him, Tycon saw that the
value, if he were to play it, would be quite high.
...He surmised that his shadow was better at children's card

games than he was.
"What's the second, Sir Tycon?" Athena inquired, "Ooh, ooh. If I

guess it correctly, can I have a hug?"
"No. Where is the prisoner?"

"Aww... (I was wrong, anyroad...)" Athena sighed. She reached to
her pack beside her and revealed... her wooden doll.
Tycon frowned... "Boxtholomaeus is a member of Guild Letalis...

not... not a prisoner."
He felt sweat forming atop his head. Had the young mimic
realized that his contract was highly oppressive and unfair? There
was a one week period of time that he could renege on the
agreement.
"Boxxyyy~" Athena sang. "Show him!"
The wooden doll opened its mouth... and audibly retched,

'vomiting' forth an impossibly larger humanoid figure onto the
ground. It was the shrouded and hooded mage that he had sent
his shadow to deal with... and was currently bound in a dark rope.
Spatial magic was strange.
"You're... a monster..." The hooded female coughed. "There

wasn't... any... air in there."
"I doubt that is true, as you are still alive, young lady," Tycon
chided... "So the young Boxtholomaeus can fit an entire humanoid
inside of his... inventory?"
"Mister Lawrence doesn't fit," Athena shrugged. "But I can, just

fine."
Tycon decided not to ask why they thought it was a good idea to
test those specifics.
"So me and Mister Ultra-Death-Shadow..." Athena continued, "--

we thought it'd be best to have Boxy guard the prisoner."
"It was a very strange experience, keeping her inside me as she

wiggled about," Boxtholomaeus admitted.
"I'd imagine it wouldn't be," Tycon nodded.
"I would rather not do so again, if at all possible."

« System, inquiry: Target status and... information. »
⟬ System response: The target is suffering mana fatigue and is

suffering a light case of indigestion. Iron-Rank Shadow Snake
Adept. ⟭
"R-release me at once," The young human woman looked up with

a glare. She had short, scraggly raven hair and her pupils were
red... a trait unlike that of her Shadow Snake kin. Strange.
"Don't you know who I am?!" She shrieked.
Hm. It seemed the young lady was a transformed snakeblood,

similar to himself.
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "No, I do not."
"Hear my name and fear it!" The bound teenage girl wiggled, "My
name is Suka! Consort of the IVORY PRINCE!!"
Chapter 463 Sweet Prince
"You're... what?"
Tycondrius's jaw hung loosely as he stared at Suka. The girl

defiantly returned his gaze... though the effect was largely muted,
as she was bound like a barrel strapped to a supply cart.
...Her eyes were... deadly serious.
Nervously, he glanced around at his Letalis companions...
She was supposed to be his consort? He would have no such

thing-- he was decades older than the hatchling. Coupling with her
would certainly be a crime! --or it should be, anyroad.
Boxtholomaeus shook his wooden head, "I don't know who this
person is, Sir."
Athena pursed her lips to the side, "Don't look at *me*?! I have no
clue..."
The shadow shook its helmeted head.
"W-well, that doesn't matter!" Suka huffed, vigor returning to her

determined wriggling, "Release me! These bindings won't hold me
forever!!"
"I dunno," Athena frowned, exhaling deeply. She was losing in the
card game against Tycon's Shadow... "The ropes are pretty
strong..."
"No, she's right," Tycon sighed. "The rope will prove ineffective at
limiting her for long. She has the advantage of a peculiar
anatomy."
...As for why the young lady had not yet transformed back into her
Shadow Snake form... the answer was beyond him.
"Mhm!" Suka bobbed her head in agreement. "Now, you weird

devil-armored people have no choice but to--"
"Break her legs," Tycon ordered.
"Break my-- NNNNO!! WAIIIIIT!" The girl frantically screamed.

"No! NNNNO! NO! You will NOT DO THAT!! I ORDER you not to
do that!!"
Tycon chuckled, "Why don't you call on your... 'Ivory Prince' to

save you?"
"Why you... Alright! FINE!" The child took a deep breath.
Tycon hesitated... watching warily.
...Was the girl actually going to call for him?
"SISSSS!! SAVE MEEEEEEE!!!!" Suka cried, bawling her eyes

out.
"Stars and stones," Tycon placed a palm over his eyes, his dull
headache resurging... "Have some self-respect, young lady."
Athena tapped her forefingers together... "I kinda don't wanna

break her legs anymore."
"I would... but I don't think I am physically capable of doing so..."

Boxtholomaeus lamented in his childish voice, weakly holding up
his wooden doll arms.
Tycon's shadow-- Ultra-Death-Shadow as Athena called it, poofed

out of existence.
"That's fine," Tycon shrugged as he grabbed his curved blade, still

in its adamantine scabbard. He had no compunctions against
doing it himself.
"(Stay your hand, Sweet Prince...)" An echoey hiss resounded in
his mind... its location, unidentifiable.
"Empty night," Tycon rolled his eyes, the adrenaline draining out
of his system. "Whattt now?"
Athena clenched her tiny fists tight, looking about in a panic, "G-
ghost!?"
...It appeared that he wasn't the only one who heard the voice.
Tycon glared at the young lady, "The entire Dungeon is filled with
ghosts and undead. Why are you panicking only now?"
"S-snake-ghosts are different than people-ghosts!"
The little Vanzano was very insistent.
"...In what manner? ...besides the obvious?"
A small crowd had gathered around Guild Letalis' area. It was no

surprise, as Suka's incessant screaming had not been a silent
affair.
Even Mister Lawrence had come to witness the spectacle. The

unconscious Bannok still laid draped over his shoulders... How
had he gotten away from Aria? He wasn't the stealthiest member
of Guild Letalis.
"(So these are the humans that trespass on our territory...)" The
voice mused, evidently female. "(There are far fewer than I'd
imagined. Mmmmm... and youuuuu, Sweet Prince... this one has
not seen you since she was hunting... lizards in the Magic
Kingdom.)"
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, approached with some

hesitation... looking all around at their shadowy surroundings, "B...
boss... W-why can I understand the hissing??"
Tycon thought for a moment, examining the environment... "You

can tell by the magical distortion in the air-- it's a mere
communication spell."
Lone stared blankly. He obviously could not tell. From the glazed
look in the surrounding humans' eyes, the Ranger was not the
only one clueless.
Tycon pursed his lips, thinking on how best to summarize... "You'll

hear our enemy's speech in its natural tongue, overlaid with your
native tongue."
"Ohhhh..." Lone nodded, "Got it. I was... kinda hoping I somehow

learned snake-speak."
"It's called Parseltongue," Tycon chided. "I'll teach you later, if

you'd like."
"BIG SIS!!!" The bound Suka wiggled and writhed, "SSSSAVE

MEH-PLEASE!!"
"(Oya? And what do you think this one is doing, hatchling?)" Said
the voice.
"NOT SAVING ME!!" Suka sniffled, "They're gonna break my

legs!!"
"Lone, break her legs," Tycon insisted.
"(Do nottttttt break her legs~ Uhuhu~)" The voice sang.
Lone grimaced... "Wh... who do I listen to?"
Tycon reared his head back in incredulity, "Me! ...OBVIOUSLY!!"
Grumbling in annoyance, Tycon shut his eyes, opening a dialogue

with his System.
« System, display the communication details. »
⟬ System response: Communication details with Ananta are as

follows... ⟭
Tycon reviewed the information in his mind...
⟬ Ananta, Gold-Rank Shadow Snake Incanter. ⟭

Ananta was a 60-fulm long Shadow Snake he'd met previously on
his journeys in the Kingdom. There, she had shared with him a
drop of her blood essence.
Honing in on that magical connection, the woman was able to use

him as a target of a long-range communication spell... without his
permission. Either she had a spell or had the tools available to
empower that into an audible conversation... with his own mana
as a medium.
Though he could have forcibly cut the connection, he decided that

it would behoove him to converse openly... with a few changes to
the settings.
Using his System, a transparent blue avatar of Ananta appeared

amidst the Brazen Guard collective. She appeared in her human
form, a mature human woman with dark and disheveled hair that
fell to her shoulders.
...On further observation, Ananta's human-form had an uncanny

resemblance to Suka's.
Also, Tycon dressed the avatar in a simple but elegant black dress
that befit her station as a matriarch of her people. If he didn't, he
was fairly certain she would appear nude.
"(OohHHhh... Clothes, Sweet Prince?)" Ananta coquettishly

placed a finger to her lips. "(I'm quite proud of my human form...
and it's best appreciated... without.)"
Chapter 464 O’ Sol Invictus
ycondrius rolled his eyes, "I assume you're the master of this
T
Dungeon, then?"
"(In~deed,)" She nodded. Walking forward with a sultry sway, the

avatar brushed the back of her see-through hand along Tycon's
cheek. "(After you destroyed the Caretaker... full control of the
Dungeon Core has passed onto this one...)
"(It is this one's turn for a question...)" Ananta whispered into his
ear. It was a symbolic action, as everyone in the Brazen Guard
collective could hear her voice due to her spell, "(She has granted
you... the secrets of her body... Do you still think of me? Sweet
Prince?)"
He mulled over Ananta's question. The honest answer was a clear

and emphatic no.
However... that was almost certainly the incorrect answer.
"...Maybe?" Tycon answered sheepishly.
"You did WHAT?!" Suka shrieked, "With HIM???!"
"(In... deed~)" Ananta licked her lips. "(And what I gained in

return... was. a most. delectable. meal.)"
Athena gasped audibly... then glared at Tycon with clearly

discernible disgust.
Tycon turned towards her with furrowed brows, "Miss Athena...

why are you looking at me like that?"
"Y-you're horrible, Sir Tycon!" The young lady pouted her lips,
"You slept with that woman! You just sleep with everyone, don't
you?!"
What?
...OH!
Tycon held his palms out towards Athena and the crowd, "I did
NOT have sexual relations with this woman!! Ananta, tell them!"
"(That is correct,)" Ananta tilted her head, "(This one already has
a mate. We are quite loyal, thus far.)"
"Oh, congratulations." Tycon nodded, "Have I met them?"
"(No, I don't believe so.)"
"ANYROAD!!!" Athena shouted, "Keep your hands off of Sir

Tycon!! He already has a girlfriend! Also, it's not me! I ALREADY
HAVE SOMEONE I LIKE!!"
"Do you?" Tanamar asked with a sly smirk. It seemed he had also
joined the crowd to watch Tycon's morality openly questioned.
"...It's complicated," She turned away with reddened cheeks.
Tycon crossed his arms. Athena was quite convinced that he had
a girlfriend... Why was he not aware of this? He glanced over at
the face-planted Suka. He also had another question,
concerning... his 'consort.'
"(Tsss... Foolish humans,)" Ananta scowled. "(Away from here... to

the SHADOW REALM!!)"
With a dramatic wave of her hand, each and every single

adventurer of the Brazen Guard collective blinked out of
existence... besides himself.
Suka grinned from her spot on the floor, still bound, her legs still
unbroken, "Yeah! You get what you deserve!!"
"Stars and stones, Ananta!" Tycon threw his hands up in

frustration, "Really? Did you just send all my companions to the
Plane of Shadow?!"
"What? No!" Ananta furrowed her brows, "That's ridiculous! That

would be a flagrant violation of the Gatekeeper's laws. I sent them
to a Reality Marble powered by the Dungeon Core."
"Ah... Very well," Tycon nodded. Relaxing, he stretched his arms

and back... then sat on Suka's fallen form.
"Oof, HEY! Come on!!" Suka complained.
His companions would be safe for the current being. Ananta was
certainly not an ally... but she wasn't exactly an enemy. If he
continued being polite, he could ask her to release them... and
perhaps find a way out of the Dungeon. Failing that, he was fairly
certain he could find a way to enter the Reality Marble and save
them... "I believe it's your turn to ask a question."
Ananta gestured towards her sister, "What do you think of Suka?

She wishes to be your consort."
"I wish for NO SUCH THING, SISTER!!!" Suka wailed.
Tycon drew his boot knife, idly twirling the well-balanced weapon
in his fingers, "She's rather rude."
"She used to be very sweet," Ananta shook her head. "Then she
spent a year in the Beast Kingdoms with War Princess Cass."
"Lady Cassiopeia is a GODDESS!!" Tycon's seat shouted. "And

her brother is the IVORY PRINCE!! One of the greatest gladiators
EVER!! From the legendary guild of--"
"Oh, Sol Invictus..." Tycon spoke in rhyme as he cut Suka free of

her bindings and stood up, "Thou shalt sing of us in praise."
He offered the young lady his hand... which she refused to take.
"Else mourn thy dead, by bullet, spell, and blade." Suka

completed the song quote, standing up on her own, brushing the
dust off of her dark robe... "I guess you're worth SOMETHING, if
you know at least that."
"She doesn't know," Tycon looked to Ananta.
"That is how it appears," Ananta shrugged. "Your question, then,

Sweet Prince."
"I bet you're the Prince of something stupid!" Suka crossed her
arms.
"Is there any chance I and my companions can leave this

Dungeon peaceably? Preferably, I'd like as few of them to die, as
possible."
"This one has disabled all of the Caretaker's traps to free up the
Dungeon Core's mana..." Ananta tapped her cheek, "but
unfortunately, according to my mate's agenda, he would have all
trespassers killed... yourself included."
A few of the Dungeon's defenses, Tycon had observed as crafted

by a Fourth-Circle spellcaster. It made sense that with its
resources no longer allocated into the Dungeon traps, it could
feasibly sustain a Reality Marble. However, without Ananta's
assistance, breaking his companions free became a far more
troublesome task...
Tycon sighed in frustration... "So be it."
"My love, what is *taking* so LONG?" A harsh male voice echoed

in Tycon's mind.
« System, edit connection details: Provide an avatar for additional

call participants. »
⟬ Setting change complete. ⟭
A transparent blue male avatar appeared at Ananta's side...
He was a two legged, two armed humanoid, devoid of clothing,

and with scales covering his body. Atop its shoulders however...
instead of a human-like head... it was the head of a hooded
snake... like... a... cobra.
Empty night.
The male was a Yuan-Ti, a snakeblooded species from the

eastern parts of the Realm. And now... all of the hooded snake
imagery made sense.
⟬ Gold-Rank Yuan-Ti Malison. ⟭
"I don't approve," Tycon muttered.
"Tss," Suka scoffed. "First time I'll agree with you on something."
"So this is one of the humans attacking my halls?" The Yuan-Ti

flicked his forked tongue disrespectfully, "Why are you wasting
your time with this man, Ananta?"
Chapter 465 Gaze
" Malik~" Ananta bowed politely, "You might be familiar with this
male. His royal name is... Tycondrius."
Suka placed her hands against the side of her head-- "wat?"
The Yuan-Ti's eyes narrowed, "The progeny of the Queen of

Stone? ...I see."
Malik walked towards Tycon, back straight... his head and

elongated neck swaying rhythmically to the sides. Did he not know
how to walk? He looked ridiculous.
"Ivory Prince, it's a pleasure to make your--"
"We're done here," Tycon grabbed the robed girl by the wrist and
began to walk away.
"We're wha? Huh? WahhHH??" Suka let out a high-pitched

squeal, but obediently allowed herself to be dragged along.
« System, cut the connection. »
Both Ananta's and Malik's avatars abruptly blinked out of

existence.
⟬ Connection terminated. ⟭
"Suka," Tycon turned, placing his hands on the girl's shoulders.
Gazing into her red eyes, the young lady immediately closed
them... pouting her small lips and trembling lightly.
She was passably attractive-- not that Tycon saw the hatchling in
a romantic light. With his relationship with Ananta, he could treat
her as his own younger sibling... if she rid herself of her attitude
problem. And took a bath.
"...What are you doing?"
"I-DON'T-KNOW-IT-SEEMED-APPROPRIATE!!" She snapped.
Tycon chose to ignore it, changing the topic to the matter on-hand,
"Do you have access to your sister's Shadow Realm?"
The messy-haired girl couldn't decide where to look, glancing at

her surroundings, down at Tycon's chest, down at the floor-- "I...
what? You're..."
"The Shadow Realm, young lady."
"I... I... I, yes? Yes? I do? I do. Of course, I do."
A blast of hot air assaulted Tycon's senses as his surroundings

changed instantaneously.
Where before, he and Suka stood in a dim cavern upon green-

tinted Dwarven stonework... they now stood upon a cobblestone
road amongst human-designed buildings in a walled town.
And the town was burning.
Billowing smoke clouded the air, glowing a low orange from the
fires in the streets adjacent. It reeked of charred and burnt human
flesh. Screams of the slaughter resounded just beyond and
elsewhere.
Sensing movement, Tycon turned... Less than twenty yalms away,

a Snake Cultist wearing naught but warpaint chased down a
fleeing human villager. Their hapless victim was mercilessly cut
down with a hand scythe, their life reaped-- almost poetically.
Suka crossed her arms... "This is the world the Reality Marble has
formed... it looks like it's during a snake cult attack on a human
village-- probably that mushroom-brain Malik's idea."
"I can see that..." Tycon was about to reach for his weapon...
when he realized it was no longer on his waist. His spatial ring
was gone, as well. He wore only a simple tunic and trousers.
That wasn't fair... Suka was no longer wearing her nondescript

robe, but instead wore a set of strangely familiar mercenary
armor... and had a sword at her side.
He would have liked at least that much.
"Your *humans* should be here somewhere," Suka shrugged, still

refusing to meet his gaze. "That is... if they're not already dead."
Tycon looked over the horizon... there were guard towers along
the town's walled fortifications. Those would be useful for locating
his companions.
However, before he would go on his way... he would see if he

could trick his young companion into providing assistance. She
seemed to have no love for that Malik fellow... and she also
seemed to have forgotten that he and she were technically
enemies.
"Suka? Do you have power over this place?"
The snake girl hesitated, staring at the dead human, blood pooling
around the corpse. The cultist continued to scream his
brainwashed dogma, hacking noisily at the still twitching body--
unaware or uncaring that he was being observed.
"Excuse me, young man," Tycon raised his voice. "We are *trying*
to have a conversation."
The cultist abruptly twisted his blood-stained body, meeting

Tycon's eyes with a furious glare, "wHhOo in the SEVEN HELLS
aRe--?!"
« Activate. Swiftly and without mercy. »

Immediately, the Unranked human dropped to the road,
convulsing and choking... blood flowing from his mouth and
nostrils.
⟬ Death to the enemies of Invictus. ⟭
"The... the gaze... of the Ivory Prince..." Suka whispered in a

hoarse voice.
"Now, where were we? Suka?" Observing the young lady, Tycon
sensed that the young woman's heart rate had rapidly increased.
Was she afraid of blood?
"Oh! Y-yeah. Of course I do-- have power, I mean..." She shook

her head-- then nodded. "My sister gave me some limited
control... but..."
She trailed off.
Tycon pursed his lips, "Show me."
"You can't laugh."
"...Very well."
"It's embarrassing."
"...That's unlikely," Tycon assured her. "Please, go ahead."
Manipulating the Laws of even a mortal-created world was

difficult. Any modicum of power the young Shadow Snake could
display would be impressive.
"Well... you promised you wouldn't laugh..." Suka pouted.
Tycon had promised no such thing.
The young lady gulped, "Here goes..."
...
Suka grimaced, concentrating her magic and raising her arms
towards the orange sky... She only really had one ability in her
sister's Reality Marble... and the Ivory Prince had personally
requested to see it.
Was he really the Ivory Prince? He said he was... and that was
reason enough. And then Ananta said it, too... He had to be.
There was only one Ivory Prince among their kind.
She wanted to tell Izzy all about him... about how chiseled his
jawline was, how green and smooth and soft his hair was, how
hard his... muscles were, how she could just get lost in his eyes...
And how... very... very pushy and rude he was.
That was nothing like in the stories!
A couple of epochs ago, Suka had seen Sol Invictus... she'd

watched them fight in the Ezyrian arenas.
The male in front of her had... the same build? It was definitely
possible that this person was the Ivory Prince...
The Tycon in the pit was a flashy, arrogant exhibitionist. This

one... was different. But then again, it made sense that the Ivory
Prince's in-the-pit persona was different from the one he used in
his personal life.
Suka was torn. Was she excited to meet the man she always
wanted to meet? Or was she disappointed that he wasn't as
perfect as she thought he'd be?
She had no idea why her heart pounded so hard when he said her
name.
Was she in love? With a man she'd never even met?
",
Chapter 466 Sing Of Us In
Praise
Tycondrius turned as a door opened from a nearby building.
He glanced at the sign outside of it... carved into the wood was a
plump winged creature with... an angry or annoyed expression. It
was a public house.
First to emerge was a... frustratingly familiar elf with sandy blonde
hair. Two iconic long, straight blades were sheathed on his waist.
...It was then that Tycon realized why Suka's armor was so
familiar. The elf wore the same design.
⟬ Quies, Gold-Rank Elven Pathfinder Ranger. Guild Sol Invictus. ⟭
Next to exit the pub was an armored, white-furred Weretouched

boy, walking with an iron staff. Following him was a pale-skinned,
dark-haired elf in golden robes, far taller than an average human.
Last to walk out was a child-sized humanoid wearing black
goggles and with his face wrapped in tan strips of cloth.
⟬ Levi Wolfrider, Iron-Rank Weretouched Warden; Indrazeal Zuko,

Iron-Rank Elven Sorcerer; Gobsuke, Iron-Rank Goblin
Sharpshooter. Guild Sol Invictus. ⟭
"No..." Tycon could barely hide his surprise.
Suka let out a heavy sigh... "Y-yeah."
"WHAT IS the MEANING of THIS???" An annoying yet... oddly

charming voice shouted.
The pub door burst open noisily and an armored gentleman in
gaudy gladiator attire rushed out. The handsome fellow was
wearing an unstrapped half-helmet, his eyes hidden by a liftable
single-slit visor.
⟬ Tycondrius, Iron-Rank Maedar Warlord. ⟭
"Stay away from my BEAUTIFUL and KIND, LEGALLY LAWFUL

WIFE, you-- you CAD!!!" Other-Tycon shrieked, pointing angrily as
he stomped towards them.
Tycon slowly turned his face to Suka... The girl's cheeks were
stained a deep, wine-red.
"Lawful wife?" He asked, "Have we wed?"
Earlier, the young lady had declared she was his consort. This
newest bit of information was... quite different from that.
"N-not in real life," Suka stammered.
Tycon jabbed with a left, striking the exceedingly handsome other-

Tycon in the chin... Feeling the jab connect, he followed with a
powerful right straight at the same point with meticulous accuracy.
Other-Tycon dropped like a stone. His approach had left him wide
open... and he didn't have the speed or reflexes to dodge a Gold-
Rank attack. As the other-him's head struck the road, his helm
rolled off... revealing a featureless face without eyes.
That made sense... as Suka did not recognize his face enough to
recreate it. Such were the limitations of making an accurate mana-
construct in his likeness.
He immediately got to work stripping the fellow of the rest of

Other-Tycon's Arcanite armor... which was his.
"Wh-wh-wh-at are you doing?!" Suka shouted, "That's

inappropriate!! Also that's something I wouldn't normally do!
Nope!"
"Hmm..." Tycon pursed his lips. "Why isn't the other me wearing a
tunic underneath?"
"S-s-s-stop~!!!! Pleaheheheeeeease stop!!" Suka begged, holding

onto his arm and pulling with all her pitiful strength, "Don't take off
his breechcloth!!"
Tycon hesitated, turning and narrowing his gaze, "Why would I do

that? I only want the chestplate, gloves, and sandals."
Suka retracted her hands in distress, mumbling to herself... which

allowed Tycon to finish off stripping Other-Him.
"...You know, Suka... in my human form, I only have one--"
"Sh-shut up!!!"
"Because, like a proper snake, I noticed that your mana-construct

recreation of me has two--"
"I KNOW, OKAY!!!" Suka seethed, her left eye twitching.
Tycon chuckled quietly, enjoying teasing the young Shadow

Snake. He felt a sudden surge of nostalgia... was this the sort of
playful relationship he had with his sister, Cass?
"Help me with this, young lady."
"WHAT? ...Oh. Sure."
He donned his breastplate with Suka's assistance in tightening the

straps. Her lithe hands were... slightly more invasive than he
thought appropriate, but he decided to ignore it.
The armor fit perfectly. He had no memories of wearing it before,

but even still, it granted him a sense of comfort and familiarity.
...
Suka gulped watching the Ivory Prince put on his armor. It fit... so
well. She just wished... only a little bit... that he'd show her what
was underneath his tunic. Did he have abs? He definitely had abs.
ABBBBBS.
ARRRGHHH!!!! She'd missed the opportunity! She could have

checked when she put her hands on him!
And the way that he put on his helmet... oh, when he put that visor
down and went into full-battle seriousness... he'd be so, stunningly
sexy...
As Prince Tycon put on the rest of his gear, he casually pointed to

the arranged members of Sol Invictus-- at Levi Wolfrider, "Swap
that one out, if you would."
"What? Why?" Suka grimaced. "Wolfrider is the most popular

person in Sol Invictus! ...Next to Ranger Quies, anyroad. Those
two with you are the most 'shipped couple in--"
"--That is enough, thank you," Prince Tycon twisted his lips to the
side... "Anyroad, that's not even remotely true. Last I checked,
Lulu has won all the popularity contests... followed perhaps by
Quay, then by Bella Sapphira, and--"
"Alright, alright! I get it!!" Suka growled, "I know, okay! I was just..."
She was testing him. It wasn't right-- it really wasn't. She

somehow knew in her heart that Prince Tycon was the real deal.
But there was something about him that just didn't sit right.
With a sweep of her hand, Levi Wolfrider disappeared into mana-

dust... and the closed pub door opened once more. A behemoth
of a man ducked his head low to cross the threshold and took his
place standing with the rest of Sol Invictus.
Stretching to his full height close to nine fulms tall, the red-haired
Titanblood, Droghan Ashlord waved his meaty hand, "Yo."
"That will do," Prince Tycon nodded. "Now... give me a weapon."
Suka's heart raced once more. She knew a way to prove that the
Ivory Prince wasn't who he said he was! Concentrating once
more... she recalled every training weapon she'd ever wielded...
She trained with all of the weapons Sol Invictus used, because...
because of course she would.
They spilled out of the door of the public house in a heap... spears
and greathammers and heavy-crossbows, Turathi hextech and
Tyrion steel.
Prince Tycon pursed his lips, "Above and beyond. Thank you,
Suka."
"Haha... thanks," Suka laughed nervously.
WAIT!! That was wrong!
Her eyes shot wide-open and she began to shout, "No, WAIT!!
NO!! This is a TEST!! CHOOSE YOUR WEAPON, IVORY
PRINCE!!"
Chapter 467 Ten Thousand
Years
ycondrius stared thoughtfully at the haphazard pile Suka had

T
summoned...
Choose a weapon? How asinine...
He could perform effective murder with any standard military

weapon.
But still... having the freedom of choice was a luxury.
Walking over, he began sifting through the assortment. Thankfully,

when he delved through his memories with Sasarame's help, he
grew familiar with more than a few of the unique, enchanted Sol
Invictus weaponry Suka provided...
The most easily identifiable was a flat, massive, and blunt

weapon-- ugly and with a dull edge.
Its name was Dread.
Dragan called it... a sword. He was the only member of Sol

Invictus with the strength to wield it as such. The Titanblood had
once told him the black, light-swallowing metal was called... 'Infant
Annihilator'... supposedly the 'death-liest' metal known to the
Realm.
With no knowledge otherwise, Tycon accepted it as fact.
He lifted the impossibly heavy sword with great difficulty, even

considering his Gold-Rank physique. It was far heavier than even
adamantine... and with the metal's obvious scarcity, the junk-
looking weapon was far more powerful than it seemed.
"So you pick THAT weapon!!" Suka laughed, then forced her voice
as hoarse and as deep as she could, "I... SHOULD'VE
KNOWWNNN!!!"
Tycon furrowed his brows, remembering that the girl had

designated this as a test.
...Then he decided that he did not particularly care. He would do

as he pleased.
"Dragan. Come here."
⟬ Droghan Ashlord, Iron-Rank Titanblood Berserker. ⟭
"Comin'!" The Titanblood jogged towards him, taking the offered

weapon... with a surprising amount of obedience. The red-headed
half-giant picked it up with ease, resting it over his shoulder, "Got
it."
Tycon pursed his lips. This Dragan was clearly younger and
smaller than the one he was used to... but he still stood taller than
Zuko and of course, himself.
There was something slightly... off in the way he spoke. Tycon

could attribute it to the fact that, again, Suka did not know Sol
Invictus well enough to faithfully instill personalities into their
mana-constructed forms.
Shaking the thought from his mind, he picked up a two-handed

sword, made of a shimmering red and gold metal. Its design was
far more... ornate-- bordering on ostentatious. It was an Elven
sword.
It felt much... different than it should have, but it was clearly

supposed to be Zuko's signature weapon. The real sword was
instilled with a very... fickle weapon spirit. Hongyue would have
never allowed Tycon to handle her without her explicit permission.
He tossed it over to the Sorcerer, "Zuko!"
"Got it," The pale elf caught the blade.

Finally, he picked up a long-barreled Turathi rifle, tossing it much
more carefully than the previous two, "Gobsuke."
The child-sized goblin hopped up, catching it with both hands. He

did not offer a word of acknowledgment.
...It seemed that Suka got one personality right.
The young lady stomped her foot upon the Dungeon stones,
fuming, "That's-- that's not!! Argh!! You! YOU pick a weapon!!"
Tycon sighed, walking over to the young Shadow Snake.
...
"What-- what are you doing?!" Suka took a half-step backward,

"You didn't pick yet??!"
W-was he going to choose her?! She wasn't a weapon!! She

specifically stated he had to choose A WEAPON!!
Her heart felt like it was about to give out as she stared into the
Ivory Prince's golden eyes. She'd experienced it so many times
before... but this was-- oh noOoOo! This was the actual Ivory
Prince (maybe) walking towards the actual her!
Suka wasn't ready! She wasn't readyyYyyY!!
He stood over her and leaned down to meet her gaze... just ilms
away.
He was close enough to smell her breath. He was close enough...

to kiss her.
Oh, no... she left the spearmint leaves at home...
"You're trembling."
Suka gulped. She opened her mouth to argue but... no words

came out.
She felt his strong hand holding her lower back... he was going to
pull her close and... and...
"Eep!!" His other hand was touching her thigh. The feelings she
was experiencing was... out of this Realm.
"I'll be taking this," Tycon smirked.
Suddenly, he released her and stepped back... making Suka feel

a dozen different shades of relief... and TEN THOUSAND YEARS
OF DISAPPOINTMENT!!!!
Tycon pulled the sword out of its catch, inspecting the blade, "This
will do."
Suka's eyes widened as she glanced down at her side. The Ivory
Prince had taken her sword!!
That!! THAT!!!
...That was the right answer to her test.
W... why did he have to choose that sword?
"That..." Suka gulped, grimacing... her lips quivering like crazy...

"That was the only weapon you weren't allowed to pick..."
"I like this one," Tycon smiled... a gorgeous, heart-shaking smile.

He replaced the blade into its sheath and adjusted the weapon
belt onto his own waist, "I'm assuming that my companions will die
if they are killed in your sister's Shadow Realm?"
"Y... yeah..." Suka responded, all of her energy whisked far, far
away...
"...Young lady, are you crying?"
Suka wiped at the corners of her eyes, "N... no..."
Tearing up a little was NOT the same as crying!

"Last question," Tycon gestured towards the members of Sol
Invictus. "Is it your mana signature that controls these... add-ons?"
Suka nodded quietly... It was so embarrassing that the Ivory

Prince now knew that she made likenesses of her heroes (besides
Prince Droghan-- that meathead could burn forever in the Eternal
Battlefield.)
She felt Prince Tycon's hand on her chin... and she looked up.
Close. He was too close.
Again, her heart started beating like it wanted out, out, OUT of her
chest.
He thumbed the front of her chin... and she opened her mouth
very slightly. Oh.
She felt a slow and steady pressure on her lower back again... but
this time he did pull her close. Oh. Oh, no...
Suka had absolutely no idea where to put her hands.
But she did know to close her eyes.
And then Suka was kissed by the Ivory Prince.
...MmMpHHh!!! ...TONGUE!!!
AHHHH!!!!!!
Her eyes shot open. The Ivory Prince was deep-kissing her!!!! She
didn't even go that far with-- AHHH!!!!
She couldn't think anymore! Her mind was completely blank! What
was happening?! Why was she here?! Her chest was thumping so
painfully!!! AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
...
Tycon released his kiss... but furrowed his eyebrows upon seeing
the girl's expression.
Her eyes were wide and her pupils were dilated, staring into
space.
...Did she... break?
He gently wiped the corner of her lips with his thumb. She was
drooling.
Initially, he was going to apologize for forcibly kissing the young

lady. However, considering her reaction, he wondered if she would
thank him for it-- or if he should have charged coin for the service.
...That was assuming this was a positive reaction and not a

horrified one. He was very handsome, so he would assume it was
the former.
The young Shadow Snake fancied herself as his future wife. He

wasn't quite willing to wed someone he did not know well... but a
simple kiss was innocent enough.
He had his System copy the mana signature in her saliva. It was
an additional advantage he could possibly utilize. He liked being
thorough.
"I'll be going then, Suka," Tycon smirked, trying to keep his

amusement in check.
"H... have a nice trip..." She muttered.
Tycon put the visor down on his helmet, turned, and walked
towards the next battle... "Sol Invictus, with me."
...
He walked quietly with the members of his guild, down a street of

burning buildings. They turned a corner, finding a small group of
half-a-dozen Snake Cultists killing and torturing an elderly couple.
Tycon casually cut a man's legs off. Dragan cleaved a man from
top to bottom with Dread, damaging the road in the process. Zuko
lit the rest of them on fire. Gobsuke watched in silence.
"Oh, come on!!" Quay complained, "I didn't get to do anything!"
"Quay, you'll be fine," Tycon frowned... "You'll get the chance to

act soon, I'm sure."
The sandy-blonde elf bit his words and pouted.
Tycon crossed his arms, looking at his companions. Their combat

prowess was solid... but the atmosphere was slightly off.
"My gentlemen companions... tell me your thoughts on the current

situation."
They were in a Reality Marble, ominously called the Shadow

Realm. The setting was a town set ablaze by the Snake Cult...
somewhere in the Holy Country, it seemed. Still, he wished to
know their minds on the matter.
Pathfinder Quay drew his straight blades, flourishing them

fantastically, "I'm an elf, a masterful master of the BLADE
DANCE!!!"
Fair.
The young, red-headed Titanblood, Dragan, pointed a meaty

thumb at his chest, "I'm an idiot that can't cast a single spell! And I
recklessly charge into every battle, because I'm stupid and it's
eventually gonna get me killed!!"
Mostly true.
The pale elf, Indrazeal Zuko, crossed his arms, "I act cold and
aloof because I don't want my closest friends to know that I
secretly enjoy their company."
Accurate.
Tycon grimaced... "None of those responses addressed my

question."
He looked to Gobsuke.
The goblin shrugged, idly inspecting his Turathi rifle, "Concerning
the situation... it makes me question why I hang out with you
guys."
Tycon took a deep breath and sighed... He was going to do

something he would regret. The sun seemed filled with situations
of that nature.
« System, change settings: ...I need these mana-constructs

personalities restored according to compiled data. »
⟬ System response: Settings are locked and require administrator

access. ⟭
« System, override using Suka's mana signature. »
⟬ Overriding... Setting changes complete. ⟭

Chapter 468 True Face Of Sol
Invictus
ycondrius opened his eyes... and looked for a change amongst

T
his companions.
Dragan shook his head, his red-mop of hair flapping about. It was
reminiscent of a wet dog shaking its fur, "What the hells...? OHH!!
BURNING TOWN!! BOSS!! Are we the ones doin' the
BURNINATING?!?"
"No, not this time," Tycon smirked. "Snake Cultists are attacking
this human town."
"Tch," Zuko sneered. "What trash fire mages do these losers

have? I could burn down this whole street with two spells-- no
survivors."
"C-come on, Zuko! Aha..." Quay laughed nervously. "Like Tycon

says, we're here to save people! To be HEROES!!"
The Elven Pathfinder placed his hands on his hips, pushing his
chest out and smiling radiantly.
"Shut up, Quay," Zuko rolled his eyes.
"Ahaha HAHAHAW!!" Dragan loosed a laugh, deep and

boisterous, "Shut up, QUAYYY!"
"Oh, come onnnn, guys!!" The sandy-blonde elf whined.

"Tyconnnn! Tell 'em!!"
Tycon shook his head, unable to hide a smile of contentment.
This was the true face of Sol Invictus.

"We're here to save a human adventuring company called the
Brazen Guard. Any questions?"
"Question!" Quay raised his hand. "What happened to your face? I

mean-- where's all your piercings and stuff?"
"Irrelevant," Tycon waved the elf away, "This is what I look like.
Next question."
Zuko narrowed his eyes, "Yeah. I got one. What the hells is wrong
with my mana? It feels like half of my gods-damned circuits are
blocked off. And where he hells is that stupid kid, Hongyue?"
"The four of you are mana-constructs in a Reality Marble," Tycon

explained.
"Ugh, this is bull," Zuko sighed, shaking his head.
The pale elf didn't complain more than that. He was seemingly
unsurprised by the situation.
...This was not the most ridiculous adventuring premise Tycon and
his guild had come upon.
Gobsuke crossed his arms... deep in thought.
Tycon gestured towards him, "Did you have a question,

Gobsuke?"
"No... It all makes sense now. There were holes in my memory

that I couldn't explain... For example, I don't recall the name of my
very mundane, very normal wife."
Tycon grimaced. He recalled being often told that Gobsuke's

wives were very attractive... and had high-tier combat classes.
Dragan looked over, "Which one?"
"My blonde wife."
"Oh, I don't remember her name, either," Dragan shrugged. "Nor

the other one's."
Tycon felt his mouth twitch. Why did the Titanblood ask for
clarification then?
Dragan raised his hand in the air, "BOSS! Is collateral damage

permissible?"
"To structures, yes. To civilians-- preferably not."
"SOUNDS GOOD!!! GAHAHAHA!!" Dragan cackled. Like an

excited child, he slammed his very, very heavy weapon against
the road... forming deep, heavy cracks.
Zuko let out a deep sigh, "Asking for permission, just so you won't
screw up later? Typical of you, Dragan."
"Oh, PSHHHH!!! You're one to talk, Zuko! Hohaha~" Dragan

chuckled. "You're the reason we're not allowed back in
Jacksonville!"
"Are you kidding me? That was all you and that junkie, Horse."
Zuko angrily clenched his teeth, "I'm sick and tired of always
getting blamed for your mistakes."
"Wait! Hold on!!" Quay pushed himself in between the tall elf and
the taller Titanblood, "What happened in Jacksonville! I don't
remember anything happening when we went to Jacksonville!"
"Shut up, Quay!" "Yeah, shut up, Quay."
"Tyconnnnn!!!" Quay pouted. "They're picking on me, again!"
It had gotten much noisier... but it no longer felt out of place. It

was more like... a nostalgic memory. It was fake... his own
recreation of old suns he no longer remembered. Still, he could
keep the best memories and move onward, seeking to relive
glories past.
"Gobsuke!" Tycon called out. "Find us a path to one of the

fortification towers."
...
⟬ A short time and 22 dead cultists later. Dragan: 6 kills. Quay: 11
assists. ⟭
Dragan pursed his lips to the side, "Incomin' friendly."
The small form of Gobsuke dropped down from a nearby roof...
"⌈Catfall...⌋" A half-second before he hit the ground, his movement

magically slowed... and he resumed a normal walking pace, as if
he hadn't just leapt off of a two-story building.
"Report," Tycon saluted with his fist to his chest.
"Light resistance, cold weapons." The goblin returned the salute.

He raised his black goggles and loosened his cloth mask,
revealing his green skin and pointed teeth. "Under twenty. Path to
the fort has roving bands of ten each... approx. thirty cultists.
Same gear."
Gobsuke pointed down a different alleyway, "One band that way.

They're chasing someone, if Quay wants to be a hero."
"Quay always wants to be a hero," Dragan shrugged.
"Gotta give him a little credit," Zuko rolled his eyes. "He's able to
save someone two out of three times."
"Ehhh..." Dragan tilted his head, "I'm thinkin' more like three outta
five."
"I. TRY. MY. BEST!!" Quay pointed his finger down at the road
indignantly, "Even if my best is out of four."
"Hah! Hahaha!!" Dragan scoffed, "Aaaaand your best gets us in

trouble more than Lulu and Horse combined-- no offense, Quay."
"But not more than Dragan and anyone else combined," Zuko
smirked. "Offense intended."
The pale elf was willfully avoiding the fact that the most
troublesome duo was Dragan paired with Zuko, himself.
"We'll do it," Tycon nodded, "Quay, you and I: front. Dragan, Zuko:
flank. Gobsuke, skyward."
"Whoa," Quay looked stunned. "Deviating from the objective,

Tycon? And you want to front-line with me?"
Tycon shrugged, "I'm in the mood to watch you prance about."
"It's called the Blade Dance!" Quay declared proudly, "A most
noble and elegant language of battle, which I am totally fluent-- H-
hey, wait for me!!"
Tycon sprinted ahead. Behind him, he heard the heavy steps of

Dragan, the light steps of Quay and Zuko, and the climbing claws
of Gobsuke.
The current objective was to save lives... but he looked forward to

seeing Sol Invictus in action.
...
"RUNNNNNNNN~ GIRLIE!!!!" A Snake Cultist yelled.
Fortuna could hear the scraping of metal along the road as she
ran for her life. Her tiny legs could only move so fast... and she
could barely breathe. But if she stopped...
She couldn't stop! She had to keep running.
"Little bugger!" One of them yelled, "Sod it all! Throw the

hatchets!!"
She could barely see the road ahead... her nose and eyes stung
from the smoke and her vision was so blurry with tears. But as
hard as she tried... this was all she could do. It was all over for
her...
Suddenly, a force... a magical force swept her off her feet.
"Whoa, calm down." A soothing musical voice whispered, "I

got'cha."
Fortuna wiped her eyes to gaze upon the face of... an elf? A
pureblooded elf? She had never met her grandparents... was this
one of them?
He had picked her up in one of his arms... and a miracle

happened. He spun the weapon in his opposite hand, a long,
beautiful Elven sword... and he struck down every single thrown
axe and pila that the bad guys threw.
"Who... who are you?" She asked.
The elf revealed a bright smile... "A hero."
Fortuna's heart raced as she identified the golden sun on his

gladiator armor... "Sol... Invictus. You're... you're Quay! Of Sol
Invictus!!"
"Now is not the time for romance, Mister Quay," A surly voice
scolded. It belonged to another gladiator in flashy muscle-y
armor... but it had the same sun symbol and he wore a visored
helmet that hid his eyes. "Are you injured, little one?"
"T-tycon!! Th-the Tactician of Sol Invictus!!!" Fortuna screamed.

Her heroes... her heroes had come to save her. It was a dream...
it was definitely a dream...
"Oh? Is that what they call me?" Tycon hmphed.
"Well, the Hero of Sol Invictus is already taken," Quay laughed as

he placed Fortuna back on solid ground.
Fortuna couldn't help but embrace Quay around the waist, burying
her face into his stomach, "Mom and dad... they... they..."
"They were... DELICIOUS... Hur hur hurrr..." A Snake Cultist

interrupted. The man had no shirt and huge muscles... and blood
ran down his chin and chest.
Fortuna wasn't dreaming. She was having a nightmare.
Then the nearby building exploded.

It was a monster... a giant, nine-foot tall... red-headed person
wearing animal furs... covered in brickdust and laughing like he
was crazy. He burst out of the wall and grabbed two Cultists by
their heads like they were ragdolls... and he kept running... and
smashed into another building on the opposite side of the street.
...
Tycon sighed... "I specifically recall asking Mister Dragan to

*flank* the enemies, not to cut through the middle of them."
"Y-yeah," Quay scratched the back of his head. "You did."
"D-dragan?!" The eyes of the pink-haired, half-elf child nearly

bulged out of her head. "That was Dragan?! He's so much bigger
in person! Y-you guys really are Sol Invictus!"
"In the flesh!" Quay flashed his trademark smile, "--or in the mana-
flesh, I think. I'm not really sure, to be honest."
"Tss," Tycon shook his head. "So our reputation precedes us..."
It seemed that in whatever past setting Ananta's Shadow Realm

was based in, Sol Invictus was far more easily recognizable.
"We aren't the number one gladiator guild in the Holy Country for
nothin', Ty," Quay grinned.
"Don't call me that."
"Oh, come on, Tyconnnn~! You always let me call you that!"
"Go... go do something heroic or something," Tycon shooed his

guild leader away. "I will protect the whelpling."
"I thought you'd never ask!" Quay drew his other weapon...
placing them in a stylistic cross in front of him.
Why would he think that? It seemed like a normal thing to ask for,
considering Quay's personality.
Chapter 469 Fortune’s Favor
ycondrius always thought of the Elven Blade dance as... the

T
most perplexing of combat arts.
Pathfinder Quay stepped forward... though he didn't seem to step

with his feet. The elf's form shifted and swayed like a breeze...
and his swords sang like a... whimsical song.
A Cultist's severed hands fell to the road, followed by his head.

Then the jaws of two humans were sliced off. Another sprouted a
fountain of blood from the top of his forehead.
Quay was moving far too quickly for the blood to reach him. He
weaved through the poorly armored Snake Cultists, like he had
choreographed a dance with them beforehand. The group pushed
and pulled rhythmically to the left and right until...
Until Dragan's building exploded. Again.
"OHHHH, YEAHHHHH!!!"
Tycon noted the addition of two still-bleeding human heads, tied to

his belt. It appeared the heads weren't severed with a blade... but
had been forcibly torn off of their bodies.
It was suitably intimidating, if slightly unhygienic. He planned to

ask Dragan to wash his hands with soap and water upon finishing
the current round of enemies.
The Titanblood sprinted towards Quay... leapt into the air and
thrust out both legs, slamming his boots into one of the few
remaining cultists. That fellow flew a dozen fulms away-- and with
such force that the man was decapitated on a sharp corner of a
section of wall.
Quay was so stunned that he allowed a splash of blood upon his
armor. Poor form, "D... DRAGANNN!!!!!"
"NA-HA-HA-HIIIIIICE!!!!!" Dragan was laughing as he ran,

laughing with his leaping double-kick, and was still laughing as he
got to his feet, "Did you guys see that?! His FREAKIN' HEAD flew
off!! Ahaha! HAHA! Hahhhhh... What?"
"Nicely done," Tycon shrugged. He'd grant credit where it was

due.
"You screwed up my steps!" Quay cried.
"Come on, bud!" Dragan pat Quay on his back... with bloody
hands that stealthily (and purposely) smeared more blood onto
the elf's normally pristine armor, "Dancing's all about
improvisation, anyroad!"
"The BLADE DANCE!!" Quay shouted, "Is a sacred and graceful

display of swordsmanship! A celebration of combat!! Not-- not,
whatever the seven hecks you just did!!"
"I'm thinkin' to call it... 'The Dragan Dropkick.'" The Titanblood

raised a clenched fist, "I'm gonna make it my signature move.
Whaddya think? Nice, right?"
Tycon recalled no such thing.
"So... cool..." The small half-elf whispered in awe.
The Titanblood's bold (albeit reckless) display had momentarily

ceased the young lady's tears. Nice.
"See?" Dragan grinned, "The whelpling gets it."
"WhaAAAAtttt iSSSSSss THISSSSSSSSSSS??!?!!" A dark echo

reverberated off of the walls of the building.
A spellcaster had arrived.
In a gout of green flame, a hunched over pepper-haired man

appeared behind the cultists, "Elvvesssss... I... HAaaAAAAaTE....
you POiNtyyy EarRRred fffREAKS..."
"NICE! Geek the mage?" Dragan asked, still grinning like a fool.
"Let me go first, Tycon," Quay asked, his seriousness returning.
"Hold a moment," Tycon shook his head, having already sensed

Indrazeal Zuko's movement.
The human Warlock pointed his palms forward, the Snake Cultists
scrambling to his side and rear. A sickening and dirty green flame
surged from his form, sheathing him in corrupted power.
Before he could attack, a magical flash of gold appeared at his

side. There, stood Elven Sorcerer Zuko, his elegant red and gold
sword strapped to his back, "Who the hells are you?"
It was a sudden burst of heat, controlled perfectly... exhibiting a

mastery high above that of the Warlock's. The tall elf grabbed one
of the human's wrists and twisted it... snapping the fool's fragile
bones in a single, smooth motion.
Chantless casting. Flawless execution of martial techniques

combined with elemental spellcasting. Zuko belonged to the
Legendary Phoenix Hidden Sect. Such a straightforward name
was... terrifically arrogant, but the gentle-elf was a peerless
practitioner of his art.
...As powerful as he seemed, Zuko was a mana-construct

constrained by the limitations of Ananta's Shadow Realm. In the
real, he had surpassed Iron-Rank well over a century prior.
All at once, the green flames retracted as the Warlock fell to a

knee in agony, "Y-youuu... I... I am... PyRAXxis...
SSss...LaAAYerr... of--"
Zuko pulled the Warlock up by his broken wrist and planted a

merciless fist into his abdomen.
Two cultists were hiding behind the spellcaster... likely for safety's
sake. They were immediately engulfed by super-heated, bone-
cracking flames. They didn't even have time to scream before they
were burnt to charred meat... the fires extinguishing completely, a
mere second afterward.
Zuko narrowed his eyes at the dying Warlock, "I didn't say you
could talk..."
The Warlock returned the glare... his gaze trembling... his teeth
clenched... struggling to keep conscious through his suffering.
"...Actually--" Dragan's voice interrupted the deathly silence, "You

asked him a question, bud. It made a whole lotta sense for him to
answer."
Zuko angrily half-turned back to the Titanblood, "Did I *ask* for

your opinion, Dragan?"
"It's not an opinion!" Dragan argued. "When you ask a question,

the other guy's gotta answer! It's science!"
The elf turned away...
"I forgot," He muttered under his breath.
A loud, booming explosion resounded from nearby... and the

Warlock's head burst like a melon struck by a hammer. Three
more shots rang out... and the remaining cultists fell, their heads
cracked open just the same.
Tycon glanced up to a rooftop, some three or four hundred yalms

away, where Sharpshooter Gobsuke was aiming down the sights
of his Turathi rifle. The tiny speck of a goblin was performing a
hand signal... pumping his fist up in the air.
[Hurry up.]
Zuko growled low to himself. In another quick flash of magic, fire

sheathed his form for a split second, purging the blood from his
face and clothing... "So everyone gets to mess around-- and when
I finally do something, that's when we have to hurry up? Typical of
you guys."
Tycon shook his head. He wanted no part of that argument.
He knelt down to face the half-elf child that Quay had saved,
"Young lady..."
"M-my name is Fortuna," She muttered... tears again beginning to

form in her overly large eyes.
Chapter 470 Half-Human Son
uay knelt down at the half-elf child's opposite side, "Hey, hey...
Q
don't cry. Listen, Fortuna. We're going to need your help... to save
as many people as we can. We need you to be a hero, right now."
The young girl nodded, wiping at her eyes with her soot-covered
dress, "I... Alright."
Tycondrius breathed a sigh of relief... It was nice to have someone

intelligent in their group that could deal with crying children.
"Miss Fortuna, did you see any groups of people fighting against
the Snake Cultists?"
...
⟬ Guard Tower. First Floor. ⟭
"Tyconnn!!" Quay moaned, "I cut my hand! Can I get a ⌈Heal⌋??"
"No," Tycon groaned. "My mana reserves are low and you're not
that important."
"Is it 'cos I'm a mana-construct??" Quay cried. "Mana-constructs

are people too!"
"Yes. And no, they are not."
"But it hurts!"
Tycon rolled his eyes, not deigning to grant the elf a response.
Quay's young son, Pale, had never... EVER... complained as
much as his father did.
Tycon kicked open the wooden door, which swung in, to the left.
The cultists appeared to be expecting the intrusion... not that they
could do anything about it.
He grabbed a nude human female by the face. Slamming the

back of her head against the wall, her sword fell from her hand,
clattering to the ground. He slid his own short sword deep
underneath her armpit and into her heart, before throwing her
back into another cultist-- a man suspiciously void of trousers.
Quay had charged in, on Tycon's left. Dancing in a circle, he

severed a third human's hands at the wrist. That human's head
slid off, falling to the side and rolling.
Even from so close, Tycon hadn't seen when the elf cut through
the man's neck. The Blade Dance was... a stupid and nonsensical
art... but it was effective.
Tycon had already stabbed the last human in the center of the
throat... Thankfully, they died quietly without more of a struggle.
"Mister Quay..." He nodded, "Your combat prowess has not

reduced, even with your injury."
"Well!!" Quay huffed, "It DOESN'T look like YOUR combat

prowess has reduced-- AT ALL!! In fact, you're WAY stronger than
I remember!! (Probably because your hand isn't cut.)"
Tycon sighed, wiping his sword on some unbloodied clothing he

found resting in a corner, "You lot are reconstructed based on my
past memories."
"And you're saying that like it's a good reason that you're
STRONGER?!" Quay shouted.
The elf did have the mind to cut a strip of clothing fabric...
wrapping it around his bloody hand and tying it tightly with his
teeth.
...Tycon would have suggested the elf not do that with human
underclothing... Why were Quay and Dragan such beasts of filth?
"It... is a good reason. Technically, I'm from the future."
"So future-you is stronger than current-me??" Quay gasped, "But

you'd better watch out! I'm gonna train my arse off to defeat you!"
"...Good for you," Tycon shrugged. It wasn't worth arguing with

Quay, mana-construct or not.
He walked back to the doorway, "Room's clear!!"
"Zuko and Gobsuke are gonna check the roof!!" Dragan's voice
called back from elsewhere in the structure, "I'm-- finishin' things
up, here! Ahahah! All risk, no re--OWW!! C'MERE you son of a--"
Dragan's voice was drowned out by... the many cries of a group of
cultists, praising the snake god and... things of that nature.
Tycon didn't deem it important. Occupying the guard tower was a

low-difficulty endeavor. Rather than being actual cultists, it
seemed that many of the militia and guards were under the effect
of a wide-scale Domination spell. With their minds clouded by
magic, their martial combat abilities suffered.
...not that anyone in the guard fort was strong enough to contest
Sol Invictus. There was a single Iron-Rank in the guard tower.
After that fellow met with Zuko, he was relegated to blackened
scorch marks on the ceiling.
Zuko's absurdly powerful abilities as an Iron-Rank would probably

*break* Sorina's ⌈Parse⌋ skill.
"So... Tycon..." Quay snuck his face close, leaning over and
looking up at him.
"What?"
"Tell me about... the FUTURE!!" The elf beamed.
Tycon pursed his lips as he considered it... there was little harm in
providing information. This Quay only existed in the Reality
Marble... so it wasn't like he could use any information given for
malicious purposes. Actual time travel was much more
troublesome... not to mention, highly illegal.
"You have a half-human son. I like him more than I like you."
"Wh-WHOA?" Quay lost his balance... smacking the side of his

head on the wooden floorboards. It was a very... atypical thing for
an elf to do.
"Is he STRONGER than me?!" The floor-elf asked.
"Not yet," Tycon shook his head. "But he will be, soon."
"Very well," Quay crossed his arms and nodded. "So is she
Cassandra's kid?"
Tycon furrowed his brows... He did not actually know who Pale's
mother was... and that name was not at all familiar... "No."
"Sophitia?" "No."
"Lady Palutena?" "...No."
"Sarah Rockbell!! ...Uzumaki Kushina, maybe?" Quay gasped in

sudden realization... "Is he... is he Natalya Crucis' kid?! Is he a
BADASS red-haired protagonist?"
"I certainly hope not," Tycon crossed his arms... "Have you had
sexual relations with the Archbishop?"
"Well, no... she hates my guts. But I think that behind that cold,
rocky and rough exterior, she has a heart of... meat." Quay's eyes
suddenly widened... "Wait, she's an Archbishop now?!"
"...Yes."
"I GOT IT!!" Quay sat up, placing one fist into a palm. "He's the
son of Maximus, the greatest gladiator known to--"
Tycon kicked Quay in the chest, grinding his sandal onto the fallen
Pathfinder's stupid face, "That's not how babies are born, you dolt!
Maximus is male and so are you!
"...You are male, aren't you?"
It was difficult to tell with elves.
"I-- I forgot what we were talking about," The sandal-faced elf

muffled indignantly... "And yeah, I have a penis!"
"...Did you have sexual relations with--"
"I have not."
"..."
"But I was hoping that beneath that cold, scaly and--"
"--Stop there, if you would."

Chapter 471 Destined To Die
athfinder Quay took Tycondrius' offered hand, standing up and

P
dusting himself off. Sandal-print remained on his face, somewhat
devaluing his heroic mien.
"Well, he's strong. That's what matters, I suppose," Quay nodded

in contentment... "Hey, Tycon. I'm a good dad, right? Right?"
Tycon took a deep breath as he contemplated on how to answer.
When he'd transmigrated into the Realm, the young Pale was nine
years old. At the time, no one had thought to teach the boy to
defend himself. Gifted with talent and a solid work ethic, Pale's
combat skills quickly grew to Iron-Rank in only a few moons.
Currently, he was ten or eleven... and the current-Quay had been
missing, long before then.
It was highly probable that he was dead.
Tycon providing any of that information was less than ideal. He

would not risk adversely affecting the Elven Pathfinder's morale...
"Hahaha..." Quay chuckled uneasily... "I bet I'm not. I'm not really
good at anything besides fighting... and FRIENDSHIP!!!"
"Tss," Tycon scoffed. "Worry not. Where you have failed, I will
compensate."
"Aha! That's the Tycon I know and love!" Quay cheered, raising a
fist. "I'd sure like to meet him, though..."
That... Hm... Pale wished for the same thing.
Tycon pushed the thought away, rolling his eyes at his loyal and...
easily excitable companion, "We're heading to the roof. Let's put
your Elven eyes to good use."
"Sounds gooooood, Boss!!" Quay grinned. "I'm a RANGER!"
As Tycon turned to navigate to the top of the fortification tower,

Quay happily bounced along after him.
"Tycon! I have another question!"
...
The tall town walls had walkways that connected them with the
other guard towers. As an Elven Ranger, Quay's sharpened vision
surpassed that of the Elven Sorcerer, the Goblin Pathfinder, and
Tycon's own Gold-Rank perceptive abilities.
With it, Quay identified a few pockets of human resistance still

fighting against the Snake Cult.
The Brazen Guard collective was closer to the next-tower-over.
Tycon led Sol Invictus towards it. Upon clearing it, they would
again observe the battlefield, planning their next actions from
there.
"Wh-why are you giving me a sword?!" Fortuna complained, "I'm

just a kid!"
The tall elf Zuko crouched over and sneered, pushing the handle
of his red greatsword towards the half-elf child, "Because you
have to make yourself useful, you little shite."
"Just take it. Got nothin' better to do, do ya?!" Dragan chuckled.
"Take a look at Gobsuke! He's carryin' a gun three times his size!
You don't see him complaining!!"
The goblin glanced over, his expression hidden by his black

goggles... "It's actually very heavy. I wish I didn't have to carry it."
Tycon pulled back on a longbow he'd appropriated, shooting one

of the cultists on the streets below, "Mister Gobsuke... why do you
wield such a long-barreled rifle?"
The goblin shrugged as he plodded along, "You guys always
charge into battle faster than I can get there. You might not have
noticed, but my legs aren't very long."
Tycon sighed. That made sense. With the exception of Pale, he

was the shortest active male member of Sol Invictus. It was quite
nice traveling with Quay, who was of similar height, and Gobsuke,
even shorter than the half-human Pale.
"Fortuna, take the sword to protect yourself," Quay offered a

gentle smile. "It has the Mage Weapon enchantment. You're a
First-Circle caster, so it shouldn't be a problem."
"I... I am?" The pink-haired whelp's eyes widened as she took hold
of Zuko's greatsword... "It... it's not heavy at all?"
Tycon chuckled to himself, amused by the child's innocence. The

young Fortuna swung the sword back and forth as if it were a thin
tree branch. In the future, she'd grow to be a Third-Circle
spellcaster. She'd also die by his hands.
"Whoa, Zuko, for reals?" Dragan's massive jaw hung open,

baffled. "I thought you were joking??! You never let anyone touch
your weapon!"
Zuko glared angrily in response, "It's not the real Hongyue.

Actually, I'm insulted to have been given such a shite imitation."
"I mean... now, it all makes sense!" The Titanblood crossed his
arms, nodding sagely... "Of course, you'd offer a little underage
girl the privilege of double-fisting your BIG, FAT, MEATY--"
Without warning, Zuko began to strike Dragan with fists sheathed

in phoenix fire. Dragan cackled in glee as he blocked and counter-
attacked playfully with Dread. The skirmish 'appeared' to be
heated, but Tycon paid them no mind.
"Mister Gobsuke."
"Got it, Boss," The goblin increased his speed. Reaching the door
that led into the second tower, he hastily inspected it for traps.
"Doors clear. Breach?"
"I WANT IT!!!" Dragan shouted, peeling off from his playfight.
Before the Titanblood could get to it, the door immediately burst
into flames. Within seconds, its metal reinforcements glowed
white-hot, then melted into slag. Just as quickly, the smokeless
fire disappeared, revealing the tower's insides as if the door had
never existed.
"Suck my arse, Dragan," Zuko spat, obviously still frustrated.
"Oh, son of a--" Dragan groaned before shrugging his wide

shoulders... "Ya got me, bud."
Stepping through the disintegrated door, the members of Sol

Invictus entered the upper part of the tower... where they were
met with a scene of carnage.
Nearly a dozen cultists had been killed within. Their bodies were
strewn across the wooden planks, bloody hack-marks on their
necks and bodies. The most impressive amongst the dead was an
armored class in dark-green plate, a long, wicked horse-cutting
blade lying by her side.
Wielding such a lengthy blade in such narrow corridors was

foolish of her-- and probably allowed her murderer to stick a
hatchet in her forehead.
Amongst the dead was a single dying man... who revealed himself
when he loosed a wet, wracking cough. He sat up against a wall
in the corner... wearing black armor, covered in spikes.
"Oooh..." Dragan whistled, "Shall we put that guy outta his

misery? --WITH YOUR PERMISSION, yOuNg MaSterR
ZuKooOo?!"
"Tch," Zuko scoffed. "Do what you want, Prince Arse-lord"
"Thank you, mYy LoRrD!!"
Tycon grimaced, "Stop that. Also, don't kill him. He's one of mine."
Chapter 472 A City’s Treachery
ycondrius gestured towards the injured man, "He belongs to an

T
allied guild, Letalis Serpentis."
"Lethal serpent!" Quay exclaimed, "I LIKE IT!!"
"Redundant," Gobsuke commented.
Dragan chuckled, "What a stupid name-- who thought of that?"
"I did," Tycon glared.
"Ahaha HAHAHA!!" The crimson-haired Titanblood guffawed,

holding his sides, "Y'can't dock my pay if I'm not REAL, BOSS!!!"
"Actually..." Tycon smirked, "Yes, yes I can."
"W-wait!" Dragan held his hands out, "That's not fair!! The other-
me is a righteous guy that's always on his best behavior!!"
The members of Sol Invictus stared at the half-giant with doubt in

their eyes.
"Aha... alright," Dragan chuckled. "Maybe he doesn't. But come

on-- it was funny? Guys?"
Tycon walked over to the wounded man's side and lifted his visor,
to inspect the man's wounds... they were recent, but the cuts were
deep. He would not survive without supernatural assistance.
⟬ Raphael, Bronze-Rank Human Bravo. Guild Letalis. ⟭
It seemed he had been transported to the Shadow Realm along

with the rest of the Brazen Guard. That he was alive was a boon.
Bravo Raphael looked to Tycon with shaky, unfocused eyes, "M-
monsieur le Baron... is... izzat you?"
"Mister Raphael..." Tycon started... he had a few questions for the

young man... but what to start with first? Ah.
"Do you still have the potion bottle I gave you?"
"S-sir Baron... I... I don't have much time... I..."
"The bottle," Tycon insisted.
"The Stormbrands... they..."
Raphael hesitated... lifting a weak hand to fumble at one of his

side pouches, "It's... it is here... But ze contents are..."
"That's fine," Tycon nodded. "I was just checking. Refined glass is
very expensive."
"The Stormbrands... they... hrrk..." Raphael winced in pain. He

was applying pressure to his bleeding side, "Zhey... released
something... that... arghh..."
"Oh, come on..." Tycon rolled his eyes, "Just that injury? Is this the
best you have to offer Guild Letalis?"
« Go ahead. »
⟬ Activating. ⟭
Slowly, Raphael's eyes regained their focus... "Oh."
"Mister Raphael, report," Tycon ordered.
Raphael placed his hands about his body, feeling the magic take
hold. The bleeding had stopped and his wounds were knitting
closed... "Ah... haha... The... the Stormbrands, Monsieur le Baron,
they have--"
Tycon rolled his eyes, standing up and crossing his arms.
Dragan sniggered right behind him, "Is this how soldiers of the
Magic Kingdom report to their superiors? Sitting on their snail-
sucking arses?"
The Bravo acrobatically leapt to his feet, "Sir, non! No, Sir! ...M-
monsieur Dragan?"
"Sup?" The Titanblood grinned.
Tycon raised his voice, "Raphael of Cannes!"
"Ah, my apologies, messieurs," The man inclined his head politely

and saluted with his fist to his chest. "Tancred and his goons have
recovered a snake artifact that they call the Spinal Reaper... With
it, they have released the soul of a Snake Cult champion known
as Orcus... the Oathbreaker."
Tycon returned the salute and took a deep breath. This was
known to him...
However... that Tancred had recovered what they'd sought from

the Halls of the Dead Serpent implicated yet another faction.
"So this entire mission was a front for Guild Stormbrand

recovering a heretical artifact."
"You said you're on this quest because of those Brazen Guard

chumps?" Zuko mused. "Looks like they didn't check their sources
for credibility."
Tycon clenched his fists, trembling in mounting fury... "The quest

was issued by the city of Caeruleum... and they've played me for a
gods... damned... fool."
"OhohooOoOo..." Dragan chuckled, "Boss is pissed... Only

interestin' things happen when Boss is pissed."
Quay nodded, placing a bandaged hand of reassurance on
Tycon's shoulder, "We're with you, Tycon. Wherever you need us,
just give us the word."
"Right, we got your back, Boss! AhHahHA!" Dragan laughed

heartily.
"...It won't be boring, that's for sure," Zuko turned away.
"As long as I get paid and my very mundane wives are doing well,
I have no complaints," Gobsuke nodded.
Tycon shut his eyes, letting his anger seep away.
In the real... he didn't have any of them.
"Also, can I get that heal you promised me?" Quay smiled
sheepishly. "Wh-what if it gets infected?"
He promised no such thing.
...
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, jammed the barrel of his pistol
down the throat of a half-naked muscular man.
...Not that the guy was anything special. Lone was far more toned!
...The other guy did have bigger thighs than he did, though. But
leg day was stupid! The cultist was not just wrong-- he was stupid,
too!
Lone pulled the trigger, hearing the satisfying... click?
He had forgotten to reload his pistol.
"Seven hells," Lone smashed his forehead into the cultist's nose.
Thankfully, his wolf, Tres Leches bit and tore into the man's belly,
growling and pulling out some of his entrails.
"Good boy," Lone grinned, holstering his weapon. "Or girl? I

haven't decided yet."
Did his summoned wolf have a gender? If he couldn't tell, was it
politically correct to decide it on his own? He didn't want to offend
anyone and get into a stupid argument.
"Hey, Karodin," Lone turned to the Legionnaire fighting beside

him. "Ever seen a wolf weiner?"
"I haven't," Karodin slammed his shield into a dual-axe wielding

cultist, leaping forward and stabbing down into their chest to finish
them off. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason," Lone lied.
"FELLAS!!" Priestess Ariadne scolded, "Could y'all quit your

piddlin' and focus, please? Bannok's fightin' tooth 'an nail up in the
front, while y'all are discussin' doggy dick."
Lone grimaced, feeling a bit guilty about it.
The Brazen Guard collective was fighting their way through a city.
Every street they walked on had enemies swarming at them. At
first, it was just crazy screaming cultists wearing warpaint and
wielding weapons covered in rust or made from bone... Then it
was armored adventurers and... and 'normal' people with butcher
knives and clubs and... just whatever.
They all had the same weird, glazed-over look in their eyes. But
no matter who they were, they were definitely enemies. It felt like
they'd killed over a hundred heretics in less than a bell.
...but there were always more.

Chapter 473 Towards The Fire
he Brazen Guard collective had started with over a hundred

T
adventurers... but after the Stormbrands defected and so many
casualties later, they were left with less than half of that. Guild
Letalis and those too injured or too exhausted to fight remained in
the back of the formation.
...as they headed deeper into the town.
Lone thought it made *no* sense.
The city was FULL of crazies. Wouldn't it be better to head

towards one of the outer walls? Away from the enemies instead of
towards them?
Lone took it upon himself to fight alongside Karodin, keeping

Priestess Ariadne and the ranged line safe.
That left Bannok leading two tent-groups in the front line...

supported by maybe a tent-group-and-a-half of ranged support
classes.
Bannok fought with the same screaming rage and fervor the
enemy had... and he was a Gold-Rank... but it was like he was
fighting with one arm tied behind his back.
--because he only had one arm.
It was especially weird that the Elven Priestess was having a lot of
trouble and hadn't sounded a retreat or anything. Boss Tycon was
always asking Zenon and Athena about their mana reserves,
but... he wasn't in command here.
Ariadne seemed really tired-- and none of the spells she was
using were really flashy. It would be a nightmare if she ran out of
mana... all the other healers were barely running on empty.
Maybe he was imagining it... all of it. Maybe Bannok and Ariadne
were actually fine?
...They didn't look fine, though.
"Korr!!" Ariadne yelled, "Can I have you head to the front? They
could maybe use a li'l help?"
Korr crossed her arms, addressing the Eleven Priestess, "[MY

PRIORITY IS GUILD LETALIS.]"
"Seven hells, come onnnn!!" Ariadne shouted, "How about you,

Decanus Salt? C'n we get some of your gunners ta help out?"
The green-helmed Sergeant shook his head, "I'm sorry, Lady

Priestess. We don't have the ammunition to spare on anything
lower than Gold-Rank."
"AarrRRRGHHH!!" The Priestess growled, "Y'all are just as bad

as-- ARGH!! Nevermind!!"
Sorina limped forward to Lone's side, "We just need to hold out.
By my calculations, Boss Tycon should be arriving soon to break
us out of the Reality Marble."
Lone nodded in understanding... Sorina had informed everyone

that this wasn't an illusory world. It was an alternate dimension...
(or something like that?) Dying in the burning village would have
the same effect as dying in the real world. Or this was also a real-
world?
The explanations were confusing-- but he gathered that he had to

not-die... which was the same plan he always generally had.
That's what had worked for him so far.
The Priestess cast another healing spell targeting Bannok... then

turned to look at Sorina, her thick Elven eyebrows furrowed in
anger, "Y'all put way too much faith in your Tactician! You have
NO idea who that fella really is."
Lone gulped... "He's... he's a monster."
Sergeant Salt started at the road, "The Baron is... a terrifying

individual."
Sorina looked away, "He... has a good work ethic?"
Lone took in a deep breath of the hot and smoky air... and wished
he hadn't. After coughing a bit, he managed to choke out his
intentions... "I'll... I'll move to the front."
"That's a good idea!" Legionnaire Karodin exclaimed. "Wh-

whoa?!"
Suddenly, Karodin ducked, blocking a randomly thrown hatchet

with his shield... "Whew, that was close. Go ahead, Lone. I'll keep
watch over Priestess Aria."
"YOU?!" The Priestess scoffed, "What can you-- ugh, don't bother.
Ah'm barely keepin' up with tha healin' as it is!"
Ouch. That was kinda rude...
Lone shrugged as he began to walk, drawing his longsword and

summoning his wolf-hammer into his offhand. Tres Leches hurried
to his side, barking playfully, "I won't need heals... I'm immortal."
"Don't piss on mah leg an' tell me it's rainin', Mister," Ariadne
rolled her eyes. "That's a downright lie and you know it."
Lone turned back with a smirk, "Every member of Sol-- err... of

Guild Letalis' forward team gets a healing potion before each
battle. Don't worry about me."
Salt spun his head towards him, reaching his hand out, "Lord
Ranger, wait!!"
The back line was well-protected with Sergeant Salt and the
Letalis forward team guarding them... and it made sense to keep
them there. But if he could help... he wasn't the hero they
deserved, but he was what they had.
"Let's go!" Lone shouted as he began to run, "TRES LECHES!!"
The Dark-Iron wolf howled deep and low before hurrying after him.
"BANNOK!! I'm on my way!!" Lone let mana fill his chest, flowing
hot to his legs as he activated his movement technique,
"⌈Flamewolf RUUSSSHH!!!⌋"
...
Sergeant Cecil Salt put his hand down. He'd been too late to stop
the Lord Ranger.
"...Lady Korr."
The lithe woman in black plate turned to face him wordlessly.
Cecil gulped, scratching the back of his green helmet, "I was
under the impression that Lone had already used his healing
potion."
Korr looked back to the swiftly departing Ranger... then back to

Cecil as she nodded.
The Brazen Guard Legionnaire, Karodin, yelped in surprise, "Oh

NOOOO!!! Should we-- should I go help him??!"
Cecil grimaced underneath his helmet and looked to Korr once

again, "Orders?"
"[IT'S PROBABLY FINE,]" She shrugged.
...
⟬ A period of time prior. ⟭
"Hey, Boss," Dragan dropped to the back of Invictus' small

formation to walk beside Tycon, "Got a sec?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "If you're asking for a moment to speak
in private, you have it."
The crimson-haired Titanblood was wearing his customary grin, "I
was just thinkin..."
"A welcome change, old friend."
"Ahaha! Got me..." The large man's face fell into contemplation...
"You know, Boss... you look at these guys diff'rent than you do
me."
Tycon took a deep breath into his nostrils... He often forgot, but
Berserker class aside, Dragan was always the most astute
member of Sol Invictus, "What of it?"
"My guess is..." Dragan took a deep breath, lowering his voice
and speaking in the Titan language... "(--in the future, I'm still
here... and our friends are not.)"
Chapter 474 Getting Into
Position
ycondrius inhaled through his nostrils, grimacing. Dragan had the

T
mind to keep their conversation private from the others-- two elves
and a sharp-eared goblin. Thankfully, those three paid them no
mind. They were having some sort of asinine conversation with
the pink-haired whelp, Fortuna.
"Always the analyst, Mister Dragan..." Tycon sighed, offering a

polite smile, "Sometimes, I'm uncertain on whether I'm the
Tactician or if you are, instead."
"Pshh!!" Dragan scoffed, waving an open palm, "Thinking about

the big-picture stuff is boring. I'll take my place at the front line,
anysun. (I don't suppose that's changed in the future?)"
"Hah," Tycon shook his head. "It has not... You do grow in size,
though. Future-you can beat current-you by physical strength,
alone."
"Hur hur hurr. I sure hope so..." The Titanblood took a deep
breath, his smile fading slightly... "(Is Dad in good health?)"
"He is, though he has promised he'll step down once you've
decided to settle."
"Kcshhh," Dragan snorted. "He's told me that already on multiple

occasions... (And my mother?)"
Tycon hesitated. It did not look like Dragan would allow him to
dodge that question... "(You killed her with your own hands.)"
"Hm... Yeah... that's fine... Good," Dragan nodded. "Well-- just

know that we're with ya, Prince of Charm. Friends 'till death and
past that, yeah?"
"Hmph, I am aware," Tycon pursed his lips. "Prince of Vralkek."
...
⟬ A short time and 12 dead cultists later. Zuko & Gobsuke: 4 kills.
Tycon: 3 assists. ⟭
Dragan drew his powerful arm back... and tossed Gobsuke up in a

high arc. Sailing through the burning sky, the goblin landed
gracefully onto a sturdy rooftop.
[Ready,] he signaled.
"Wait until I get into position," Tycon warned his other

companions... "Unless you want me to get killed, that is."
"I heard you, Boss," Zuko frowned. "I only need to hear the order
once, unlike a certain red-headed idiot."
"I got bad hearing! You know that," Dragan chuckled, picking a
thick finger into his ear. "Tinnitus. It's pretty common bein' around-
- oh, you know... FIERY EXPLOSIONS all the time!!"
"Excuses, excuses..." Zuko shook his head, clicking his tongue.

"You'd be dead a hundred times over if it weren't for my spells
covering your fat arse. And your skinny arse too, Quay."
"What was that?" The elf looked over in surprise. He was picking
his nose and accidentally jabbed too far, causing it to bleed. "I
didn't hear you? Was it important?"
"Don't worry about it," Zuko sighed.
"Um, I'm not so sure about this..." Fortuna clutched her red
greatsword to her chest.
It looked ironic, such a large weapon in the hands of the miniature

half-elf. Some mad wizard developed the magic the oversized
sword was enchanted with, to be wielded as if it were lighter than
an arming sword.
Wizards.
"Ahaha!" Dragan laughed, "Don't worry, we won't throw you if you

don't--"
Tycon gave the Titanblood a barely perceptible nod.
Dragan grabbed hold of the child and chucked her skyward. The
pink-haired whelp didn't even have the time to scream until mid-
flight. Tycon didn't mind it, as the blood-curdling shrieks of children
were... unfortunately common in the current setting.
The Titanblood's throw was uncannily accurate, with Gobsuke

catching the whelp upon her descent. While generally, it was bad
form to use untrained child-soldiers... if she were to thrash about
with Zuko's magical greatsword at any attackers, Gobsuke would
be afforded the opportunity to defend them both.
"Alright!" Dragan grinned at Zuko, "You're next, bud! I can show

you the world! Shining, shimmering, splendid!"
"I'll pass," Zuko groaned as blazing phoenix wings magically

sprouted from his back. "I'll get there on my own."
"QuAaaAAaay!!" Dragan leered over the other, shorter elf, "That

means it's YoOoOur turnnnnn!!"
"Dragan, no," Quay crossed his arms... pouting like a petulant

child... "You know I'm afraid of heights."
Dragan tried to grab onto the Ranger... who dodged and danced
away.
"Help! Boss!" The elf shrieked, "HeeEeelp!! Dragan's trying to

touch me inappropriately!"
Ignoring them, Tycon put his helmet on, "Zuko."
"Yeah, yeah." Zuko performed a few magical gestures, tapping

Tycon's armor... "This shite Reality Marble's limited my mana, so
that's all you get."
"I just needed the glamour spell," Tycon nodded. "The lesser
haste is a bonus. Thank you, friend-cultivator."
"You can thank me by not dying," Zuko glared. "You and the goblin
are the only people I can stand."
"Wh-what about me?!" Quay turned with a pitiful face.
"I GOT'CHA!!" Dragan cheered, securing the Elven Ranger firmly

in his grasp.
"I'll see you all shortly," Tycon turned and started towards the
battlefield. "I'll be the first of Sol Invictus to say hello."
...
Megaira smashed her heavy waraxe into a Tyrion shield,

splintering it into pieces. Without a metal shell to hide behind, she
landed her heavy boot onto the weakling's chest.
The defeat of the nonbelievers was inevitable. They were fools, to

dare stand against the might of the Snake Cult!
With a horizontal swing of her axe, she knocked back two more of
the town's defenders... With the shield wall broken, dozens of her
faithful surged forward, reaping human lives like cutting stalks of
wheat.
Walking forward, she placed her foot on the first man's neck,
"Give praise to the snake god and you might yet live."
If he did, she'd grant him a few moments longer, anyroad.
There were few who could resist the effect of Orcus' curse, their
minds twisted to the snake god's will. With overwhelming numbers
on their side, Megaira's forces swept through the town of San
Ignatio in the span of a few bells, slaughtering all who did not flee
and some who had.
"You... you have no place here," The man spat, struggling to keep
her foot from crushing his fragile windpipe, "These-- these are
TYRION LANDS!!"
Megaira grinned, "Only if you can defend it."
She plunged her axe down into the man's groin, splattering blood
everywhere. She stomped down, crushing the man's throat... and
left him to die.
Blood had splashed onto her face... sweet, delicious red, which
she lapped up with glee. It distracted her from the fact that she
had not seen Pyraxis in over half-a-bell.
"Where the hells is that elf-killing pervert..." She muttered to

herself, "If the town isn't taken by the time Orcus gets here, he'll
have my gods-damned hide..."
"Scarmother!!"
Megaira breathed a sigh of relief, hearing one of her scouts fast

approaching.
Chapter 475 As Requested
Scarmother Megaira took the moment to gaze into the eyes of the
faithful scout... and at his more interesting parts.
He looked... delicious, wearing nothing but warpaint and the blood

of the Flame-worshippers... his excitement from the battle clear for
her to see. It lit a fire within her that she could barely stifle--
something that worshipping the Eternal Flame never could for her.
It was a gods-damned shame, though... She wasn't afforded the

time to partake in him.
If Megaira wanted Orcus to reward her properly, she had to keep

her focus on the mission.
She grabbed the young man's chin... and gently stroked his
rough-shaven chin, "Spit it out, boy. Or I'll cut the answers from
your flesh."
The man grinned for a moment... but his face quickly twisted into
concern, "We've encountered some resistance on the southern
streets-- a Tyrion mercenary guild with a Kasydonian banner."
A tinge of fear gripped Megaira's heart... soon replaced by a

burning curiosity. She and her forces had moved quickly and
stealthily with the help of the Oathbreaker's magical stone.
Yet... a military force had responded within mere bells? How did
they know?
Could she have been betrayed by her faithful? No... After being
indoctrinated, their minds were no longer entirely their own...
Was this Orcus' doing? Was this a test of faith? It was the only
logical answer.
If it was... then the Oathbreaker was supremely confident of their

victory. The Kasydonians were simply higher-quality sacrifices for
the snake god.
Scarmother Megaira had nothing to fear.
"Tell me of our enemies, Scout."
"There's about thirty of them active... with another twenty or so in

reserve-- injured, with a few long-range casters."
"Thirty?" Megaira seethed, "THIRTY?! How DARE THEY!! We

have literally HUNDREDS of faithful! We number in the
THOUSANDS, with so many under the thrall of the Oathbreaker's
domination curse!"
She grabbed onto the man's throat and slammed him to the
ground... She could take him... right here. And he wouldn't be able
to do a thing about it.
But no... it wasn't the time.
She mounted the scout right above his groin, licking the blood off
of his naked chest as he shivered in anticipation. She was
wearing armor, but wore nothing underneath her fur breechcloth...
She'd only need a few minutes...
"Tell me more."
"Y-yes Scarmother," The Scout moaned as Megaira gyrated her

hips. "There is... ahh... a Legionnaire with one arm... a Ranger
with a metal wolf... and.... hrrgh.... and a powerful Cleric amongst
their number."
"A cripple, a dancer, and a witch? Mmm... very well." Megaira bit
into the man's shoulder, drawing both blood and a yelp of ecstasy.
She felt a wetness on her rear... and a limp bit of flesh...
Pathetic.
She stood up, her frustrations fast-approaching a murderous

rage... "Fetch the Warlock and that so-called Champion."
The Scout sat up, shame and disappointment evident... "Y-yes,

Scarmother."
"NOW!!" Megaira sharply kicked the man on the side of his thigh.
"YES, SCARMOTHER!!" The man stood, hurrying off with a limp.
"Someone else!!" She shouted, "Give me someone else! A male!!

No... Anyone will do!"
Megaira turned, hearing the heavy-footed clomps of one of her

armored faithful... "Ah, yes. You're just who I needed.."
It was Champion Narkissa, wearing her unique set of dark green,

heavy-plated armor. Her visor was lifted, revealing her youthful,
scarred face-- not as scarred as her own. Her horse-cleaving
blade rested on her shoulder, though not as heavy or as
impressive as her own greataxe.
Narkissa was easily the most mushroom-brained fool she knew--

but she was useful for two things... breeding and battle.
She could solve Megaira's problems... both of them.
"I have need of you, Champion..." Megaira licked her lips,

"Specifically... I need your sword... inside me."
She approached Narkissa and kissed her deeply, sucking on her

sumptuous tongue. The other woman barely reacted-- braindead
and confused, as always.
No matter. The fool would always do as Megaira commanded.

She had participated more than once in Orcus' brainwashing
rituals. She had even ravaged Narkissa herself, whenever she
was granted the privilege.
Megaira laid herself on the dirt and spread her legs, "And be quick
about it, will you? We have some Kasydonians to fight, afterward."
Narkissa held her sword forward, staring down with hesitation.
Megaira chuckled to herself, closing her eyes and rubbing herself

furiously... "Hurry up... I need it... I need it so very badly..."
She waited... so very patiently... and she felt--
ARGH!
Megaira's eyes shot open, shocked by the pain. Narkissa's sword

had penetrated deep into her abdomen, "AUGHHH! YOU
IDIOT!!!"
She grabbed onto the blade, cutting the flesh of her hand in the
process, "Wrong end!! WRONG GODS-DAMNED END!!"
"No, I'd much rather the sharp end than otherwise."
That was wrong. The voice did not belong to her fool Champion. It
belonged to a man.
"Y-you're not Narkissa!"
...
"Astute observation," Tycondrius mused. Applying a moderate

amount of force, he twisted his lengthy blade, eviscerating the
scarred woman's insides.
He didn't think it would be so easy. He had infiltrated his way into

the heart of the enemy forces and assassinated what appeared to
be their leader.
He had chosen his glamour well.
Assuming that the green-armored individual in the tower had

some influence, Zuko had volunteered to cast an illusion spell to
transform into the woman's likeness.
It allowed him to walk confidently amongst the cultists,
uncontested.
What poor security they had.
Then again... the cultists were too busy butchering and ravaging
townsfolk to notice him.
'Break the strong, scatter the weak!' They'd shout.
'Pillage and burn! Death to the nonbelievers!' ...That sort of thing.

It was just as annoying as the battlecries of the Flame-obsessed
Tyrions.
At times, Tycon wondered if Zuko had cast an invisibility spell on

him, instead of the illusory glamour he'd requested.
Grabbing the dead Warlord's axe, he decapitated her with minimal

effort.
After tying the severed head to his waist by the woman's filthy,
unwashed hair, he turned to see a score of cultists surrounding
him. They wielded shoddy weapons in hand and their eyes burned
with a desire for vengeance.
Briefly glancing down at his armor... it seemed that Zuko's illusion

spell had expired.
Chapter 476 Angelic Arrival
ycondrius glanced over at the long curved blade that once

T
belonged to Champion Narkissa. It was lodged firmly in the lower
abdomen of the Snake Cult's recently deceased Warlord--
whatever her name was.
Tossing the waraxe aside, he grabbed the sword's hilt and

wrenched it out of the body, casually splashing a bit of blood and
viscera onto his sandals. The long weapon would probably be
better at cutting down swaths of cultists, Unranked and Bronze as
they were.
"Good afternoon," He waved. "You must all be very curious as to

why I've gathered you all here."
"YOU!! YOU!!!!! You'll PAY for this, NONBELIEVER!!" One of the

cultists shouted. He was frothing at the mouth, pointing
threateningly with a hatchet, slick with blood...
"Ah, about that..." Tycon nodded in thought, "Might I interest you

all in a civilized discussion about tolerance and acceptance of
other peoples' beliefs?"
The accusatory cultist's hatchet was made of bone-- most of their

weapons were. Those would do nothing but shatter against his
Arcanite armor.
The armor they wore was... also woefully lacking. Some wore
piecemeal, looted metal plates. Some wore leathers... but those
that did left their necks and arms exposed.
Most were nude. And unwashed.
The Snake Cult's forces had the advantage of superior numbers...

which was meaningless in the current circumstances.
Considering his opponents' shoddy defenses, Tycon could forego
some lethal accuracy in exchange for speed. With their brittle
weaponry and their relatively low levels of strength, he could
forego some defensive considerations for... even more speed.
To him, the cultists were clearly and utterly outmatched.
It was a shame that they did not appear willing to negotiate...
"No?" He tightly gripped his weapon, one hand on the handle, the
other halfway up the blade... He should have known his
suggestion of intellectual discourse would not be entertained.
"Very well... By the will of Eternal Flame, I shall purge the heretics
from this land-- or something like that."
...
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark swung his Dark Iron wolf-
hammer, crushing in another cultist's skull.
"Bannok! There's no end to them!" He shouted.
The one-armed Weaponmaster grunted, nodding in response as

he turned his back, "I didn't ask for your help, guy! This is my
mission."
"How about a tactical withdrawal?" Lone urged politely... as he

plunged the Shatterspike through a one-eyed cultist's... remaining
eye.
That was unintentionally cruel of him.
As the dying cultist screamed and thrashed his arms, some blood
got into Lone's mouth-- probably one of the worst things that could
happen. He paused, spitting on the floor, "Ptoo! Beh! Bleghhh!!"
"You mean retreat?" Bannok scoffed, "Tch. Go ahead. Nothin's

stopping you, guy. As far as I��m concerned, I already died
back there in those halls."
"For a dead guy, you sure do TALK A LOT!!" Lone shouted, wiping
the corner of his mouth.
"Why I oughta..." Bannok turned, not with anger, but with wide
panicked eyes, "GET DOWN!!"
It was a very commanding, very convincing yell. It was how Boss

Tycon yelled.
Thankfully, his body reacted faster than his brain did, and he
dropped to the ground... Even though it was more than -a little
dangerous, he took his chances, looking up.
Something was flying on wings of... fire. It was a little like

Tanamar's wings... except more... big. Bigger. Embiggened
wings... from a fiery bird.
Or a fire angel. Were fire angels a thing?
And the beautiful angel that those wings carried was...
...Mister Dragan?
It was a red-headed half-giant, carrying a huge, black... sword? It

was definitely Dragan!
There was a blindingly bright flash of light... and then a loud,

deafening crash. The ground rumbled and shook from Dragan's
distant impact, powerful enough to take all the surrounding
cultist's off their feet.
That was his chance!
Lone quickly got up, smashing and stabbing as fast as he could.
"Ahahaha!!" He laughed as he murdered a dozen cultists in the

span of a few seconds, "I'm IMMORTAL!!"
His own voice sounded a bit muffled... and there was a weird,
high-pitched noise in his ears.
...That would go away, eventually.

Hopefully.
Every swing of his sword and wolf-hammer, someone died. He

was trying very hard, only attacking their exposed points and
going for killing blows.... but still.
When had it become so easy to kill people?
He was cutting down cultists so much, he felt like a god of death...

It was becoming... almost more like a chore than a battle. These
were real people... with real lives and... hopes and dreams.
"D-die!! Nonbeliever!!" A cultist shouted, "Snake god PROTECT

MEEEE!!!!"
Lone drove his sword into the man's screaming mouth, lifted him
over his shoulders, and tossed him into a group of three others.
No, nevermind. These were brainwashed cultists that kept running

at him, too stupid to do anything else.
Naturally, he and Bannok fought their way towards Dragan's

crater.
"DRAGAN!!!" Lone shouted, "HEYYYY!!!"
The red-headed giant swiped his huge black sword through a

group of five cultists, cutting through four of their torsos and
putting a deep gash in the chest of the fifth. Lone took the
opportunity to leap towards that one, breaking the guy's face with
his wolf-hammer.
Dragan turned and pointed to Lone with his off-hand,,

"EYYYYYY!!!"
There he was... the big-boned brute, smiling, laughing, and

covered in blood. It was just like old times. It made Lone realize
just how much he missed the guy.
Lone mirrored Dragan's pointing, "EYYYYY!! Have you lost

WEIGHT?! You look really good!!"
"EYYYY!!! Have I?! Thanks a lot, BUD!"
"Uh huh!! EYYYYYYYYYY!!!!"
"You gotta be sh*ttin' me..." Bannok's jaw had dropped, "That's...

you're... Dragan... of Guild Sol Invictus!"
"EYYYY!" Dragan pointed, "That's us! We're here to help!!"
"Sounds good!!" Lone shouted, "We could use it!!"
"NAH!! You guys TOTALLY HAD IT!"
"NAH!! We TOTALLY DIDN'T!!" Lone was grinning like a fool. Now

that Dragan was here, everything was going to be okay.
Muted gunshots rang out... He could barely hear them, but he

couldn't mistake the sound as anything else. Seconds later, half-a-
dozen cultists that were approaching on Bannok's side fell down in
the middle of a bloody pink mist.
"What the HELLS was that?!" Bannok shouted, "I thought Letalis
was out of ammo?!"
"NAH!!" Dragan shouted back, "--Oh, wait, MAYBE!! That was

from one of OUR guys!!"
Lone raised his eyebrows, "W-we have another gunner?"
He thought he was the only one in Sol Invictus who used a gun...
"Huh?" Dragan placed a bloody hand on his chin in thought, "Oh,

yeah! We got lots of guys. We got Boss, we got a Sharpshooter,
there's a Flaming Homo-Sorcerer, and we got--"
"DEATH TO THE ENEMIES..."
Lone turned around completely... spotting... an elf... with sandy

blonde hair.
P... pale?
Chapter 477 Don’t Care
he elf in the distance had two long, straight-blades and... he

T
moved around the battlefield like he was dancing. He swayed
back and forth like waves in water. He leapt into the air, spinning
in the wind. He even did a flip. And then he did ANOTHER flip! He
was like a flipping GOD!!
Every motion... Lone desperately tried to burn into his memory. He

couldn't see exactly what the elf was doing... how he was moving
his sword... how he moved his body like it was to the tune of
primal, yet graceful violence.
But everything he did-- ever tiny movement he made... cultists fell.

It was like... they suddenly got tired of living. And when they were
stopped moving, red lines would appear on their bodies and their
limbs or heads would just... split off. Blood shot out of their bodies
like... they had waterspouts that shot blood instead of water.
Bloodspouts.
No... It wasn't Pale... it was...
Who in the seven hells was that guy?
"Flame take me," Bannok cursed... "That's... the Elven Blade

Dance... That's Quies... the Ranger of Sol Invictus."
WWWWWHHHHAAAATT?
LONE WAS THE ONLY RANGER IN SOL INVICTUS!!
Wasn't he?
"Oh, yeah! HahaHA HAHAHA! HAAA HAA... hahh" Dragan

laughed so hard he had to pause after to catch his breath... "We
just call him Quay."
WAIT!
WWWAAAAAIT!!!
Lone knew that name! Quay was the name of Pale's... PALE'S
DAD!!!
Boss Tycon said he was dead!!
...So it turned out that Boss is a liar. What else was he lying
about?
He said that eating too much sugary bread would make his teeth
turn black and rot away! Was that a lie, too?! Was his WHOLE
LIFE A LIE?!
Lone swore in his heart that he'd stop brushing his teeth. If he
couldn't trust the establishment, he wouldn't confine himself to
their laws...
Another flash of light forced Lone to shield his eyes... and when
he put his hand down... there was a pale elf with dark hair...
hovering above them on wings of fire.
This one actually looked like an angel... and his robes... also had
the mark of Sol Invictus??
"Well, well, well... What do I see here, but a trash Titanblood

lazing around on his arse..."
"Is that a bad guy?" Lone whispered to Dragan. "He talks like a
bad guy."
Dragan turned his back to the angel, covering his mouth to

whisper back to Lone, "That's Zuko. He's Sol Invictus' Flaming
Homo-Sorcerer."
"I can still hear you, idiot," Zuko glared from up high. "And it
sounds like you want a ⌈Sudden Maximized Fireball⌋ jammed up
your arse."
"See what I mean?" Dragan grinned, "He's into the butt stuff."
"We're gonna lose the bet because of you!" Zuko roared.
"Wh-what bet are you guys talking about?" Lone asked.
The elf's wings dissipated and he glided to the ground, walking

gracefully towards the two of them, "We were trying to clear the
humans out before Tycon showed up-- the *enemy* humans,
anyroad."
Dragan placed a thick hand behind his head and grinned,

"Ahaha... yeah... about that."
Lone followed the big man's gaze... to see... a Tyrion gladiator.
He was holding a ridiculously long sword and wore... a really

flashy and revealing set of armor that didn't cover everything? But
it kinda did? And he wore a helmet that covered his eyes.
The gladiator was being surrounded by over half-a-dozen

cultists... With a single swipe, one naked cultist had his chest cut
over halfway through. Then the gladiator put his hand on the
middle of his sword, like it was a staff, and jammed the blade
forward into a cultist's neck.
He proceeded to stab the others to death or hit them in the head

with his sword's cross-hilt. It took him seconds to kill them all.
Lone wasn't even that fast-- and he was a man and a wolf! And
the man had two weapons! No... the man was also a weapon. And
the wolf. Literally, the wolf.
Seven hells, how many weapons was that?
"Unfortunate," The gladiator said as he approached.
Upon closer inspection, it was definitely Tycon... though if Lone

hadn't heard his voice, he still wouldn't have been sure.
"B-boss?" Lone pursed his lips, "What are you wearing?"
Tycon crossed his arms, the un-helmeted bottom part of his face
showing his annoyance, "Which one of you f... fine gentlemen
conceived such an asinine wager?"
Boss was ignoring him... It was actually pretty common when he

heard a question he didn't want to answer. Lone would ask
Dragan about it later.
"Ehehe..." Dragan chuckled, "You were about to call us fools,

weren'tcha, Boss? And it was probably Quay."
"Probably Quay," Zuko nodded.
"ARE YOU GUYS TALKIN' ABOUT ME?!" The Elven Ranger

shouted in the distance-- "THE ANSWER IS YEAH! 'COS I'M
AWESOME!!"
Bannok walked up... and he didn't look happy... which was weird,
considering that Boss Tycon and the members of Sol Invictus just
saved him from dying a hundred times over... "Tactician... I got a
bone to pick with you."
"It can wait," Tycon shook his head. "We're leaving this place."
"NOT A CHANCE!!" Bannok shouted, "This is... this... place..."
The one-armed Weaponmaster's voice shook... "This is my

home... San Ignatio di Luca... Burnt to the ground while I was in
the service..."
"Your point, Brother-Bannok?"
"Don't call me that!!" The man roared, "Don't you EVER...

f*cking... call me that, again... This is a chance... a chance to
defend my home from these cultist bastards... a chance I never
got."
"You're delirious..." Tycon flipped up his visor and narrowed his

weird yellow eyes... it was his usual look, "Has no one told you
that this is a Reality Marble? A painstakingly faithful recreation of
the battle, yes, but ultimately worthless."
Lone raised his hand, "I told him."

"Open your eyes, Bannok!" Tycon swung his arm out, pointing a
palm at the burning town.
Cultists still fought in the distance against the Tyrion men and
women that refused to give up, even against the overwhelming
amount of enemies they faced... "This is the past! The only men
and women you can save here are yourselves."
"I'm. painfully. f*cking aware," Bannok growled. "But I--"
"--Don't care," Tycon reached out his hand-- glowing an ominous

blue, and wrapped it around the Weaponmaster's face.
Bannok disappeared... the place where he stood, completely

empty-- as if he'd never existed.
Chapter 478 We Killed Your
Boss
" Boss??" Lone rubbed his eyes with the back of his wrists, "What
just happened?"
"Ah, Mister Lone..." Tycon looked over as if he hadn't noticed him.
"So you're Lone!" Dragan exclaimed, "EYYYYY!!"
Lone returned Dragan's pointing, "That's me! EYYYY!"
Tycon furrowed his brows, "Mister Dragan, do you even know who
this man is?"
"NOT A CLUE!!"
Wait. That didn't make sense? Dragan definitely knew who he

was?
"Right..." Tycon turned back to him. "Mister Lone, start making

your way through the catacombs with Mister Raphael... and take
Bannok with you, if he's willing.
"Find the underground river. Defend it until the rest of the Brazen
Guard arrive. Escape."
"Alright... Got it, Boss..." He nodded, clenching his fist in

confidence, "But how will I get there from here?"
Lone saw it in slow motion-- Tycon's hand reaching out to grab his
forehead. But instead of a face-crushing grip, he felt... nothing.
He was back in that dull, green cave... standing next to Raphael.

He was a bit roughed up, but alive. Sweet.
It looked like the one-armed Bannok had collapsed on the ground
beside them-- still breathing, at least. Lone guessed he wouldn't
have to worry about whether or not he was willing.
"Lord Ranger..." Raphael grinned sheepishly, "Shall we get to...

the Baron's task?"
"Um... Yeah," Lone scratched his head, "Let's go, I guess."
...
Karodin of Emberhold breathed a sigh of relief.
Tactician Tycon had arrived to save the Brazen Guard once again,
with what appeared to be Gold-Rank reinforcements... and in a
flashy, new set of armor, too!
The symbol they wore on their armor looked familiar... Karodin

couldn't place where he'd seen it before, but it was definitely
Tyrion in nature.
With each wave of his hand, the Tactician was making members
of the Brazen Guard blink out of the fiery battlefield-- assumedly
returning them to the Halls of the Dead Serpent.
Karodin trusted the guy... It did look really suspicious, though, how
much enjoyment he was getting out of smacking their allies atop
the head.
"Master Tactician," Ptolema nodded. "You couldn't have come at a

better time."
"I'm going to assume the intention behind your words is politeness

rather than accuracy, Miss Ptolema," The helmeted Tycon
responded... "How is... your body?"
Ptolema rolled her eyes, "Just take me back, Tactician. I'm tired of
this place."
Tycon currently wore only a half-helmet, so Karodin could see the

man purse his lips.
"...Very well," He pressed two gloved fingers against Ptolema's
forehead and she... just disappeared.
It was really strange that there wasn't a magical flash of some

sort. Karodin scratched the back of his helmet. That's what he was
used to.
ALSO!! Why didn't the Tactician hit Ptolema like he was smacking
everyone else?!
"Mister Karodin," Tycon reared his hand back for a slap--
Karodin winced, holding his shield up, reflexively, "Wait! Wait! I'll
go last!"
"Hmm." The Tactician tilted his head, "Sensible. With Duelist

Ptolema ahead, you can cover me as I send off the rest of our
allies. Thank you, Mister Karodin."
"N-no problem, Sir Tycon," Karodin laughed uneasily.
When the Tactician had thrown his sword scabbard at him,

earlier... it felt like he got hit by a speeding carriage. He was fine
taking hits from the heretics... but he didn't want to take another
blow from Tycon if he could help it.
...
⟬ Invictus score: 222 kills. Zuko: 92 kills. Quay: 41 assists. ⟭
« System, change setting: Add the category for highest number of

solo kills to the score. »
⟬ Setting change complete. Tycon: 38 solo kills. ⟭
It took less than twenty minutes for Tycondrius to forcibly eject the
various members of the Brazen Guard collective from the Shadow
Realm.
With the members of Sol Invictus keeping the Snake Cultists at

bay and Karodin of Emberhold defending him from ranged fire, he
worked in relative safety.
Priestess Ariadne seemed disinterested in speaking with him. He
drew an inordinate amount of satisfaction from stealthily
approaching her from behind and Shadowfang Slapping the
woman in the side of the head.
As soon as his enchanted hand achieved person-to-person

contact, they would return to the Halls of the Dead Serpent
instantaneously. However, the mere action of winding-up his arm
and swinging at his foolish coworkers relieved his general
frustration.
For whatever reason, when it came Karodin's turn, the

Legionnaire actively resisted. Tycon strung together a low kick to
a collar-grab, then had to open the young man's guard with a
helm-to-helm bash before he was able to send him back.
"There��s no end to themmmm!!!" Quay yelled from nearby.
"Why you complaining, bud? AhahHAHA!" Dragan cackled as he

grabbed two cultists.
The Titanblood smashed their faces together so hard, one of their

eyes popped out of its socket.
Tycon winced in disgust.
"It's a one-sided slaughter!" Dragan grinned, tossing the corpses

at yet another cadre of approaching cultists. "Have some FUN
with it!"
"It just-- it just doesn't make any sense!" Quay whined.
"Have you tried to reason with these ladies and gentlemen?"

Tycon offered.
Quay rushed forward, facing off against a tall, green-painted

cultist wielding two axes, "Hey! HEY YOU!! Why are you still
fighting?! We already KILLED YOUR BOSS!! There's no reason to
fight, any longer!!"
The Cultist reared his head back, stunned in surprise, "You... you
did?"
"YEAH, WE DID!!" Quay grinned. He looked back to Tycon and

Dragan with an arrogant, 'I have convincingly proved you wrong'
look.
The Cultist scratched the back of his head with his handaxe,
"Oh... oh, wow... I'm really sorry..."
Quay's smile fell, "Oh-- oh, no. It's fine. It's just--"
"--that you think I GIVE A SHITE!!" The cultist roared, hacking

towards the elf with his weapons.
Quay ducked and dodged the attacks, "Wait! Hold on! Let's talk
about this!"
"You might've killed my leader, but SHE AIN'T ME!!! I'll kill YOU
ALL, MYSELF!!!"
A gunshot resounded in the distance from Gobsuke's position.

The axe-cultist fell onto his knees, leaving behind a misty spray of
blood.
He was an Unranked Warrior-- a shot from the goblin's Turathi rifle

through the skull was... excessive.
"I-- I had it," Quay pouted, gazing melancholically in Gobsuke's

direction...
[Pay attention,] the goblin signaled back.

Chapter 479 Snake-Blooded
Prince
ycondrius sensed that something was... off. The air had grown
T
still. The stink of smoke and charred meat had grown stale.
The kneeling man did not fall.
Dragan furrowed his eyebrows, nudging the cultist over with his
great-weapon, Dread.
They slumped to the ground. Though fragments of the human's

skull were missing, and the pink fat underneath was exposed...
only a tiny dribble of blood flowed from the grievous injury.
"Huh. That's weird," The Titanblood turned back to Tycon. "Time

magic? Is there somethin' stronger than Adamantine-Rank hidden
around here?"
Tycon scanned the battlefield... None of the cultists yet moved.

They remained eerily still, religious fervor still frozen on their
faces. Some even levitated in mid-air, caught in the middle of a
run.
"Unlikely, Mister Dragan," He shook his head. "More probable is

that the Reality Marble's overseer has finally had enough of our
antics."
"Hmm... maybe they got bored? I coulda been a bit flashier, I

guess?" Dragan sighed and dropped his weight, pomfing cross-
legged on the ground, "Well, whatever. I had fun while it lasted."
A single man's slow applause echoed throughout the motionless

battlefield...
"You've done... quite... well... IVORY. PRINCCCE."
A sickly green flash of magic heralded the appearance of a certain

emerald-scaled Yuan-Ti.
⟬ Malik, Gold-Rank Yuan-Ti Malison. ⟭
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Malik. I was wondering whether or not

you would deign to show yourself here."
"I see you still live..." The Yuan-Ti flicked his tongue, hissing as if
slaughtering his cultists somehow offended him... "Worry not. I
have prepared an adequate challenge for a snake of your caliber."
Once the extraneous magical smoke began to dissipate, Tycon

was granted a better view of the cobra-headed fellow.
It seemed that Malik had taken his time... dressing up.
The Yuan-Ti had donned a set of ceremonial battle armor...

preposterously thin, garishly gold, and encrusted with colorful
jewelry.
It seemed designed to be worn with a cravat, a thick piece of

fabric tied around the neck to protect from cuts and stabs. Malik
wore no such accessory, leaving the flesh of his collar and long
neck exposed.
His average-sized biceps were also unguarded, though he did

wear a series of golden bracelets on his wrists that... could
possibly be defensible.
Slung on his back was a heavy scimitar. It looked impressive-- but

unless it had a Mage Weapon enchantment, it would be far too
unwieldy for the spellcaster.
Everything considered, Malik was not well-equipped for battle. He

was ready to perform in a coliseum drama.
"WARRIORS!!" The cobra shouted, "Witness my GLORY in

BATTLE!!"
Loud and ostentatious flashes of magic erupted around the ruined
landscape... as dozens more scaled humanoids were summoned.
Each of the newly summoned Yuan-Ti wore gold-trimmed armor...
most of them, metal plates. Their weapons, unlike the cultists,
were made of durable Tyrion steel, not brittle bone.
It seemed that Malik was a proper leader, leveraging his influence

and well-trained troops. Tycon expected as much. The battle
would be difficult, but he was confident in resisting the Malison's
spells while whittling down groups of his soldiers.
Malik bared a fanged grin, "I've been looking forward to this... a

battle between the greatest snake-blooded Prince in the Realm...
and. A. GOD! And in this place, the LAWS are MINE to control as
I see fit!!"
The additional condition was... most troublesome. Tycon gripped

the hilt of his weapon in anticipation... He'd always wanted to kill a
god.
"Look around you!" Malik raised an upward palm, gesturing at

their surroundings, "HERE... non-royal blood cannot act. Your
humans have NO power to help you here."
Tycon frowned, narrowing his eyes. His... humans? The humans

that he'd already sent away?
"That is... Mister Malik, are you aware that you're an idiot?"
Malik returned the glare, "Your taunts have no effect on me, Ivory
Prince."
Judging by the fellow's impatient voice, taunts very likely *did*

work on him.
Tycon glanced to Dragan, "He doesn't know."
"He has no idea," Dragan murmured.
"ON. THIS. SUN!" Malik's magically assisted voice, echoed in the

minds of everyone present, "Royal blood will fight to the death... in
MORTAL COMBAT!!!"
Guilt pricked at Tycon's conscience. He had to tell him...
With an annoyed sigh, he crossed his arms and shifted his weight,
"Besides the fact that you've brought all of your friends to watch
you die, Mister Malik--"
"I am a PRINCE of my kind, and I will be addressed as--"
Tycon shifted the muscles in his eyes, undimming his vision, "I do
not like being interrupted, young man."
⟬ ⌈Vexing Gaze⌋ activating. ⟭
Malik reeled back, suddenly unable to breathe. He dropped down

hard on a knee, upon the cracked human road, his face bulging
and changing color, "Y... y-your... poison... does NOT... WORK...
ON... MEEEE!!!!!"
Judging by the fellow's violent reaction, Tycon's poison worked

just fine.
As Malik was Gold-Rank and was likely highly resistant to physical

poison, Tycon's skill activation would not kill him... and its duration
would be greatly reduced.
However, it seemed that Malik was unused to resisting such

effects.
The man's awkward agony was most amusing.
A different magical voice echoed in Tycon's mind, one pleasant to

hear but marked with mockery... "[I bet you can't do it again,
Boss.]"
It belonged to Zuko.
Dragan chortled from where he was sitting, "I'll take that bet."
Tycon rolled his eyes, speaking aloud... "A second activation of

⌈Vexing Gaze⌋ would have its effects drastically reduced from its
already diminished effect. It would be a *waste* of mana."
"CoMe oNn, BoSss~" Dragan whispered whimsically.
"[Don't be a coward.]"
Sensing movement, Tycon glanced over to the nearest

undamaged rooftop. Gobsuke had relocated.
[Commence fire,] The goblin signaled.
"Fine," Tycon hmphed. "Mister Malik."
"I am to be called, PRIN-- AH-- Hrkk..."
The Yuan-Ti had looked into Tycon's eyes once more... and... for
whatever reason, fell prey to a second activation. Worse, this time,
he collapsed fully, writhing amongst the debris, wracked in pain.
Tycon's mind was quickly awash with Zuko's mental laughter...

and Dragan could barely contain himself, snickering and burying
his face into his hands.
He looked around to see Malik's kin averting their gazes in shame.

It appeared the Malison's words were true. Though they all carried
weapons of war and were originally postured to fight, none had
rushed forward to assist their charge.
It was unnecessarily cruel and unfair of the Yuan-Ti Prince to force

his subjects to watch him fail so miserably.
Malik stood up in a roar, clenched fists raised to the sky. His form
pulsed with an emerald-green ring of energy, such was his rage.
It looked somewhat impressive. Tycon approved.
...But why hadn't he done anything like that earlier?
"ROYAL BLOOD! MORTAL COMBAT! NOWWWWW!!!!" The

Yuan-Ti shouted.
"Welp... Here we go," Dragan stood up from the ground to his
maximum height, a little over nine fulms tall. "How ya doin', Prince
Malik?"
The Yuan-Ti's eyes widened, "P-PRINCE DROGHAN? Wh-what

are YOU doing here?!??"
"Hm?" Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Do you know this man,

Dragan?"
"Nah," He shrugged. "We don't really trade with the far side of the
Eastern States."
Dragan unstuck his heavy weapon out of the fissure in the road
where'd left it, "So you're fightin' my buddy in a battle of Royal
Blood? Count me in!"
"I'm assuming you're on my side, Mister Dragan," Tycon dimmed

his vision to glare nonlethally at the taller man.
"Ahaha! Of... of course," Dragan looked over at a crumbled pile of

building debris. "Let's... let's do it that way."
A quick burst of precisely controlled flames appeared and

disappeared in a flash. The tall elf, Zuko, stood by Tycon's side.
"I don't appreciate you trying to leave me out of this," He sneered.
"Friend-cultivator," Tycon smiled. "It would honor me greatly, if you

were to fight by my side."
"Right," Zuko rolled his eyes. "You there, Prince Malik. I'm joining
this fight... unless you think I'm not qualified?"
"P... prince Zuko..." Malik hung his head in shame, "Of... of

course."
Pathfinder Quay burst from a pile of rubble, "I wanna fight too!!"
How long had he been hiding there?

"...An... another elf? And... he can move, too?" Malik sounded like
he was on the verge of tears.
"MY NAME IS QUAY!!" The dusty elf shouted, "Seven hecks,

Tycon! How come none of your friends know me?"
Dragan, son of Merchant-King Ashlord was a well-known

personality throughout the Realm. Then, Zuko's Hidden Sect was
somewhere in the Eastern States, so it made sense that he was
known to Malik, as well.
"We belong to different social circles, Quies," Tycon shrugged. "It

really shouldn't be so surprising."
Tycon glanced over at the nearby rooftop.
Gobsuke responded with a pair of hand signals: [Four] and

[Commence fire.]
The goblin would not be partaking in the battle. It was fine. It

seemed that Tycon could defeat the Malison on his own, even
without volunteered assistance.
Malik raised his serpentine head to the sky and shouted,

"ANANNNTAAAAA!!!!"
In yet another burst of magic, this one dark and smoky... a

Shadow Snake over twenty fulms in length appeared at Malik's
side.
⟬ Ananta, Gold-Rank Shadow Snake Incanter. ⟭
"Yyyesssss?" She sang.

Chapter 480 Heading Out
alik pointed a shaky hand towards Tycondrius and the members

M
of Sol Invictus, "A-ananta! I COMMAND you to... to DO something
about that!!"
Ananta coiled up her lengthy body and bowed her head

deferentially, "Ivory Prince..."
"Lady Ananta," Tycon nodded in acknowledgment.
"Oh!" Ananta gasped, "And you've found my sssssister's...

toysssss!! ...Is thattttt... PRINCE DROGHAN?! Oh, I LOVVVE
Prince Droghan!"
"Hey there, pretty lady," Dragan waved, flashing a sparkling grin.
Quay was pouting. Was he... jealous?
Concerning recent events, the Ranger had easily gained the

adoration of one of two females encountered. He should have
been content with that.
"ANANTA!!" Malik yelled, "Change the LAWS! IMMEDIATELY!!!"
The Shadow Snake hissed indignantly, "Reversssal of the laws

requires the Sssshadow Realm's full reimagination, Malik! Thissss
one warned you as sssssuch!"
"Oho~?" Tycon grinned. "That's... quite interesting to hear."
He was quite surprised that it could be done so easily. They just

needed to turn it off and back on again. Unfortunately for Malik, it
seemed that such knowledge would not save him from his current
predicament.
Malik turned... gulping... "Oh, empty night."
"Sol Invictus, noble friends and glorious allies!" Tycon raised his
voice. "On my command! GEEK! THE! MAAAAGE!!!"
⟬ ⌈Lamb to the Slaughter⌋ activated. Support ability. Allies within

target. ⟭
"Hur hur hurrrr," Dragan slapped the 'blade' of Dread into his off-
hand, walking forward. "Nice to meet'cha... pRiNcE MaLLLiiiIiIik~!"
"N-no!!" The Yuan-Ti screamed, "S-s-s-stay back!!"
The Titanblood ran ahead. The fastest sprinter in Sol Invictus,

Dragan was just as fast as Tycon remembered... even though the
current-him was much younger and smaller than the one he had
grown accustomed to.
Dragan grabbed the golden Prince, flipping him upside down. With
a majestic leap, he slammed the top of Malik's head into the road
hard enough to shatter the spine of a weaker man.
BANG! A loud and instantaneous burst of flame from beneath

Malik forced the dazed Yuan-Ti to stagger back to his feet.
Zuko appeared at his side in a flash... and struck the side of the
cobra-headed man's ribs with a domineering punch. Grabbing
Malik's wrist, Zuko then kicked the side of the mage's knee. It bent
into an awkward, unnatural angle, with an audible wrenching of
bone and flesh.
Quay arrived... much too late. Still, with Malik being held up by
Zuko, the shorter elf hooked his forearm around the Yuan-Ti's
serpentine neck.
The back of the man's head underneath the elf's armpit, Quay
lifted Malik up, simultaneously falling backward. The mage's back
slammed painfully against the hard ground.
Admittedly, it was the least devastating of the attacks, but Dragan
laughed and cheered and applauded as if it were the greatest.
Even Zuko clapped politely.
"⌈Shadowfang Strike,⌋" Tycon used his movement technique to

cross the distance... and stabbed his short sword into Malik's
chestplate. As expected, it offered little resistance... and the
Malison's heart was pierced through.
...Was a Yuan-Ti's heart in the same place as a human?
Tycon wasn't entirely certain... and it would be a pain to ask his

System about Malik's anatomy.
And so... he just began to kick at and stomp upon the

unconscious mage's skull.
He liked being thorough.
"Uh, want some help, Boss?" Dragan offered.
Tycon hesitated... but only for a moment, "If you're offering, yes."
And so... four members of Sol Invictus trampled Malik to certain

death.
...
"That wassss very excccciting," Ananta wiggled her snake body

happily. "This one knew you would be... victoriousss, Sssssweet
Prince."
Tycon smirked, "I appreciate the assistance, Lady Endless."
"Ohh?" Ananta flicked her tongue in feigned surprise, "This one...

did nothing of praisssse."
"Hmph, You control this place. You watched me take advantage of

your sister and utilize the members of Sol Invictus. And yet... you
did nothing to stop me?" Tycon laughed. "Your purposeful inaction
was of great assistance."
Malik was woefully blind to the going-ons within the Shadow
Realm. Most likely, Ananta had a figurative hand in that, as well.
"Hmmm~ Perhapsss," Ananta slithered her large body around

Tycon's legs and waist.
"(Then might the Ivory Prince grant this humble one... a boon?)"
She said, having smoothly switched to Parseltongue.
Tycon gently stroked the woman's beautiful onyx scales. It was

quite enjoyable dealing with Ananta, as long as he wasn't worried
about being cannibalized.
"I was thinking of granting one to your charming younger sister...

I'm certain you are aware that I could have broken out with my
own power... but my recent experiences have been admittedly
enjoyable."
"Suka will be... mosssst pleased~" Ananta nodded.
"...However, be advised: I will not entertain a binding request... nor

a sexual one. Hah," Tycon scoffed. "She is still a hatchling."
"She will growww..." Ananta rested her head over Tycon's

shoulder, "We too... (We were hatchlings once.)"
Tycon nodded with a sigh... "From here, my Guild Letalis will seek
to repair any damage the Snake Cult has wrought. May I ask of
your plans?"
A thrum emanated from the bottom of the Shadow Snake's jaw... "
(This one will... return home... and she will take Suka with her.)"
"And if I tried to convince you to join my faction?" Tycon smirked.
"...Then thissss one would have to *beg* for forgivenesssss,"

Ananta sighed. "(The gods whisper to their pawns. The humans
tightly grasp their weapons of war...) Malik was not the one she
sought, to die ssssssooooo easily."
"Hmm..." Tycon guided the upper half of the Shadow Snake's

smooth, shimmering body close, "There is always a world-ending
prophecy, Ananta. Look at the humans. They think the end times
have arrived once an epoch, if not more often."
"Sssweeetessssst Princcce..." Ananta slithered full-circle around

him, rubbing gently against his body, "(They appear in greater
number and with much more frequency than in epochs past.)
Nyctis, Queen of Shadow strengthenssss her defenses... Even
Queen Rylania does the sssssame...."
"Again," Tycon shrugged. "In times of peace, our militaries train for
the war that may or may not come in their service."
"Our sssservice is eternal..." She whispered, narrowing her eyes...

"The dragons will return in our lifetime, Ivory Princcce."
Tycon hmphed... "They will try."
...
With a heavy heart, Tycon approached the members of Sol

Invictus. They were sitting about, talking about something stupid,
but quieted as he approached.
"So... you headin' out, Boss?" Dragan grinned.
"Yes," Tycon responded simply.
"I'll see you sometime," The Titanblood shrugged.
"Don't bother me for anything unless it's important," Zuko muttered

before turning away.
"I won't," Tycon chuckled.
Gobsuke pulled down the cloth covering his mouth, revealing his
pointed teeth as he spoke, "If it's appropriate, I'd like hazard pay
for what happened here."
"Not a chance."
"...Was worth asking," The goblin shrugged. "Take care."

Quay wore a radiant, annoyingly-bright grin, "Tycon."
Tycon took a deep breath, "Yes, Leader?"
"Tell him I'll be waiting..."
"How ominous," Tycon hmphed... "Very well."
...
⟬ Some time earlier. ⟭
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark pursed his lips as he turned to

Raphael of Cannes.
"Hey... Raphael, you've been an adventurer for awhile, right?"
Raphael kept his torch high and his eyes to the shadows of the
catacombs.
"Yes, Lord Ranger," He pursed his lips. "What of it?"
"I was wondering... is it... normal? To be able to punch ghosts?"
There were more zombies and skeletons than there were ghosts.
Lone and Raphael dealt with the former two pretty easily.
Athena, Tanamar, and Zenon were with the others... and their
magic was definitely effective on ghosts. And then the gunners
were with them-- and their rifles worked on the spooky, scary
creatures, too, for whatever reason.
But who they had fighting ghosts was... well...
Korr had grabbed two different furious spirits... by the head... with
her palms. They wailed in pain, the pitch so high it hurt his ears.
The Knightress let out a light, metallic grunt... and both ghosts
collapsed with their heads crushed into shimmering glops.
She turned towards the two scouts, as if she was going to say
something...
She didn't. Instead, she waved lightly-- like she was shy.
"Non," Raphael grimaced. "I do not suggest you or I try to match

Lady Korr's methods."
"A-alright. Just checking." Lone nodded hesitantly... "Thank you,

Korr."
Korr nodded, "[LET ME KNOW IF YOU GET POSSESSED

AGAIN.]"
"...I will, thank you."
Again? What did she mean by 'again'?
"Seven hells," Raphael suddenly stopped, staring up at a blank

wall. They had reached a dead end in the catacombs. "There's...
nothing here."
Lone furrowed his brows... "No... No! That can't be right!
He hurried to Raphael's side, then dropped to the floor and

pressed his ear against the cool Dungeon stone. "This is definitely
the right place... There's running water-- right underneath us!"
"What can we do?" The Bravo shook his head, "We must find
another way. The collective is counting on us to lead them out of
this place..."
Lone sprang up, "Nah. I got this. Sergeant Salt!"
Salt jogged over, "Lord Ranger."
"Give me all your Khyber crystals!"
The Sergeant tilted his green helmet, "Eh? A-all of them, Sir?"
"YEAH! Come on, I have an idea."

Chapter 481 Heroes, One And
All
⟬ Slightly earlier, at the mouth of the catacombs. ⟭
Karodin of Emberhold stumbled into the Halls of the Dead

Serpent, combat-rolling onto his shield into the kneeling position.
He pointed his sword forward, ready to combat whatever terrible
enemies awaited him.
Ghosts! He was surrounded by dozens-- hundreds of ghosts!
Big ghosts! Small ghosts!
Human ghosts and Dwarven ones!
Wielding terrible weapons like... smithing hammers and... mining

picks?
Grimacing, he lowered his weapon and righted his posture...
The lot of them were... civilians.
They floated eerily in silence. It was a little unnerving, but it was

nothing like Karodin had expected.
Of all the undead the Brazen Guard had encountered in the Halls,
they were all Snake Cultists and very, very angry. They'd rush all
at once and try to... ghost-bite you to death, (or something like
that.)
Hearing movement, he turned to see Priestess Ariadne

approaching, along with a retinue of guards. They were a
welcome sight... the best of the best (of what was left) of the
Brazen Guard's front line.
"C'mon, Karodin," Ariadne gestured towards the catacombs, "We
gotta move faster'n green grass through a goose."
Karodin pursed his lips in concern, "Bannok's gone ahead, then?

And my wife?"
"Uh huh, Mister Lawrence's carryin' the big lug on his back-- an'
Ptolema's safe with Letalis... for now. We was just waitin' on you."
Karodin gulped, pointing a thumb behind him... "What... what

about these people?"
"They're not people, Karodin," Ariadne's eyes narrowed, " These

folks're dead and gone. Don't matter what happens to 'em."
One of the ghosts stepped-- err, floated forward. It was an old

dwarf in wizard robes and circle-glasses, old scrolls jutting out of a
bag on his side.
Karodin cleared his throat. The dwarf seemed older than him, so
he figured he should be respectful, "Good uh... good evening, Sir."
The Dwarven Wizard smiled politely, though it could have easily

been a grimace of concern, "Good evening, young Tyrion... I
suggest you move quickly. When the Shadow Realm breaks open,
the restless spirits of the Snake Cult will return in earnest."
He gestured at the gaggle collected around him... "We will cover

your retreat."
Karodin furrowed his brows. These ghosts were unarmored

merchants and craftsmen... children and elderly... none of them
armored... and they were armed with table legs, broken bottles,
and other things that weren't really meant to be weapons.
They wouldn't stand a chance against the Snake Cultists.
...It was probably why they were dead in the first place.
Karodin sheathed his sword, "Um... Who... who are you people?
Sir?"
The elderly dwarf loosed a heavy sigh... which turned into a
pained, echoing cough...
"Gathering... Mining... Crafting... Marketing...
"Long ago... we dwarves and humans... and even a few elves

lived here together in harmony... then, everything changed when
the Snake Cult attacked.
"We... we are the former... and current denizens of Thrumondi's

Halls..."
Karodin frowned... "You are all Tyrion, are you not? Your souls
should have passed on and... and joined the Eternal Flame?"
"The pride of being a Tyrion..." The dwarf shook his head, "I
believe that is to blame for keeping my companions here. All that
remains in their ghostly shells is a desire for vengeance against
the heretics..."
Ariadne growled, stepping between Karodin and the dwarf, "These

folks were killed off by those cursed snakes... sacrificed for their
dark rituals! They're lookin' for a way out and they think a final
battle is what's gonna do it for 'em-- so let's leave 'em to it!"
Uncertainty tugged at Karodin's heart... "But... they'll lose."
"And we'll live on!" The Priestess snapped, "Now are ya comin', or
not?"
...He took a deep breath, "Lady Aria... enchant my weapon with

⌈Ghostbane⌋... Please."
"Optio Karodin..." Ariadne swayed her head back in surprise...

then glared at him with a look sharper than a knife... "No.
Absolutely not."
The dwarf coughed to gain their attention, "You do not have the
luxury of time, Optio... Lady Priestess. You must both away--
immediately."
"Well, Lady Priestess, you heard the man-- dwarf... elder," Karodin
chuckled nervously, "I'm staying to help, whether you enchant my
sword or not."
"Karodin..." Ariadne moaned helplessly. "We don't have time for

this!"
"That's fine! It'll just be me!" He wore his most reassuring smile,
"And I'll be just behind you guys!"
Ariadne stared him down... gulping hard... "Humans lie."
...That was slightly rude.
It bothered Karodin... how the Priestess' usually gentle gaze had

been... not that, as of late. Unfortunately, he knew what he had to
do... and escaping immediately was not it.
"First and foremost, I am a son of Tyrion."
He walked past Ariadne... and half-turned his head, "MEN! Take

her away!"
"I hear you, Optio," One of the Decani saluted. It was a familiar
Legionnaire from Guild Eagle Sentinel.
"KARODIN!! NO!" Ariadne shouted. She struggled, but she

couldn't stop the combined efforts of the physically stronger
Decanus and his team from dragging her away.
"Ptolema better not even have a scratch on her, when I get there!"
Karodin shouted, "Or I'll crucify the lot of you! Don't you PLAY
GAMES with me!"
"You heard the Optio, ladies and gentlemen!" The Decanus

shouted, "Move your arses! If I'm gettin' crucified, you'll all be
staked up with me!"
"""We hear you, Decanus!!"""
Karodin breathed a sigh of relief... when suddenly the Halls

rumbled, and he had to brace himself to keep his balance.
"By the Flame, what was that?"
"A security breach..." The dwarf coughed, clearing his throat... "--
and one that I'd complained about in epochs past."
"Should I be worried?"
The old dwarf slowly shook his head, "Your allies have secured a
path of escape. Though, to be perfectly honest, it is likely that I
remain because of that guilt. If only my formations and
architectural planning weren't so flawed, then the Snake Cult
would have never taken these halls."
Karodin smirked in embarrassment, "It sounds like the blame is

not your own, Sir."
The dwarf looked up with a polite smile, "Aye. All of our leaders
can share the blame for our downfall."
"I'm a leader," Karodin shrugged... "We make some questionable

decisions, sometimes. But a good leader is always willing to fix
their mistakes."
The elder nodded, "Is this one of those 'questionable decisions',

lad?"
"Yes, Sir. Yes, it is..."
He took a deep breath, turning to face the old dwarf's forces-- now
his... "Faithful sons and daughters of Tyrion!! I am OPTIO
KARODIN of the BRAZEN GUARD!! Under my command, we will
protect the living from the DEAD!
"Heroes, one and all!! DO. YOU. HEAR ME?!"
Every single ghost... man, woman, child, and elder... raised their
voices and their weapons as one...
"""WE HEAR YOU, OPTIO!!!!!"""
",
Chapter 482 Shattered Heart
The Tactician appeared where everyone else had.
It was good to see him safe.
It was just a shame that he arrived to a battle, long after its

conclusion.
He glanced over the fallen with eyes that glowed a peculiar gold.
There were no lanterns, nor did any light-enchanted equipment

remain... but it seemed his eyes cut through the darkness, all the
same.
Dozens of fleshy and skeletal undead bodies lay still, their

weapons scattered upon the ground... More numerous were the
splashes of ghostly essence, marking where the ghostly spirits,
ally and enemy, had fallen.
The Tactician's gaze hovered over the single fallen Tyrion

Legionnaire.
That person lied face-down, unmoving.
He didn't move to inspect it.
There were more enemies, elsewhere in the Halls. He didn't have

the time to stay... nor was there anything he could do for that
person.
The Tactician traveled through the empty catacombs, quickly but

warily, to where he knew the underground river would be. When
he shared the news of an exit, he had given the Brazen Guard
hope. He had not proven their faith unfounded.
He encountered no more resistance... The dead in the catacombs

remained dead.
The fight was over. Everything had been decided in that

abandoned battlefield.
There was a hole in the floor, as if the stones had... dissipated,

revealing the water rapids rushing below. It looked... odd... and
there was an unusually high level of mana in the atmosphere.
Volatile, untamed magic.
Dangerous, but effective.
The Tactician checked his body, patting down his gear to ensure
they were all in their correct places. He flicked his wrist and a
package appeared in his hand, which he laid down in a
conspicuous place.
They looked like some of his rations.
An offering of some sort? Maybe some of the beef jerky he was

well known for?
He took a deep breath... and he plunged into the cool depths.

Wherever the underground river would take him, it would be far
away from these cursed halls.
He hoped the Tactician would arrive safely.
Karodin hoped... that everyone would arrive safely.
"Is that alright, lad?" The old dwarf asked.
Karodin noticed that his companion's form was far more

transparent than it was when they'd first met.
The dwarf would pass on soon.

Karodin somehow knew that... his ghostly body would fade away,
just the same.
"It's fine, Sir... I did my duty. They'll understand."
...
⟬ Suns later... ⟭
The Brazen Guard held a mass funeral for the fallen.
Felinus had been killed. Karodin had not returned. Some did not
survive the water rapids.
Countless others would live on only in memory.
Though Guild Letalis had been instrumental in the Brazen Guard's

escape from the Halls of the Dead Serpent... Tycon doubted that
they would be invited to the Collective's next outing.
...or if the Kasydonian guild would survive as an adventuring

company.
Tycon found some grim amusement in the fact that he'd seen the
fall of not just one, but two Gold-Rank Tyrion guilds.
He had more important things to worry about. He and his guild

needed to return with haste to the city of Silva.
When they made their way back, the camp was still set up... with
those there none-the-wiser to the Stormbrands' betrayal. Tancred
and his lackeys likely had access to magical stealth or speed... or
the Bronze-Ranks standing guard were all effectively deaf and
blind.
Recovering their horses, carriages, and supply cart, Guild Letalis

set off almost immediately.
Their guild suffered a single fatality, a young man under Sergeant

Cecil Salt's command. On the subsequent evening, Centurion
Zenon spoke some kind words about the fellow.
He died in combat. It was an unfortunate casualty.
Tycon had nothing to add.
While traveling, footman Tanamar expressed his urge for speed...

but the horses could not be hurried more than they had been.
They, too, knew what was at stake. They pushed themselves to

their limits... Tycon had to ask them all to slow down, to reduce
their risk of injury.
Otherwise, the trip back was taken in silence... idle conversation

kept to a minimum.
The militaristic Zenon, Salt, and Raphael were exhausted--

mentally and emotionally drained, more than they were physically.
Even the normally chatty Athena had become listless. Tycon

ensured Tanamar kept her company throughout the trip back.
Though her own guild had suffered minimal casualties, the
psychological burden on the young lady would not be small.
She was no stranger to seeing men and women fall in battle... but
many recent deaths were people she had known well.
She would grow stronger from this.
...
When they reached the Silva, there was a thin plume of smoke
billowing from somewhere within it.
Tycon already knew from where.
He told Athena to stay in the carriage.
The willful Frostblade refused.
He strongly insisted... and Tanamar urged her to heed his

counsel.
Still, Athena refused.

Because of that stubbornness, she came across the sight of her
dead parents. They were stripped naked, bloodied and crucified in
front of the remains of her smoldering estate.
Her cries of anguish at that moment would live on in the

nightmares of both herself and Tanamar for moons and epochs to
come.
Those same, shattered-heart screams already haunted Tycon's

nightmares... their origins lost to memory.
Tycon ordered Tanamar to carry Athena away-- to find an inn for

them to retire to.
Athena wanted to take down the bodies herself.
Tycon refused.
She may have been the official leader of Guild Letalis, but
considering the circumstances, he remained their acting
Commander. With the threat of martial punishment, he would not
have his direct orders questioned again.
A magical trap was set on the bodies.
Tycon had his men take cover as he shot Greer's bloated belly
with his crossbow. The corpse burst like a boil, showering the
ground with blood and rotten meat, simultaneously releasing a
noxious green gas.
Zenon's wind magic kept them safe... and Tycon reloaded his
crossbow and did the same to Lady whatever-her-name was.
Athena only needed to know that they were dead... and that they
would be avenged. She did not need to see what their corpses
had become.
Tycon, Lone, Raphael, and Zenon... Salt and his gunners... they
would shoulder that burden.
Everything that hadn't been looted in the estate had been burnt.
The underground passageway had been revealed.
The Frost Stone was missing, the ice that surrounded it, forcibly
broken open.
Tycon had thought it impossible to do, so easily. It was an

unfortunate oversight.
He had not planned for his enemies to wield an unholy artifact

weapon.
Filled with an annoyingly deep sense of regret, he called for Guild

Letalis to withdraw.
There was nothing left of value in the Vanzano estate.

Chapter 483 Concern
" (Snaaaake...)" Horse whinnied as Tycondrius held an apple out

for him to munch on.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I'm not in the mood for your inane and
illegal requests, Corporal Horse."
The chestnut stallion shook his head and swallowed loudly, "(Ah...
I wanted to ask... how you're doing?)"
"It's been a shite week," Tycon admitted.
"(They're just humans, Snaaaake,)" Horse snorted. "(Since when

did we care so much?)"
Tycon took a deep breath... Horse needed a bath and badly. He

grabbed the stallion by the jaw and stared into his right eye, "I
made a mistake that led to... far too many issues. I'd imagine the
same happened in Jacksonville?"
Horse whinnied nervously, shaking his head away... "(Jacksonville

was... different. But there were no witnesses, o' handsome and
forgiving bringer-of-apples.)"
Tycon rolled his eyes, tossing the apple core up. Horse caught it
in his mouth with an audible crunch.
"...Humans are fine," He shrugged. "My regret is that I placed my

faith in the wrong ones."
"(Maybe... don't trust humans, then?)" The stallion suggested, "(It

seems to work out for me.)"
"Perhaps..." Tycon looked over to the other Invictus stallion.

Jeremy was sleeping peacefully in his corner of the stable, kicking
his legs. He appeared to be having a good dream. Tycon almost
wanted to interrupt it... but he identified that doing so would be
unnecessarily malicious.
He was in a very poor mood.
"Take care of the others, Horse. You've all earned a proper rest...
and make sure that one doesn't sleep too long. If he kicks a wall
and injures himself, I'll have Lone geld you."
"(Snake...)"
Tycon grimaced, his frustrations mounting, "What is it this time?"
"(You also need to rest.)"
"What I *need* is to take actions to alleviate the situation," Tycon

growled, turning and walking to the stable exit.
Rest?
He didn't deserve such a luxury.
...
Sorina gave her report to Tycon, Korr standing by her side as her
faithful guard.
The Calculator had spoken to Popoto Potata Pota, the only dual-
membership Sol Invictus member. Consulting her contacts in the
Courier's guild, there had been no suspicious news coming from
the city of Caeruleum.
Sorina then visited the Speaker's Guild, finding evidence to the

contrary.
The Vanzano offices in Caeruleum had been seized, having

violated some rule or law that she had yet to identify. Tycon had
little hope for those who worked there. If they had not been
executed outright, the odds of surviving incarceration in the Holy
Country were grim.
Sorina had the foresight to order Maeve and the Guild Letalis
main body not to return to Caeruleum. They could turn in their
quests and bounties at the Adventurer's Guild in Silva-- anywhere
*but* that particular city.
Tycon felt a tinge of relief that Doe was not at the Vanzano Estate
when it was attacked. She was not keen on staying in the same
building as Lord Greer while Athena and all the various
adventurers were absent.
Was she safe with the others?
...If she died as well, it would further sour his mood.
He'd have requisitioned another communication ritual to Guild

Letalis' main body... however, the one that Sorina had
commissioned cost literally thousands of silver.
Thankfully, she did not pay a gratuity fee. Instead, she left them a
half-used coupon book for Olea Garden.
Tycon could always rely on Sorina, concerning business matters.
All in all, Guild Letalis had taken very few casualties. Still, they
had come across an issue that was very detrimental to House
Vanzano... and to the territory of Ezyria where they resided.
The Snake Cult was a dominant faction in Caeruleum, their

influence obviously enough to dictate the movements of the Gold-
Rank guild, the Brazen Guard. Even more daunting was that the
heretics had recently attained both an artifact weapon and an
artifact power source.
How in the seven hells could Athena Vanzano gain power in such
an environment?
And what could he do about it? He had no idea which humans in

Caeruleum were his enemies. He'd put the entire city to the torch
if it could solve his problems... but such a simplistic solution was
likely infeasible.
A heavy knocking upon Tycon's inn room door interrupted his
thoughts.
"It's open, Centurion."
Zenon Skyreaper entered the room... and threw a certain blonde

footman hard to the floor. Footman Victorius was miserable and
filthy, covered in soot and ash.
It was as if... he'd fled... from a... burning building.
"Brother-Zenon, it is good to see you... and I see you've brought...

Mister Victorius..." Tycon narrowed his eyes, but did not stand
from his chair, "I trust there's a good explanation for this."
Zenon scowled... and landed a swift kick into Victorius' side,

causing the cripple to yelp and snivel in pain, "Tell him what you
told me! The same, EXACT words!!"
...
⟬ The following morning. ⟭
Victorius was the only member of Guild Letalis that stayed behind
at the Vanzano Estate.
He opened the doors for Guild Stormbrand and allowed them in.
Tycon, assisted by Radia and the other mages of guild Letalis,

had set defensive formations on the gates and doors. All of it was
rendered useless by Footman Victorius' lapse in judgment.
Why did he allow the Stormbrands into the estate with not a single
member of Letalis nearby? Why did he not die with a weapon in
his hand-- a weapon Tycon had custom-made solely for him, at
great difficulty and cost?
Hah. Why did he think remaining in the city of Silva was wise?
Killing Victorius would not solve any of Tycon's problems.

However, it would make him feel much, much better.
Tycon took in a deep breath, inhaling the cool, sea breeze and
appreciating the grey and gold morning sky. He and Zenon stood
atop a cliff overlooking Silva's white-sand beaches.
It was a lovely place to hold an execution.
However...
"Brother-Zenon, I have a... concern."
"Mhm?" The Centurion raised an eyebrow, "What's on your mind,

Optio?"
"Crucifixions... they're still an occurrence in the Holy Country,

yes?"
Chapter 484 Execution
" Huh?" Zenon was surprised, but only for a moment, "Yeah, of
course. Why wouldn't they be?"
"Oh, good," Tycondrius smiled and nodded, "I haven't seen any,
as of recent."
"Well, they're not common," Zenon shrugged. "But they do

happen. It's usually for something like... military desertion? Most
major crimes are usually met with immediate execution."
"(Comin' riiiight up!!!)" Horse neighed as he approached. "(This'll

cure your big sad, Snaaake!!)"
The Invictus stallion steadily climbed the incline, dragging a cart

latched to his sides. Within it was a single, large wooden stake,
two bundles of rope, and whimsically, a sack of iron spikes and a
complementing pair of hammers.
It was everything they needed to crucify a human properly.
"Just one stake, Optio?" Zenon asked.
"It seemed cheaper than binding two together," Tycon smirked.
He crouched down over Victorius, gagged and bound... struggling

with all his might. He was finding his knotted ropes quite secure.
"You should have died with a weapon in your hand, Mister

Victorius."
The man continued to sob-- the cloth gag muting his wailing.
He knew.
Tycon said the words aloud for his own benefit... "Well, young
man, you'd best look alive. Quite possibly, your one and only
savior is fast approaching. If you wish to live, despite your guilt,
your words must hold... a certain weight."
Walking beside Horse was Holy Lancer Tanamar, who had

requisitioned the crucifixion materials as Tycon had requested.
"Athanasius!" Tycon stood, opening his arms to welcome the Holy

Lancer, "Thank you for making haste. How is Miss Athena faring?"
"We dropped her off at Parthenope's place... Lone's with Sorina

and Korr-- and Salt and the others are at the inn."
The silver-haired footman grimaced, pointing to the sobbing

wretch on the ground, "What's going on here?"
"Ah, yes..." Tycon chuckled to himself. "I'd like your opinion on the
matter, if you would."
"Let him go, Tycon," Tanamar crossed his arms, "Whatever he's
done, he doesn't deserve this."
"Oh? What if I told you that he was the one who opened the gates,
allowing the Stormbrands to torch the estate and steal the Frost
Stone?"
Tanamar dropped his arms, staring blankly with his mouth

agape... "He... what?"
Zenon nodded, crinkling his mustache, "He's said as much,

himself, the Flame-taken idiot."
"In hindsight, no one else would have opened the doors," Tycon
sighed. "Lord Greer and the other one never bothered."
"But..." Tanamar had clenched his fists, seething in fury... "The

defensive formations?"
"Our extensive preparations and carefully-laid plans have all been

proved useless by human stupidity," Tycon shook his head.
Tanamar stared down at Victorius. His eyes were beginning to
glow white... "You Flamescarred son of a--"
"We were going to crucify him," Tycon smirked. "Would you like to
help?"
Tanamar turned with a glare, his unrestrained killing intent forcing

Zenon to wince.
"No one is being crucified today."
The young man knelt by Victorius' side and began to undo the
ropes.
"Tanamar," Zenon frowned. "You can't just--"
Tycon grabbed the Librarian's collar, pulling him back and halting
his words.
A beam of concentrated light sheathed Tanamar's form and

quickly began to swell in size. As powerful as Zenon's ⌈Mana
Ward⌋ was, taking injury from the Holy Lancer's oppressive
containment formation would have been troublesome.
The taller man turned to face Tycon with troubled eyes.
Tycon shrugged, "It's probably fine."
...
"Seven HELLS! You came at JUST the right moment!"
Finally free of the cloth gag on his mouth, Victorius managed a

wide grin-- even despite the tears and snot still wet on his face.
Tanamar shuddered as he sucked air into his lungs. He was trying

to keep his fury in check...
Victorius managed to get the loosened bindings off of him,

cradling his crippled hand, "Those crazy bastards were gonna
crucify me. Can you believe it? In this sun and age?"
"Yeah... they were."
That's all he managed. He had a thousand things to say... but to

say them while not *also* murdering his friend-- that's what he
was having a hard time with.
"You gotta believe me, Tanamar... I had no idea that Tancred was
gonna burn the house down. Maybe Occam, but... I mean, if I did,
I'd have never let them in, right?"
Tanamar spoke very... slowly... enunciating his words. "You and

me, we're going to find Athena. Then... you are going to kneel...
and you are going to apologize."
"What?" Victorius furrowed his brows, "Come on, man. It's not my
fault!"
All of the muscles in Tanamar's right arm were flexed... and he

found himself gripping a holy lance in his white-knuckled hand.
With a two-handed swipe, he struck the side of Victorius' leg,
dropping him to his knees.
Before the Archer could even react, Tanamar thrust the mana-
blade of his weapon through the man's good hand, pinning him to
the ground.
"ERRGAAARGHHHH!!!! T-T-TANAMARRR!! WHAT THE

FFFFFFFFUUUUUUCK!!????!"
"We're going back... to find Athena," Tanamar whispered, his

voice harsh... "and you're going to kneel... just like this. And you...
are going to *beg* for forgiveness."
"Fffffuck! What the... ff-- aughh..." Victorius groaned. "Ff... Flame,

TAKE you, man! I... I already SAID... that it's not my... ffffAULT!!!"
Tanamar closed his eyes, searching his memories.
Was Victorius always like this?
...Not exactly. But still, Tanamar wasn't surprised by the way he

acted.
More of the man's agonized tears dripped onto the dirt.
Tanamar felt... nothing. It was like... something had snapped

inside. He did not feel pity. He did not feel disappointment... or
regret.
He wasn't even sure if it was anger that was swirling in his chest.
"I can't believe you... my... my hand..." Victorius turned his head
up, his eyes red with rage, "Man, F*CK GREER!! That guy was a
piece of SHITE, anyroad!! Why the hells would I have to apologize
for a Flamescarred THING?!?"
Tanamar wound and launched a heavy kick into the blonde man's
side. Victorius flipped onto his side, dry heaving.
Free from guilt, he lifted his foot up and brought a mana-

empowered stomp down. The bones of Victorius' bleeding hand
turned to mush.
Void of mercy, he raised his arm and jammed his holy lance
downward. Victorius was pierced through the stomach, with the
weapon lodging deep into the dirt.
Yes, Athena's parents were trash.
Yes, they deserved to die horrifically.
However... they also gave birth to the woman he loved.
That... was reason enough.
He considered saying it out loud... but deep inside of him... he

knew that words wouldn't change Victorius' mind.
Nothing would.
He channeled more power into his holy lance before he released

it. Its form would remain solid... securing Victorius in place, unless
he wanted to tear up his insides to free himself.
Tanamar formed a simple stool out of mana, sitting down and
steepling his fingers.
If Victorious refused to beg at Athena's feet... then the man would

bleed to death, dying at his.
Chapter 485 Plans
hen Tanamar's containment field expired, Victorius lay in a pool

W
of blood-- also expired.
The blonde footman appeared to have died from an open wound

on his abdomen... a slow and agonizing way to die.
Also... his 'good' hand had been crushed and broken. Very nice.
Tycondrius gestured towards the corpse, "If you're quite finished,

I'll be taking the body."
"Seven hells..." Tanamar spat... "Do whatever you want. I'm

leaving."
Tycon chuckled to himself, watching the Holy Lancer's back as he

departed.
"Brother-Zenon... what are the chances that we can return the

equipment at full price?"
"Egh..." The Librarian frowned, "Not too good, I think."
"I had assumed as much," Tycon swept his hair back and sighed.
"Very well... Let's hang him up. It would be a shame for the
materials to go to waste."
...
As the morning bells passed, the body crucified atop Silva's cliffs
attracted various passersby. Tycon appeased their curiosities,
detailing Victorius' lack of honor and duty.
Honor and duty were very important to Tyrions.

A tent-group from the Church came by to inquire about the
macabre display. Upon discovering that the footman's offenses
were in line with the punishment, they detailed the process for
obtaining a permit for a 'proper' crucifixion.
It was an interesting and somewhat lengthy process. An offender

would be stripped naked and scourged by a professional. Then,
they would be paraded through the streets while a crier
announced their sins to the public. Throughout, they would be
shamed, spat upon, struck by stones-- humiliated, in general.
Tycon thanked the helpful gentlemen for the information. The

price for a permit was relatively fair and he would have chosen to
spend the few gold pieces for the extravaganza. Hopefully, he
would not soon have the need to crucify an individual... but it was
nice to have the option available.
Zenon volunteered to retrieve food for the two of them, along with
a small jug of wine. He and Tycon held a light-hearted picnic with
the sparkling beach scenery as the backdrop.
Four male younglings came by to throw rocks at the dead body.
It was a shame that the young footman was so rude as to miss his
own crucifixion.
"So... what happens now, Optio?" Zenon asked.
Tycon shook his head, "To be perfectly honest, I'm at a loss... I'm
glad Victorius showed up and gave me something to do."
"Optio..." Zenon wore a grave expression, "You know it's not your
fault, right?"
"Tss," Tycon scoffed, averting his gaze. "I am painfully aware. If it

weren't for Guild Letalis being in that Dungeon, no one from the
Brazen Guard would have made it out alive..."
Zenon grimaced, swirling his wine cup... "No, I mean... the whole
thing. We never imagined any of what happened... not the hidden
motive behind the quest, nor the Stormbrands betrayal..."
Tycon leaned back on his elbows, gazing at the cloudy sky... "I
could have."
The Centurion placed a hand on his chin... "You know... at the

time, we made our decision as best as we could."
Tycon furrowed his brows... There was a certain familiarity in

those words.
"How was it?" Zenon sighed... "A wise man once told me: in our
profession, such decisions will haunt us until the end of our suns.
You can have regrets, but you can't let them stop you from moving
on."
"How droll," Tycon rolled his eyes, "What fool told you that?"
"You did, Optio," Zenon grinned.
Tycon pursed his lips... "That is not how I speak."
"I was paraphrasing."
Tycon sat up, downing his cup of watered-down wine.
...He appreciated the calm silence. It was stained, but beautifully,

with the crowing of scavenger birds and the light giggling of cruel
children.
Zenon offered his usual gentle smile, "My faith in you remains
unshaken, Brother-Tycon. I'm sure the same can be said of
Tanamar and Athena. It'll be much easier if you help us get
through this, than if we were on our own."
"Hmph, you lot would do fine..." Tycon bit his upper lip in thought...
"--but yes, my assistance would make our actions more...
efficient."
"Hah, that's more like it," Zenon grinned. "So what's the plan from
here, Optio?"
"As of current? We take most of the sun off to rest. In a few bells,
we'll meet with Athena to discuss our next course of action."
...
The members of Guild Letalis' forward team met in one of Olea

Garden's private rooms.
Lone and Zenon... Athena and Tanamar... Sorina and Korr, along
with Sergeant Cecil Salt looked to Tycon with great expectation.
They would likely be disappointed.
"I have two different proposals," Tycon began, "a good one and...
one that is less so."
Athena Vanzano balled up her tiny fists, "Well, good! Because we

have to do *something*, Sir Tycon."
Each member of the table murmured more-or-less in agreement.
Tycon gestured towards the young lady, "I propose House

Vanzano moving their base of operations to Kasydon."
"Wh-wh-whaaaaaaaat?!" The girl almost screamed, cupping her

hands over her mouth in embarrassment. Though they were
granted a private room, the restaurant walls weren't so thick to not
be heard.
"No, it makes sense," Sorina offered. "Almost all of our

businesses go through Caeruleum, somehow. With it no longer in
our control, so are our profits in Ezyria."
"Yeah," Lone shrugged. "I mean... it's not like we have a house
anymore in Silva. It kinda... burned down."
Tanamar shot the Ranger a glare before trying to calm Athena

down, "It's a good idea. We should listen to--"
"I can't BELIEVE YOU, Sir Tycon!!" Athena stood up, pointing.
"We're-- we're just giving up?! Huh?! HUHHH?!"
Tycon inhaled through his nostrils, grimacing. This was the plan
with the highest rate of success in re-establishing House Vanzano
as a power...
Unfortunately, though it was a temporary measure, it was
essentially the same as running away... 'giving up', as Athena
aptly stated.
With a few years of amassing wealth and power, they could

oppose any arising Snake Cult factions both socially and
politically.
Chapter 486 Champion
Tycondrius' proposal was, above-all, safe.
With Athena's various accomplishments and with the strength of

Guild Letalis, the accrual of prestige and influence was
guaranteed. Biding their time was a course of action that
behooved a leader of a noble house...
It would also be excruciating and unsatisfying until the time of

reckoning. Adventurers were more used to brash, emotional
reactions... one that gained them immediate benefits, as opposed
to long-term.
Could the young Athena realize that? Could she trust in her
abilities and in her stable support, enough to look to the future
instead of the present?
"I-- I can't believe you!!" Athena roared again in her tiny voice...
and she stomped towards the exit.
The answer seemed to be a resounding no.
Athena opened and closed the door politely as she left.
He could at least appreciate that, even in her anger, she kept

proper etiquette.
...The members of Guild Letalis looked at each other awkwardly...

then at Tanamar, who was raising the hands of his fingers.
Five. Four. He was counting down. Two...
The blue-haired Frostblade burst back into the room, the door
nearly flying off of its hinges, "What was the OTHER PLAN?! The
first plan is stupid!!"
...
The Snake Cult had infiltrated Caeruleum, the largest trade city in
Ezyria, their insurgents safely in the city's folds and framework.
The Holy Country's leadership had to be informed... and it would

be a pain to do so.
Tycon couldn't trust sending a missive, magical or mundane,

ciphered or not. He would travel by airship to Cersei's Rest, where
he would appeal to the High Oracle personally.
He'd also take Lone with him. The Ranger was fine company...
and he wasn't doing anything important.
He would volunteer Guild Letalis to siege and perhaps even purge

the trade city. Church reinforcements would be a boon for the
operation, if they could be granted to him.
One of the best-case scenarios would be... if Letalis' offer to help

was rejected. Maybe the Church would send their best and
brightest to deal with the Snake Cult, instead?
It was unlikely.
Tycon was fairly certain the High Oracle and her advisors were
well informed about Guild Letalis' potential. They had so many
Iron-Ranks. They were integral to the Brazen Guard avoiding
annihilation.
The results of the Caeruleum tournament spoke volumes about

Athena and Tanamar, Letalis' leader and. for all intents and
purposes, co-leader.
He tasked the two younglings with traveling to the Sleeping

Country. There, they would seek out the Frozen Cairn Hidden
Sect, and appeal to them for training. Athena had a great deal to
learn from their combat arts, specializing in weaving frost magic
with martial skill.
Tanamar would likely be tried and tested. The concept of a weak
male was anathema to the all-female sect. Tycon chose to hide
that particular fact from the young footman.
If Athena were to reach high Iron-Rank or Tanamar, Gold, it would

benefit their cause, greatly.
Tycon was shaping Letalis to be similar to Sol Invictus. They did

not have the swell of adventurers, as with the larger guilds... but
with sound tactics, advanced equipment, and rigorous training,
they could utterly destroy forces many times their number.
An elite forward team to deal with atypical threats... or a group

that could split up to deal with such issues, greatly benefited the
model.
Zenon refused to return to the Church, feeling that his duty was
not yet complete.
Tycon requested that he search for a very particular individual...

one with the potential to exponentially raise Letalis' chances of
success.
The individual's name was Kanbrai... and he was an orange cat

with a tabby patterned coat.
The Librarian's mustachioed face seemed like he wanted to ask if

he was serious. Thankfully, he did not voice his concerns, taking
the task with as much sobriety as he could manage.
Sorina and Korr expressed their wishes to help... also not willing
to return to Nice to resume their mundane work. Tycon ordered
them, along with the remaining Letalis members to meet up with
Maeva and the Guild Letalis main body. They would head to the
Aetnian mountains, residing and training with Isidor's Faction.
If Tycon did manage to obtain permission to siege a human city...

he could request assistance from Isidor and the groups in his
faction. The movements of the non-humans would need to be
hidden from the xenophobic Church, but their warring capabilities
would be worth the risk.
He just had to ensure the attack was successful... and to never

show his face in the Holy Country again.
Natalya would try her best to crucify him, if given a reason.
...Tycon had done more than enough to complete the

Archbishop's quest and for House Vanzano.
He did not need to stay in the Holy Country and aid them... and
their current action could easily lead to the violent death of all
involved.
Still, he would take the chance.
After all, Maximus was no longer around.
No one else qualified to champion House Vanzano besides

himself.
...
⟬ Elsewhere, on an island off the coast of the Magic Kingdom. ⟭
High-Captain Lang Hai growled in contemplation as he hacked his

cutlass into a pirate's unarmored neck.
The kid had been working with him for over a year... and he'd
earned himself a place amongst the Sea Wolves, both as a
combatant and as a young Lieutenant.
He was a good kid...
He was well-liked among the crew. He could hold his own in a

fight. He didn't smoke or drink. He played with Rico when Hai was
too tired to deal with her stupidity.
...He was also the only person who'd survived the Sea Wolf
Officer training without accepting even the first level of the Sea
Wolf curse.
He was the weirdest kid...
Hai glanced up.
Invictus Pale soared over him with an acrobatic leap... ending with
his crimson spear in the chest of a fat-bodied neckbeard.
...It was the pirate with the biggest hat.
Hai smirked, "Not bad, kid."

Chapter 487 Dumb, Stupid,
Clever
Lang Hai drew his pistol and shot a man in the back.
How dare that guy! They were supposed to be fighting, not

fleeing! The pirates *clearly* had a numbers advantage.
Yet, some of his prey were running in the opposite direction...
Sea god's socks, they were ALL running away!
Hai was no stranger to enemies running for their lives. It just...

usually... took a bit longer.
He hadn't even revealed his final form!!
"COWARDS!!!" Hai shouted, shaking his fist menacingly.
He drew his other pistols, expending his ammunition for a measly

three additional kills.
Stupid pirates...
Casually walking forward, he inspected Pale's most recent kill...

and discovered the reason for the pirates' sudden withdrawal.
"Wasn't this guy... their boss?"
The Pirate Captain didn't even get to deliver a super-dramatic

speech or show off his domineering skills.
He just... died.
The boy's damned spear caved the guy's chestplate in and blew a
bloody hole through his back big enough to put a hand through.
Hai wasn't even sure if HE could survive the attack Pale used.
And if he did survive, he was sure he'd be bedridden for... a few
suns? Half-a-week, at least?
What a weird kid... with his weird skills...
...The kid used a skill, right? Hai hadn't heard him activate it, but...
the battlefield *was* pretty noisy.
Sea god's shitebox... Lang Hai thought that HE was a monster.

Pale was... definitely right up there with him and Rico.
"Should we go after them, Cap'n?" Pale smiled politely, flinging

the blood off of his weapon.
"Nah, don't bother," Hai groaned listlessly. "Let's just clean up,
here."
"Aye aye, Cap'n!" Pale beamed. He immediately got to work,

casually sticking the pointy end of his spear into the throats and
hearts of the fallen.
Cold, calm efficiency. It was off-putting coming from a boy so

young. That was definitely a habit he got from Sol Invictus' leader,
that green-haired nerd, Tycon.
The eastern side consisted of just him and the kid...and they were
positioned there just to dissuade the Marauding Squid pirates
from recklessly attacking their flank.
Between the two of them, they wiped out over two hundred men
and women... and the enemy even had over a dozen Iron-Ranks.
The boss was at least that.
...Whatever.
He and Pale did well enough-- good enough for government work.
Sergeant Jacque and Rico spearheaded the frontal assault and
Lieutenant Eleven of Seven led the western wing. Those guys
could finish off the rest...
Still... a hundred each? Those numbers didn't make any sense for
such a short amount of time, even for him.
Worse... he could have just sent the kid by himself, and he was
pretty sure the pirates would've routed, all the same.
"Ooh, Cap'n, I found some booty!" The kid waved his weapon,
smiling so wide that his eyes turned into little lines.
"Good to hear... --but stop saying it like that."
"It's a pirate term, Sir! Rico taught it to me."
Rico... of course she did. Over the past few moons, Pale had
become her second favorite person.
He was the first.
Over the past year or so, Hai had grown a little closer to Rico...
For whatever reason, he no longer found her as annoying as he
once did.
"We're not pirates, you brat," He growled. "We're pirate *hunters.*

There's a difference."
High-Captain Lang Hai was the greatest pirate-hunter amongst

them... until Pale came along. Honestly, besides the kid being a
terrifying monster in his own right, it felt a little out of place to have
someone that was almost stronger than he was in his crew.
The field battle against the Marauding Squids was the first time he
had seen Pale at full strength.
The kid held back in training, that was for sure... but no matter
how much he and the other Officers tried to piss him off, he never
showed just how much he was hiding.
It was funny... the first time that Pale seemed to go all out-- it was
when no one else in the crew was watching. That meant, besides
him, nobody actually knew how strong he was-- oh, and maybe
Rico. Those two play-fought a lot.
He wasn't jealous. Not at all. Why would he be?
Anyroad, the behavior fell in line with the kid's usual, borderline-
annoying humbleness.
Dumb... stupid... clever pup.
Hai wished a little bit that he could take credit for how strong Pale
had become.
Honestly, he could not... but it'd have been nice to have Tycon
grovel at his feet in gratitude.
Dumb, noble... somewhat-clever nerd.
After a short while, Pale approached him with his arms full of
looted weapons and trinkets. The kid had good eyes, his attention
to detail better than even his own. It was yet another thing the kid
outshone his peers in.
"Good haul, Lieutenant," Hai nodded.
The boy looked up with a weird, far-off look in his eyes, "Sir, it's
been... over a year."
"Huh..." Hai pursed his lips to the side... "Yeah. Doesn't feel like it,
though."
"I think that... that soon... Sir Tycon's gonna call for me."
Hai furrowed his brows, taking off his majestic Captain's hat to
scratch his head, "What in the seven hells is that supposed to
mean?"
The boy shrugged, "Just had the feeling, I guess?"
Hai launched a half-hearted kick against Pale's armored side,

"Talk sense, kid!! You're not an elf, you're a person!"
"My dad's an elf?" Pale stumbled but regained his balance with an
acrobatic cartwheel. "So I guess it's okay that I make half-sense?"
"Yeah, yeah. Quay of Sol Invictus, sing his name in praise-- or

whatever," Hai grumbled.
He and Pale started arranging their plunder in a pile. It gave him

time to think.
Lieutenant Eilean told him that years ago, the legendary guild, Sol
Invictus, was capable of even fighting against the seven hells and
eleven heavens. From what little Hai had experienced, meeting
not even half of their members, he wanted to believe it.
When Pale rejoined them... maybe even the gods would have
something to fear.
He just hoped that... if the world was ending anytime soon, that
Tycon would have the courtesy to invite him.
"Blood and thunder, Sol Invictus," He muttered. "I hope you losers
don't die out there..."
"You say somethin', Cap'n?" Pale turned.
"What?! NO! Get back to LOOTING, Lieutenant!!"

Chapter 488 Trouble
It always felt like there was trouble wherever Coraline went.
She wondered if it was because she was good at finding it... or if

she was cursed by some capricious god, for misfortune to follow
her.
She felt her ears twitch, identifying a commotion by the ramp, up

ahead.
"What do you mean, SURRENDER my enchanted items?"
"I'm sorry, young master. This is the policy set by the Windwright's
Guild."
A green-haired youth wearing scholarly robes was arguing with an

airship employee.
The pale-skinned guardswoman was professionally dressed, her

diamond blonde hair in a bun, wearing dark blue brigandine and
thick padded sleeves. Her furrowed brows were marked with black
reptilian scales, a dovahkiin...
According to folk knowledge, the blood of dragons flowed through

her veins. Such people were known for feats of great strength in
battle... and some could even breathe flames or small bolts of
lightning. She'd never seen it, herself, but it seemed those tall
tales did nothing to ward the young scholar's complaints.
"I trust you lot to fly an airship--" The youth lowered his voice... but
Coraline's Elven ears could still hear him in the distance, "And that
has nothing to do with whether or not I'm wearing an enchanted
ring."
The guardswoman stealthily put a hand on the hilt of her sword,
her patience clearly running thin.
Coraline did the same thing with her rapier whenever she was
stressed.
...A part of her wished she hadn't sold it.
"Please, Sir," The guardswoman pleaded, her voice still stern,

"You read the rules when you purchased your tickets. Weapons
and enchanted items must be surrendered upon boarding."
"Come on, Boss," The scholar's companion urged him. "We're

holding up the line."
Beside the arms-crossed teenager was a taller, slightly older boy.

While the green-haired youth had flawless skin as if he'd never
worked a sun in his life, his friend was tanned, and his cheek and
nose had scar tissue from cuts.
Coraline could tell that underneath the man's dark maroon

gambeson, he was fit and muscular. The fact that he had a clean
shave and his hair was cut neatly implied more that he was an
adventurer or guard rather than a scholar.
Gambesons *were* in-fashion, though.
If they weren't scholar and guard... Coraline thought they could

very well be con-men: a sly face and a muscled tough.
Hm... maybe. Neither carried weapons... and rogues at least

carried a dagger for defense... The larger boy did look capable in
a fist-fight, though.
She'd need to keep her eye on them...
...if there was any trouble.
--which wouldn't happen.
According to the numbers released by the Windwright's Guild,

there was less than a percent of a percent chance that an issue
would arise while flying on one of their airships.
If there was an issue... like a formation malfunctioning or... really

bad weather, then there was still a 98% chance of survival.
Coraline had nothing to worry about.
...But she did have to board first.
"Excuse me-- sorry." She moved her way past an elderly Popoto
couple and a gruff-looking older elf.
"(Watch your movements, Sapling,)" The older elf glared at her

with black-sclera eyes.
Coraline panicked for a split second before responding formally in

Elven, "(My apologies, Lord. I wish to assist with...) the boarding."
He was an Ancient. Being rude to an Ancient was the biggest

mistake any elf could make.
"(Saplings... always in a hurry...)"
The Ancient seemed to be giving her permission, so she rendered

a quick bow and jogged towards the front of the line.
"Excuse me! Sir," Coraline wore the most sincere smile she could
fake, "Your items will be quite safe, I assure you. The storage
lockbox will be taken to the hold, locked behind the most modern
of enchantments-- and that can only be accessed by the Ship
Captain."
The youth turned to address her, initially in anger Upon seeing

that Coraline was just an adorable Elven girl, his gaze
immediately softened.
Coraline was not the most threatening person.
Usually, she hated the way she looked. Her old guild leader never
took her seriously... and the only type of positive attention she got
was from rude, drunken old lechers who incorrectly assumed she
was easy to take home. Her looks were only useful to disarm
people in social situations... which thankfully, was currently
appropriate.
"In the hold, you say?" The youth narrowed his gaze... "And
locked securely behind enchantments?"
He had... the most peculiar golden eyes.
The blonde guard nodded hurriedly and gestured towards the

large wooden chest at her side, "That's right, young master. The
enchantments placed on both this lockbox and in the hold were
designed by the Banker's Guild-- impossible to break into and with
only a single key. Captain Nikandros takes security very
seriously."
The guard had a very light accent... She was from Nemaya
Strana, the Sleeping Country. That and her bloodline made her a
very rare sight in Tyrion.
"Tss," The youth scoffed. "Very well. I'd better get a receipt for
this."
"Of course, honored guest," The guard granted Coraline a silent

nod of thanks before returning her attention to the young man and
his ring. It seemed to be the only thing he and his companion
were checking in.
What could he be hiding? The only reason Coraline could think of

for the scholar's reluctance was... if he was a mage and the ring
was his focus. He definitely wasn't... She would have been able to
sense a higher Circle of mana in him, if that was the case.
It was probably nothing... maybe the lightly-enchanted trinket held

sentimental value?
She watched the two of them board the on-ramp to the airship.
A youth with strange, golden eyes. A rough, scarred boy at his

side.
It triggered all the warning signals in Coraline's brain that the two
of them were more than they appeared.
"Coraline Heartsong?" The guard smiled politely. Magical tool in

hand, she scanned Coraline for enchantments.
"That's me," Coraline nodded, presenting her ticket. "Victrix to

Cersei's Rest... one way."
Chapter 489 The Golden Eagle
oraline peeked at the boarding list while the guardswoman was

C
occupied.
It seemed that she was the only female elf on the flight-- and her
unapologetically Elven name had revealed her identity.
"Thank you for your help, (little star.)" The woman sighed, "If you
had not come, maybe little lordling would have accident-- falling
off pier."
The dovahkiin guard used a term of endearment in the old

Nemayan language. Most people assumed all elves were older
than they were, so it was nice that Coraline was treated her age
for once.
However... talking so casually about an 'accident' that would result

in certain death was a little jarring. She glanced off the high pier--
a decision, she regretted immediately. It was a long way to the
ground below... and the airship would climb far higher, in transit.
Scary.
She bared her teeth, trying to hide her discomfort, "Y-you're

welcome, Miss. Can I please board the ship, now?"
"Yes, of course, honored guest." The guard gestured towards the

boarding ramp with a light bow, "Please watch your step and enjoy
your stay on the Golden Eagle."
...
Coraline had been on a ship once... a merchant's vessel, rather

than a passenger ship.
That other ship was designed to sail on the water, though. Worst
experience of her life, by far.
The insides of the Golden Eagle were comfortably decorated.

Paintings hung on the walls and there were little tables with vases
holding colored paper flowers. Glossy red-leather sitting chairs
were placed in the strangest spots, as if passengers would
randomly decide to sit and chat or read. The halls were also
plenty spacious... not that she was large enough to worry about
squeezing through anything.
She found her room easily enough, a private space set up for two
people that she had all to herself.
The Golden Eagle used to be a luxury liner, pandering only to the

wealthy elite. Something happened to it a few years ago-- and
then it wasn't. She spent a sun in the Victrix city archives
searching for an answer, but came up with nothing.
Still, it made her ticket cheap... as far as airship tickets went,

anyroad.
Heading back home to the Eastern States had been a mostly

lonely experience. The islands that made up Cersei's Rest would
be the last stop before then.
The prospect wasn't really that exciting, visiting the holiest islands
in Tyrion. All her coin went into travel expenses... which meant
that she couldn't afford to do anything nice.
Maybe she could swallow her pride and flutter her pretty
eyelashes at a handsome, wealthy noble who'd whisk her away to
see the sights? It was a rare privilege, after all, to experience the
wonderful charm of 'Miss Coraline Heartsong'~
Hmph... No way. Coraline would 'accident' herself off the ship

before she'd put herself in such a stupid situation.
Traveling by sea would have saved her coinpurse from crying

tears of injustice, but she was absolutely unwilling to sail through
pirate-infested waters... again. When technology developed
enough that sky pirates became commonplace, maybe she'd
reconsider.
Wouldn't be anytime soon.
Coraline pomf'd down on the bed. What was supposed to be a

mattress turned out to be a thin layer of hopes and well-wishes...
Maybe that was the Golden Eagle's terrible fate? To have their
bedding cursed by an evil wizard to be as uncomfortable as
possible.
She grabbed her bag and started to unpack. Maybe laying her
bedroll on top of the joke-mattress would make something half-
decent?
She doubted it.
A rolled-up scroll fell out, rolling underneath her bunk.
In retrieving it... her eyes caught a dark spot... a small hole bored
into the section of wall.
And beside that hole... was a scattering of dark... beans.
Great...
Coraline sucked in air through her teeth.
Rats.
Even as an airship, the Golden Eagle had the failings of a

seaborne ship.
Coraline no longer looked forward to sleeping. The humans

probably won't mind, but her? She'd be kept up all night by their
squeaking and scratching.
Sighing, she unrolled her scroll. It was a letter of recommendation

her previous employer had transcribed and notarized.
The prospect of finding a new job was absolutely not something
she looked forward to.
The missive was full of velvet daggers-- words and phrases that
sounded nice, but were anything but.
'Miss Coraline does her work when prompted' sounded like she
had to be constantly reminded to do her job.
'Miss Coraline often finds creative solutions to unique situations'

made her out to be an idiot.
'Miss Coraline has great attention to detail, though sometimes at

the cost of speed and efficiency.'
'Miss Coraline' was very glad she left her previous guild-- even
though she was pretty much forced to resign.
'Miss Coraline outed her stupid boss in front of the whole guild,
because he was embezzling coin to fund his alcohol and drug
habits!'
But as much sleuthing work as she did... she didn't realize half of
the guild was in on it-- the more influential half, of course.
And what 'Miss Coraline' was absolutely *not* was everyone's

friend.
People can't be trusted. People lie.
Men, especially-- but talking about that was an entirely different

set of complaints.
It was probably the number one reason she didn't want to find a
new job. At least in her old guild, she knew for sure not to trust
any of her companions... and which ones she'd avoid, even at the
cost of appearing rude.
Coraline's ears twitched, hearing footsteps in the hallway. With a

heavy sigh, she rolled up the letter and put it back in her bag.
She'd lament her depressing, horribly mundane situation later.
Maybe the rats would come and laugh with her.
Ugh, no. That would be horrifying. Those things have diseases.
The person on the other side of the door gave the wood two polite
raps, "Good evening, this is Captain Nikandros. The evening meal
will be served in the dining hall shortly."
Was it that time already? She wasn't even hungry.
"I'll be out in a moment! Thank you."

Chapter 490 Dining Hall
Coraline needed to eat.
Often when she was working, she'd forget and end up passing out
while reviewing documents or checking inventory. She always
wondered if she'd overwork herself one sun and wake up dead.
That's how poor Roland died. Poor, sweet Roland...
"Beighhhh..."
She planted her face onto her pillow, searching desperately for the
motivation to change out of her traveling outfit...
...which was a pain, because she also had absolutely no one to

impress.
Also, she didn't own anything that even closely resembled a

dinner gown. Everything nice she had, she'd sold off to reduce her
carry weight and to help fund her travel.
She'd change her tunic and put on a skirt, at least. She owed it to
herself to eat a decent meal in clean clothing.
...
Stepping out into the hallway, Captain Nikandros was making his
way back towards both her and the dining hall.
The Captain of the Golden Eagle was a tall and slightly plump
older man with a rough shave. His ears were slightly pointed,
suggesting Elven blood. As the Windwright's Guild ran primarily
on nepotism, a half-elf was nothing to be surprised about.
Tottering behind him was the Popoto couple she'd seen earlier,
dressed in proper dinner attire, if very slightly worn and old-
fashioned.
Coraline was slightly shorter than an average elf-- just shy of five
fulms, but the elderly couple stood a little over three. Popotoes
were a unique people, small and naturally cute, with bronze skin
and button noses. They also tended to produce scholars and
master Magicians... though for the latter, Coraline didn't sense any
hint of Circle-Mastery from either.
"Ah, Miss Coraline, I presume," Nikandros waved casually. "I'd like

to introduce you to Master Giorgio Castiglioni and his wife,
Mistress Lucrezia."
"Oh, hello," Coraline did her best to grab onto her skirt and curtsy,
trying not to look like an uncultured commoner.
"Ah! Thank you, thank you, young lady!" The gentleman Popoto
smiled, his tiny cheeks puffed out like a frog's.
"I'm so terribly sorry, Miss Coraline. You'll have to excuse my dear

husband."
Lady Lucrezia returned the curtsy-- far more gracefully than

Coraline thought she had, herself. She then stood on the tips of
her toes, a hand cupped over her mouth, "He can't handle his
wine like he used to."
Her gown was gorgeous, with tiny roses folded into the dark,
lustrous fabric... and she had the cutest pair of matching gloves.
Designer clothing, for sure... Alizeaun, with a Tyrion flair.
"You must BOTH forgive me!" Giorgio chuckled, stroking his

neatly trimmed silver beard, "This is our second honeymoon, you
see. And wine is a MUST for a celeBRATION and MERRI-ment!!"
"Giorgio!" Lucrezia clicked her tongue and placed her hands on

her hips, "You're embarrassing yourself."
Judging by the woman's subtle smirk, she wasn't actually all that
angry.
"But... but you still love me, all the same. Don't you, Lucrezia?"
The older man pouted.
"Oh, Giorgio, what am I going to do with you?" Lucrezia shot

Coraline a look of helplessness, "Come now, Miss Coraline. I
might need your help if Giorgio can't make it up the steps."
The short-statured woman reached her gloved hand up,

reminiscent of how a human child would seek to grab an adult's
hand before crossing a heavy-trafficked road.
Against Coraline's better judgment, she took the Popoto's hand

and allowed herself to be guided. Giorgio doddered 'merrily' on
Lucrezia's opposite side, and swinging his wife's arm back and
forth.
It had been years since Coraline felt anything that resembled the
warmth of a family. She'd gone through a string of boyfriends
while adventuring in Tyrion and Alizeau-- though none of them
seemed to be able to stand her for long.
Maybe this was the trouble she had been fearing? That she'd be
taught to love again by an affectionate elderly couple celebrating
their second honeymoon.
She sensed movement behind her... unheard and unseen, but felt.
Turning back, she saw the Ancient appear at the end of the
hallway, silent as a ghost. There was magic in that man... though
not a Circle-Caster. He almost certainly belonged to the Ranger
class-- or a martial class with similar deadly potential.
He inclined his head towards her almost imperceptibly in

acknowledgment.
According to the boarding list, the Ancient's name was Arod of

House Selavel... or in the common tongue, House Highblade. It
was a well known High Elven House in Alizeau, full of politicians,
high-rank military officers, and even a member of the Council.
Lord Arod wore an ornately patterned cloak over pristine leather
armor, his wealth and status obvious even to commoners like
herself.
Curiously, jutting out from behind his cloak... were the hilts of two
swords.
But weapons weren't allowed on-board the Golden Eagle?
"Lord Highblade, just in time," Nikandros waved. "The kitchens are

preparing a special vegetarian meal, as you've requested."
"(You have my thanks, Nikandros,)" Arod replied in Elven.
" I just pray that our meager services do not insult you."
"(A simple meal is all I require, Sky-Captain. If my priority was

luxury, I would not board a ship that deigned to carry
commonfolk.)"
"Ahaha..." Nikandros laughed politely, though his expression had

grown somewhat strained. "Of course, Sir. I will do what I can to
ensure a safe and pleasant passage."
...
Guided by Lucrezia's hand, Coraline entered the dining hall... at

which time, she hastily memorized its layout. It was a simple room
with a large receiving entrance, a hallway exit with arrows
directing towards the chamber pots, and what was likely the door
to the kitchens.
She was no longer an adventurer... and it was incredibly unlikely

that she would need to escape in haste... but she always mapped
out a room's dynamics in her head.
If she didn't, she'd be overwhelmed by paranoid delusions until

she did.
The dining hall was populated by nearly everyone on the Golden

Eagle... and they occupied less than a third of the space allotted.
The green-haired young master was seated beside his cheek-
scarred companion. Coraline didn't want to sit anywhere near the
argumentative noble... There were too few passengers for it to be
helped.
Still... Coraline was determined to enjoy herself at any cost.

Chapter 491 Char & Brimstone
he crowd had directed their attention to the end of the table,

T
where a boisterous adventurer was telling a story.
The tall gentleman wore a heavy black-and-white patterned coat,

his arms were covered by chainmail, and... he had heavy, ram-like
horns on his forehead.
He was a tiefling... and if popular belief was true, there was

demon blood in his ancestry. At second glance, his skin was
tinged slightly red, as well...
As... initially peculiar as his appearance was, unique bone

structure and skin color were not indicative of a person's nature.
Such was the case for elves and humans, as well.
...Still, she was glad for their differing heights. A forehead collision
with the adventurer would probably put her in the infirmary. Or
worse.
Adjacent to the horned man was a half-Elven male, and beside

him was a human woman. The elf-blood was lightly armored...
though predictably, was equipped far more cheaply than Lord
Arod. The woman was simply dressed: braided ponytail,
conservative green blouse, soft-fabric trousers with pockets that
looked incredibly comfortable and she wanted a pair for herself.
The dragon-blooded guardswoman stood rigidly, keeping vigilance

from a corner of the room. At the distance, the dark scales on her
forehead made it seem like she was glowering and thinking of
more 'accidents' she could cause.
Coraline excused herself from Lucrezia's guidance, taking the

empty seat next to the human woman whose clothes she liked.
Predictably, Lord Arod sat beside her-- as far as possible from the
rowdy tiefling storyteller.
"...So I says to her-- I says, 'if that's any sign of what else is under
there, you'd have to pay ME for the service!! ...And guess what
she says, Lone!"
"Uh, I dunno," The bronze-skinned boy idly scratched at the scar

on his cheek. He was smiling politely, but seemed more confused
than excited, "What'd she say?"
"She AGREES to it! With her husband or boyfriend or whatever in

the VERY same room! What a CUCK, am I right?!" The tiefling
laughed as if he'd just told the funniest story in the world.
From what little Coraline had heard, it really wasn't.
The human-- Mister Lone, she gathered, chuckled half-heartedly

in response.
"Mister Ramon," The green-haired youth smiled politely-- a drastic

change in temper from what Coraline had seen of him prior,
"Perhaps we should change the topic to something more
appropriate?"
"Ah, you right, you right," The tiefling nodded, but suddenly turned
towards Coraline's end of the table.
"Captain NICK!! Where've you been hidin' these FIIIIINE ladies!

You already got Maisie and Olesya! Y'can't keep ALL OF 'EM to
yourself!"
"My apologies, good Sir!" The Popoto, Giorgio Castiglioni, yelped

in an overly loud voice while holding his wife's hand possessively,
"This lovely lady already has a gentleman suitor!!"
"Oh, Giorgio..." Lucrezia pouted, but placed her own hand atop
her husband's.
The Captain smiled radiantly, waving his arms and re-assuming

his host persona, "Mister Ramon, you wound me! I wouldn't dare
deceive the storied guild leader of the BADASS-ASSINS!"
"AHAHA!" Ramon guffawed, flexing his thick arms, "Ah, of course!

My reputation PRO-ceeds me, after all!!"
That wasn't... that was opposite-- oh, whatever. Coraline held her
tongue, smiling politely. She was probably the only person in the
room who noticed or cared.
"OH! HOHO!! The... BADASS-ASSINS!!" Mister Giorgio put his

hands together, clapping vigorously and prompting a cascade of
light applause from the other passengers.
Coraline applauded slightly louder to make up for Lord Arod's

impotence. The last thing she wanted was to have an awkward
meal.
"Darling, do you know who those adventurers are?" Lucrezia

whispered.
"I haven't a clue, my love." He confided, "But I do like their style!"
"Thank you, thank you!" Ramon stood up and dipped his body in
an ostentatious bow.
Coraline was slightly disappointed to see that the adventurer

lacked the large bat wings that she heard tieflings were supposed
to have.
"And just so you know, Mister Lone--" Ramon looked up with a

wicked grin, "You got the muscles to join my guild, if yer lookin'!"
The green-haired noble raised an eyebrow, "And what

qualifications does your guild have, Mister Ramon, to be confident
in your... recruiting efforts?"
"Well! We got a HEALIN' CLASS!" Ramon cackled, the manner of

which was almost... villainous in nature, "Can't find those, no
matter how hard ya try!"
Lone pursed his lips as if he was deliberating. "What else you

got?"
"My strikingly good looks," Ramon winked.
"Aha... I'll have to pass, Mister Ramon," Lone laughed softly in

chagrin.
"Hurr hurr, can't blame a guy for askin'." Ramon smacked the
man's back-- a bit too hard, it looked like, "Worst y'can do is say
no, am I right? That's my philosophy when it comes to women,
too!"
"Capitaine Nikandros..." A solemn and commanding voice came

from Lord Arod, slightly tinged with an Alizeaun accent, "I'd like to
inquire about the timeliness of the meal."
...Quietly, he added in Elven, "(And I do hope it does not stink of

charred flesh and brimstone.)"
The Ancient shot a vindictive glare towards the tiefling at the

opposite end of the table... a gesture Coraline was glad Mister
Ramon did not notice.
To the north of Alizeau was Bael Turath, a nation that boasted a

moderate tiefling population. It seemed that Lord Arod shared his
countrymen's general disdain for their neighbors.
"Ah, yes. At once, Lord Highblade," The plump Captain nodded

his head like a bouncing ball. "M-maisie! Is dinner almost ready,
my dear?"
"It'll be ready when it's ready, Cap'n!" The high-pitched voice of a

woman replied from the kitchen. "Just gimme a sec'nd!"
"(Are these the type of creatures you associate with, Sapling?)"

Lord Arod asked in a low voice.
"(Lord Highblade, it is considered proper etiquette to entertain

their foolishness.)"
Arod pursed his lips, not deigning to reply to Coraline's gentle

suggestion.
If he was going to be rude, she would later suggest that he
request his meals be served to him privately.
...
Dinner was served shortly after. Surprisingly, it was tailored to

passenger preference, even at the low price Coraline had
purchased her ticket for.
She was given a lovely salad with crisp croutons, ripened cherry
tomatoes, and a light vinaigrette-- no onions. Aside from that was
a rich bone broth with soaked potato-flour dumplings...
Oh, the noodle dish was wonderful, too. Its rich sauce tasted of
sun-dried tomatoes and it was topped with fresh herbs and a
grated, dry cheese.
Lord Arod was served the same meal. Coraline had no idea how,
but it looked inexplicably... wealthier.
"Oh, this is GOOOODD!! MAISIE!! Your cooking are good enough

to DIE FOR!!!" Ramon shouted across the table, scarfing down his
meal like a savage that hadn't eaten in suns. "How 'bout you join
my guild?"
"Oh, you!" The dark-haired human woman giggled. Her voice was
light and child-like, more appropriate for Lady Lucrezia rather than
that of a mature human woman. "I'm flattered, Mista Ramon--
really, I am."
Maisie glanced at Captain Nikandros sitting beside her before

looking back at Ramon, "But you folks don't need another healer--
and I have my hands full helpin' out the Cap'n."
"Fair enough," The tiefling shrugged as he consumed another

bloody piece of beef steak. "S'really good, though."
Ramon, Lone, and the green-haired youth had similar meals...

unsurprising for the two, muscular males, but slightly out of place
for the third.
Mister Lone's scholarly companion had a lithe, thin build, much
like an elf or half-elf. He could use a bit more bulk...
She was never much attracted to effeminate males without hair on

their chests. She'd grown up with elves... so that kind of body-type
made her think of her brothers and male cousins.
Mister Ramon had her ideal height... He was top-heavy and

muscular, which she liked-- and he had a cute, slightly protruding
gut.
However, Coraline preferred a slightly more athletic physique...

someone like... Mister Lone, actually.
She once heard... that a man that could take care of himself could
take care of her. She didn't need to be protected... but the thought
was nice.
"Olesya!" Ramon turned in his seat to address the reticent

guardswoman, "How 'bout you come sit and eat with us? If you
don't want to pull up a chair, you can sit on my lap!"
The blonde woman bowed her head, her expression unchanging,

"My apologies, Mister Ramon. I have already eaten. Please enjoy
your meal without worries."
"Oh! Speaking of enjoyin' ourselves, I gotta check somethin' in the

kitchen," Chef Maisie bowed, the skirt of her frilly Alizeaun maid
outfit flaring at the sides. "I nearly forgot about the dessert! C'mon,
Cap'n!"
"Ah, yes! The dessert!" Captain Nikandros stood up to follow,

"Please excuse me as well, dear guests. Wouldn't want the ship to
burn down-- we've only just departed, after all."
For the briefest of moments, Coraline saw something change in

Olesya's face. Recognition? Disgust? Anger? After the micro-
expression, the guardswoman returned to her professional mien:
cool, calm, and collected.
Whatever it was had caused a visible sign of distress. But
whatever it was... was also none of Coraline's business.
",
Chapter 492 Forever Lone
" Dear guests!" The Captain popped his head back out of the
kitchen door, "One last thing of note: I'd like to make it known that
the only passengers legally wed are Master and Mistress
Castiglioni. Thus, you fine, single gentlemen may consider
reintroducing yourselves to Miss Coraline and Miss Felicity."
What kind of announcement was that?! Coraline strongly

considered hiding underneath the table.
"Eh?!" Ramon tilted his head, pointing a red, black-nailed finger at

Lord Arod, "What about that one?"
The half-elf at Ramon's side, Mister Elladan, snatched one of the

tiefling's ram-horns, pulling him close, "That's Master Highblade,
you fool-- a male... a very wealthy male."
Ramon clumsily smacked his companion's hand away, "Oh. Ah.

Yeah. No uh... no respect intended, Master Eyeblade."
The braided woman by Coraline's side snickered at Ramon's

verbal blunder. This was the Miss Felicity the Captain had
mentioned. She was quiet and proper-- her personality largely
overshadowed by Ramon's.
Coraline liked her.
"Master HIGHBLADE! My well-meaning friend means to say: no

DIS-respect intended, Sir," Elladan bowed his low enough for his
forehead to touch the table... "On my life, we would never dare to
purposely offend a High Elven house."
"Right! As'what I said!" Ramon insisted.

Lord Arod gave Coraline an accusatory glance... likely meaning to
repeat his inquiry from earlier.
She pretended not to notice. High Elven house aside, she and her
previous guild had worked for high profile clients like Arod of
Highblade before. With wealth came a certain degree of
entitlement.
Coraline didn't want to get too close to the noble... He might try to
recruit her or worse-- order her around like a servant. If she
refused, it would lead to a whole slew of other problems. She'd
remain civil with the Ancient for the sake of peace, but would
never dare to ask for more than that.
"Alright!" Ramon clapped his hands together, garnering

everyone's attention. "New conversation, then!"
...
The devil-horned Ramon was straightforward and honest. Also, he

was as dumb as a rock.
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, found his presence...

refreshing. Dealing with him, he didn't need to watch his words or
act his rank. He could essentially... just act without thinking, not
worried about how anyone else thought of him.
He'd spent time imprisoned in Turrim Orientem over false

charges. After establishing his dominance, he became known as
'Lord Ranger.' Most recently, he had joined the ranks of Letalis
Serpentia as a Sergeant. There, he fought ghosts and heretics
among the Brazen Guard's very militaristic Munifices and Decani.
The longer he spent in Guild Sol Invictus... the more important it

became to speak with actions, rather than words.
Lone got the advice from Tycon, himself... As long as he didn't

open his mouth, people wouldn't find out that he... was barely
smarter than Ramon.
Flying over to Cersei's Rest was a chance for him to unwind.

It was just him and Tycon... and he was fairly sure his boss'
opinion of him couldn't fall any lower than...
--that time in the alley, where he...
...and that time with the butter... or the statue... and then the
poison gas...
Lone had made a lot of mistakes over the past several moons. But
he was getting better.
Ramon leaned forward, setting a chainmail-covered elbow over

the table, "Have I mentioned that we're recruiting?"
"Yes, you have, Mister Ramon," Tycon said, shaking his head. "--
on multiple occasions."
"Oh, haha!" Ramon sat back, snickering. He was grinning so wide

his eyes closed, "You're right! My bad!"
Lone found himself smiling along with him... allowing his eyes to
drift over the other passengers, stopping at one of them, in
particular.
If he wanted to act like a proper, stand-up gentleman, then it'd be

for--
"I have an idea!" The Popoto, Mister Giorgio, had stood atop his
seat, standing as tall as the humans and elves sitting around the
table.
Lone looked across the table at the short Elven girl, a small smile
on her glossy lips. She was probably the prettiest girl he'd ever
seen.
They had a connection, he was sure of it. He couldn't point out

what exactly that connection was... but it was there.
Her name was Coraline-- a name that was surprisingly just as

pretty as she was.
And her sharp eyes were staring at... Mister Giorgio?

Lone didn't feel comfortable calling another man cute... but that's
definitely what Giorgio was, a cute old guy.
But why was Coraline staring at... Mister Giorgio's... wine glass?
It was empty. What was so special about that?
"Giorgio, get down from there, this instant," The man's wife
pleaded through closed teeth.
"Nonsense, Lucrezia. It's a good idea! Just-- *hic* just hold on a

sec."
It was empty. The Popoto-- half Lone's height and less than half
his size, had downed his entire glass of wine.
"Ladies and gentlemen-- esteemed companions of the Golden

Eagle Alliance," Giorgio began...
"Oh, this guy's good..." Ramon nodded, pursing his lips.
"Ramon, shush~!" Felicity scolded in a harsh whisper.
Giorgio waved an open palm, "Think back... to the most

memorable moment in your lives! To when you first laid eyes upon
the most... gorgeous woman (or man) you've ever laid eyes on!
"And let's say-- for conversation's sake... that you could spend the
rest of your liiiiives with that fateful person! Who would it be?!"
Lone's mouth and throat had become drier than the dirt on his
boots, as he struggled to gulp.
Coraline had caught him staring... and she averted her gaze,
wearing a hard frown.
...Seven hells.
Well, he'd probably ruined his chances with her. And he didn't
even have to say a single word.
No surprise. Lone's success with women could be summed up by
the going-away gift he got from Sorina. She got him an iron ring to
celebrate him being 'Forever Alone.'
It was supposed to be funny.
It was... a little.... but in a sad and pathetic way.
Lone followed the gaze of everyone at the table to find that Mister
Giorgio was pointing his palm towards the male elf next to
Coraline.
Yeah, that wasn't going to work.
...
Coraline hated being stared at.
Was there something in her hair? On her face, maybe? She

dabbed her napkin at the corner of her lips like she was taught.
Maybe she had some lettuce stuck in her teeth? She loved
salads, so that sort of thing happened often...
If Mister Lone had noticed something off about her, then it was
polite to not say anything at all. Still, it meant she'd spend the rest
of her time in the dining hall worrying about it.
The table's atmosphere had grown suspiciously quiet... and she

turned to notice that Mister Giorgio was directing everyone's
attention to... Lord Arod, of all people.
Yeah... That wasn't going to work.
Even the Ancient, far removed from the whims and woes of
commoners such as herself, had found himself in an
embarrassing predicament. He was glaring at her... likely having
understood that she was his only ally.
Coraline considered leaving the high elf to flounder in

awkwardness. It's what a typical noble would do if their roles were
reversed.
Unfortunately, her conscience got the better of her.
"Ahem... I'll go first," She muttered...
Suddenly, she became very aware that all the attention had
refocused on her.
Her throat had become as dry as an arid wasteland and she

struggled to swallow her saliva, "I uh..."
"Look at her, Giorgio," Lucrezia scolded, "You've mortified the

poor girl!"
Her voice took on a motherly sweetness as she addressed

Coraline, "Now, now, dear... you needn't feel obligated to satisfy
my fool husband's curiosity."
"Indeed. The contents of a young lady's heart are best kept

secret... shared privately with a suitor of her choosing."
Coraline raised her eyebrows as she turned towards an unlikely

ally. Those words came from the green-haired youth, waxing
somewhat poetically.
He didn't sound like a bookish mage or scholar. He sounded like a

con-man. The youth was dangerous and she wanted nothing to do
with him-- much less be defended.
"N-no, it's fine," Coraline stammered. "I just need a moment to

think."
She needed a very long moment, if possible.
"Pff... Ckkkch.... Ahaha... HAHAHA!" Ramon tried and failed to

hide his loud, grating guffaws, "Yo, Tychon, what in the SeVennN
HeLLs was THAT?! NO ONE talks like that!!"
"Ramon, don't~!" Felicity chided her ram-horned guild leader. "I

thought it was sweet!"
So the young master's name was Tychon... If Coraline's studies in

the old Tyrion language served her, the root word 'tycho' meant
'luck.'
...It also could be from the root word 'tynchano' which meant to fall
on deaf ears-- which was far closer to how she had initially judged
him.
"You must forgive me, Mister Ramon," Tychon inclined his head. "I
don't have the raw strength and bravado indicative of one such as
yourself. In lieu of that, I must exemplify a modicum of intelligence
in order to win respect from my peers."
"Aha, no need to be formal, guy," Ramon snickered. "I was jus'

talkin' for laughs!"
The quiet Felicity had covered her mouth... but unable to contain
herself, she held her stomach in a fit of giggling, "By the godddds!
Sir Tychonnnnn~!"
"What? What's going on?" Ramon lifted his chin, pouting like a
child.
"Congratulations, Ramon," Elladan rubbed his chin in thought...

"That was the most... eloquent way I've ever heard someone call
you an idiot."
",
Chapter 493 Choice Of Life-
Partner
he table erupted in laughter... at Mister Ramon's expense, with

T
even Lord Arod impossibly betraying a derisive smirk.
"Felicity!" Elladan nudged the giggling human woman at his side,

"Maybe our guild leader could use a heal? For that SICK
BURNNNN!!!"
No one liked being called a fool... and boiling hot anger rushed to
Mister Ramon's demonic eyes as he puffed out his chest
indignantly.
Feeling the danger, Coraline immediately glanced at the closest

exit... then at Olesya and Lord Arod, the two armed people in the
dining hall.
Thankfully, just as quickly, Ramon seemed to... deflate.
"WELL!! ...You ain't wrong, friend," He grinned.
"Aha! Good, good!" Giorgio clapped his hands, "We're all friends
here!"
Ramon leaned forward, palms on the table, "How about you, then,
Tychon? Huh? I bet you're just a lonely virgin, his nose stuck in
the books all sun!"
"Tss," The young master scoffed. "I'm courting a young lady who
resides in the City of Silva. I suppose that would be my choice of
life-partner, as of current."
Felicity placed her elbows on the table, resting her chin on her
interlaced fingers, "Awww... that's too bad."
Coraline raised her eyebrows in surprise. Maybe Miss Felicity
wasn't as quiet and proper as she'd assumed...
"Felicity... really?" Elladan grimaced, no longer amused.
"I'm ready!" Coraline stood up, her chair scraping the wooden
deck and calling all the attention to her.
That was certainly a mistake... but standing up gave her the fake
courage she needed to speak in front of a crowd.
Or so she thought.
Felicity smiled, gesturing to her, "Let's hear it, Miss Coraline~"
"Go ahead, dear," Lucrezia gently urged.
Though Lady Lucrezia had initially said that Coraline didn't need
to share... there was a starry look of expectation in the grey-haired
woman's eyes.
Coraline couldn't let down the sweetest old lady she'd ever met.
And all this... was because she wanted to downplay Lord Arod's
social ineptitude.
Bleigh.
"I don't... have-- anyone in mind..."
Coraline took a deep breath. She was stammering and she had to
focus to keep loud enough to be heard...
"--but... my ideal partner is... someone strong... Maybe a little

taller than I am? And it would be nice if he liked the outdoors--
hiking... maybe a little adventuring?
"He has to be... ultimately and unfailingly loyal. He can be a little

foolish, sometimes... but it's fine-- because he always tries his
best.
"And in difficult times, he must never... ever... give up. Not on
me... not on himself... not in us."
Coraline bowed to the other passengers... and sunk down...

making herself as small as possible in her chair.
The table grew silent... and Coraline felt beads of perspiration

forming on her forehead from the pressure. She was glad she'd
eaten something. She was certain she would have collapsed if
she hadn't.
In the field, she'd stood against kobolds and demons and

undead... but nothing was as terrifying as public speaking.
"Oh my gods... Coraline... you are the sweeeetest THING~"

Felicity beamed.
"By the Flame," Lucrezia sighed as she took her husband's hand
and gazed lovingly into his eyes, "Miss Coraline, thank you, so
much. I think because of your words... I may have fallen in love all
over again."
"(Every star in the sky has its pair, Sapling,)" Lord Arod whispered
in the quietest of voices.
"I'm REAL strong... " Ramon stood up from his chair, towering
over the other passengers at his full height, "but-- other than that...
I am NONE OF THOSE THINGS!!"
"Well, that's obvious," muttered Elladan.
"But... you know. who. is?" Ramon's gaze drifted over each
member of the table... stopping at... Mister Lone.
Coraline's heart skipped a beat.
Was Ramon saying... that perhaps that... awkwardly-staring

ruffian was--
"ELL-A-DANNN!!" Ramon exclaimed, dragging up his companion

by his wrist. "So how 'bout it, girlie? You wanna join my guild?!
We're called the BADASS-ASSINS!! It's a combination of
BADASS and ASSASSIN!! SSS!!!"
The table loosed a collective groan, polite laughter intermixed.
"Pffff, no wayyy!" Coraline laughed, her cheeks still hot. "But if I

*was* going to join a guild, the Badass-assins would be at the top
of my list, Mister Ramon."
What type of list that was, she made certain not to specify.
"Ahaha! SOUNDS GOOD!!" Ramon yelled, flexing his arms, "We'll

be recruitin' as long as I'm a-LIVE and kickin'!"
"L-let go of me, you brute!" Elladan protested.
"It's a joooke! HaHA haa!" Ramon grinned, releasing his friend.

"Elladan's already taken... unless?"
"That's a 'no, thank you,' Mister Ramon," Coraline smiled.
She wasn't in the market for a new adventuring guild... not so

soon after leaving her old one. But it did feel very nice to be
wanted.
"I am *quite* taken, thank you..." Elladan rubbed at his wrist,

scowling, "Unless my woman runs off with a certain young
master."
Felicity stuck her tongue out playfully, "And let you boys galavant
across the Holy Country without anyone to keep you in check?
Dream on!"
"Ohoho. Conversing with young people makes me feel HALF my

age!" Giorgio smiled, standing in his seat and swaying lightly.
"Then I suppose I'll take a turn, then...
"My ideal woman... who I'd want to spend the rest of my life with...
is my wife...'s identical twin sister."
...Wh... what?
...Coraline was. absolutely. appalled.
The entire table was... save for the unfeeling Ancient, Lord Arod.
Young master Tychon's response was pretty tame, too, granting a
mere raised-eyebrow of bemusement.
Even Olesya standing guard in the corner had her mouth agape.
"Oh, dear husband..." Lucrezia sighed, "I don't have a sister, you
buffoon."
The charming Popoto took his wife's gloved hands in his, "Then
perhaps I could be granted the honor to court you, milady?"
"YOU!! YOOOUUU!!!" Ramon shouted from across the table,

"YOU GOT ME, YOU OLD DOG!!"
Giorgio... that sly old man had done well. Calm returned to the
dining hall, accompanied by good-natured laughter and the
refilling of wine glasses.
"And of course, dear friends," Lucrezia inclined her head. "My

answer would be the same. If given a second chance, I'd choose
to be with my darling Giorgio until the end of my suns."
Chapter 494 Blades Of The
Forgotten King
" You're a lucky man, Mister Castiglioni!" Ramon roared, lifting his
wine cup, "How about a toast?! To the finest Popoto I'll ever meet
in this life!"
The toast was well received-- well enough that Coraline no longer
had to worry about trying overmuch to avoid awkwardness.
Lucrezia filled her husband's wine cup... thankfully, not too full.
Even Lord Arod seemed to be infected by the mood, lifting his
wine glass to toast the happy couple.
It *was* Elven wine. That undoubtedly influenced the Ancient's

willingness.
Walking around the dining hall, he still stayed six fulms away from
Mister Ramon, at all times. Even copious amounts of booze didn't
patch up xenophobia so easily, it seemed.
With glasses emptied, Giorgio blinked his drunken eyes as he

gazed across the table... at the boisterous, red-skinned tiefling,
"And you, Mister Ramon? If you could choose a woman to spend
the rest of your suns with?"
"Pff aHahaHA!" Ramon chortled, "Easiest answer ever! You all

should know, don'tcha think?!"
Coraline furrowed her brows... "Mister Ramon? Who would you

choose then?"
The tiefling downed the rest of his wine before roughly wiping his
mouth with the back of his hand, "Mister Giorgio's wife.
Obviously."
...Coraline had never seen anyone, Popoto or otherwise, turn as
red as Lady Lucrezia did in that moment.
...
Even with Lady Lucrezia limiting her husband's 'merriment', Mister

Giorgio Castiglioni had to excuse himself to his quarters. He
conveniently blamed his old age.
Everyone on board knew that the Popoto's condition was due to

enjoying several too-many glasses of wine.
Miss Maisie, who doubled as the ship physician, promised to

deliver him a tincture to prevent an otherwise certain hangover.
Even though she had a slightly rough way of speaking, she was a
consummate professional.
Coraline had a lively conversation with the adventurer, Miss

Felicity, talking about hiking and camping in Kasydon-- up until
Ramon had to be half-carried, half-dragged off by her and
Elladan.
Coraline assumed the tiefling had never had Elven wine before.
Ramon had guzzled it down as if it was watered-down ale from a
public house. It was not.
Elven drink was nothing like weak Dwarven spirits.
The closest comparison was a type of spirit from the Eastern

States called moonshine. Strong and sweet alcohol was probably
the strongest link between humans and elves, where Coraline was
from.
With the noisiest passengers gone, Lord Arod had found a

surprising conversational partner in young master Tychon.
They discussed a series of high topics... and were currently

critiquing the most recent actions of the High Council in Alizeau.
The scholar revealed his identity as a young Baron and landowner

there... and that he was mostly fluent in Elven.
More shockingly, Lord Arod was familiar with his achievements,
even if in passing.
The green-haired noble was full of surprises.
It made Coraline even more suspicious of him... while also making

her want to give up trying to read the intent behind those golden
eyes. She remained in the dining hall, sitting in and listening to
their conversation, keeping herself caught up on current events.
They were better company than the rats in her room.
After Captain Nikandros and Olesya excused themselves,

Coraline was left alone with the two nobles... and the awkward
boy sitting across from her, Mister Lone.
"H-hey... do you wanna get outta here?" He whispered.
Was Lone... talking to her?
No, he was looking away? He was probably bored of the

conversation and wanted to go back to his room.
...If he was talking to her, then maybe he'd say it again? Coraline
would love an opportunity to gather information about him and the
mysterious green-haired youth.
Tychon proved skilled at replying to Lord Arod in the common

tongue... And he did it in such a way that his companion could
understand the general gist.
He did... oversimplify certain concepts-- probably too much, but

Arod didn't seem to mind.
When Mister Lone was not honed in on the conversation, he kept

stealing... peculiar, judgmental glances at her.
Coraline was absolutely certain there was nothing on her face.

She had carefully and extensively pored over her reflection in her
empty wine glass to make sure of it.
Perhaps he'd never seen an elf before? While elves weren't
exactly rare, most humans found them to be difficult company...
Lord Arod, for example, fit that stereotype well.
Coraline did not have that problem. She'd been exposed to both
human and Elven society throughout her life, so she felt like she
could fit into either.
She did find even small crowds difficult, but that was not reason
enough to actively avoid speaking to her. Even young master
Tychon had asked her polite, safe questions, like where she was
from and for what reason was she traveling to Cersei's Rest.
"Ahem," Lone cleared his throat... "Master Highblade, I have a

question."
And the first person Lone addressed was not her... it was the
notoriously difficult-to-talk-to Ancient.
That made her... very... disappointed-- not that she could voice her
complaint.
Lord Arod grimaced, directing his black-sclera eyes towards

Tychon.
The golden-eyed noble motioned for his companion to continue,

"Speak your mind, Mister Lone. If you mince words with an elf,
you'll earn nothing."
"R-right," The boy chuckled nervously, "I was wondering why you
didn't have to surrender your weapons. I thought only Miss Olesya
was allowed to open-carry a weapon on the ship?"
"M-master Arod is a noble of House Highblade!" Coraline

squeaked... far louder than she had intended.
"Hmm..." The Ancient pursed his lips, swirling his glass of wine in
contemplation.
"But... Mister Giorgio had to surrender his jewel-encrusted

dagger? --or so he said," Lone offered... sounding almost
apologetic that he asked.
It was true that... Mister Giorgio was... not a very threatening

individual. Still, a sharp dagger was as deadly in the hands of a
human as it was in the hands of a child-sized Popoto.
"The family that owns the Windwright's guild is of Elven lineage,"

Tychon explained. "House Highblade's wealth and time-honored
status far exceed that of whatever mercantile association Mister
Giorgio belongs to. Therefore... it would be a great disservice to
Master Arod Highblade and his kinsmen to have his heirloom
weapons taken from him."
Tychon inclined his head respectfully, "Have I guessed correctly,

friend-elf?"
"That is... not entirely correct, Monsieur le Baron," Arod admitted

in Alizeaun-accented common. He paused to take a graceful pull
of wine before continuing... "The weapons I carry are not
mundane... nor are they enchanted with simple magics... They are
known as... the Blades of the Forgotten King... ancient relics from
an era that was old before I was a sapling... like Miss Coraline of
Heartsong."
The Blades of the Forgotten King... Coraline had never heard of

such artifacts.
Then again... Ancients cannot lie. They are masters of deceit, as

deadly with their words as with their blade arts... but it is not in
their nature to say things that are untrue.
"House Highblade has deemed that I deliver them to Tyrion's High

Oracle," Arod continued. "--zat perhaps a trustworthy outsider
may offer a new perspective on their secrets..."
"(Also, Baron Tychon...)" Arod added, reverting completely to

Elven, "(Order your companion to cease his lustful gaze towards
the Heartsong Sapling. While onboard this ship, she is under the
protection of House Highblade.)"
His what-now? Under the protection of who?

"(Lord Highblade, I do not require your *protection*,)" Coraline
seethed through clenched teeth.
While the Ancient's audacity was to be expected, she was not a

porcelain doll that needed a man's 'protection' from anything or
anyone.
"(Sapling...) Arod furrowed his eyebrows, "(Do you... fancy this

human?)"
His expression was as if Coraline was the only sapling that ever
dared to talk back to him-- much less refuse his... admittedly very
generous offer. The protection of House Highblade was... not
something that was granted so easily... and she'd just thrown it
back in the Ancient's face.
Still, Coraline would stand by her words...
Wait-- did she fancy who-now?
She looked back at the young master and his companion.
Tychon had disconnected himself from the conversation, focusing

his full attention on a wooden puzzle box atop a shelf.
Mister Lone, the cute but oblivious boy wore a foolish grin--
completely unaware that he was the topic they were discussing.
Did she fancy... him?
Absolutely not.
Perhaps.
No, not in a hundred lifetimes.
But the hundred and first?
...Nothing was certain.
Young master Tychon, the herald of chance, could possibly have

granted her this once-in-a-hundred-and-one-lifetime opportunity.
"(I will not take back my words...)" Coraline whispered... "(--
respectfully, Lord Highblade.)"
"(Nor I, mine,)" Arod hmphed, narrowing his gaze at the golden-

eyed Baron, before standing from his chair, "Thank you for the
conversation. I daresay that this journey won't be as droll as I had
been expecting."
"I am honored by your presence, Master Highblade." Tycon

nodded, standing to mirror Arod's actions, "I will inform my
companion of your... gentle suggestions, in private."
"I'd really rather you not," Coraline sighed.
Arod shrugged as he walked off-- an unnaturally human

affectation, coming from him, "You may heed the sapling's wishes,
Baron. The Ancients are destined to wither away... and the young
will rise to take their place."
Chapter 495 Burning Curiosity
"So what do you think, Boss?" Lone asked.
Tycondrius pulled out the chair to the desk, placing his hand on
his chin in thought...
"Once we touch down at Cersei's Rest, we need to appeal to the

highest power we can manage. Archbishop Crucis' assistance
would behoove us in particular..."
He grit his teeth in annoyance, "--if she would deign to grace us

with her presence."
Natalya wouldn't be happy to see him... but he was confident in

being persistent enough to be granted an audience.
A dull thud rang out. Lone had struck his forehead against the
bottom of Tycon's bunk, "Ow. No, Boss, I mean... you know... what
do you think about the other passengers?"
Tycon tilted his head, pursing his lips. There were two other Iron-
Ranks on the ship, Arod of House Highblade and the tiefling guild
leader, Ramon. No one else was powerful enough to be of
consequence.
"I advise you not to grow too close to Mister Ramon. Stupidity is
contagious."
Concerning Lone's clumsiness, Tycon's feared that his advice

may have been given much too late.
He turned his attention to the puzzle box he'd taken from the
dining hall. It was a peculiar wooden cube with moveable panels.
Something rattled inside... which would presumably be released
upon discovering the puzzle's solution.
It didn't seem difficult... and with so many panels moved and
mechanisms activated, he believed he was nearly finished.
Lone rubbed his forehead, grimacing... "Well, how about... a

certain elf?"
"...Arod Highblade is an insufferable prick. Treat him respectfully--

as I do."
"No, I mean--"
"Mister Lone," Tycon growled, pushing the puzzle box away. With
his last movements, its internal mechanisms had reset... its
conditions identical to when he'd first began to fiddle with it.
"Say what you mean, young man," He sighed. "The best way for
me-- or anyone to understand your intentions is to be
*transparent* about them."
"Yeah... but... but it's not always that easy."
Tycon took a deep breath, grabbing the box once more...

pondering its weight and which possible actions he could safely
eliminate...
"By process of elimination-- and in assuming you're not interested

in either the half-elf Captain or the fellow in Ramon's group... then
you're referring to that Coraline girl."
"Y-yeah," Lone nodded, this time, being mindful about his

available headroom. "I just think that... me and her, we--"
Tycon held up a palm, his attention still focused on the box, "Hold
a moment. I apologize for interrupting... but before you continue
on, understand that I recommend against any sort of romantic
pursuit."
"Against wh-what?" The Ranger stammered, "O-oh, you mean...

the two of us? Like-- wait, what?! Why??"
"The most obvious fact of the matter is... you're an adventurer

under contract, Mister Lone... and you have nowhere near the
amount of coin required to buy your way out of service. As such,
you go as the guild requires... While not impossible, you have little
time to pursue a long-term romantic relationship."
Lone grew quiet, allowing the details of his situation to sink in.
Tycon's own situation was similar... his long-term goals taking
precedence over finding a mate. Lone's contract was finite, but
Sol Invictus owned him for another three years-- outside of special
circumstances, like debilitating injury or death.
"Boss... what if... what if she joins Sol Invictus?"
Tycon chuckled at the young man's naivete. Judging by Miss

Coraline's social aptitude, covering for Master Arod, and based on
her class and metal-rank, she would be a fine addition to either his
Guild Invictus or Athena's Guild Letalis.
"Unfortunately, I'll have you recall how vehement the young lady
was *against* joining Mister Ramon's guild... I suppose you could
blame the tiefling's unprofessional mien or his absurd guild name,
but my speculation is that Miss Coraline's unwillingness may stem
from a deeper, unknown issue."
Lone turned his body in his bed to face him... "What do you think it
could be?"
Tycon furrowed his brows, "I do not have such information-- hence
my speculation. At a certain point, little brother, *you* must be the
one to seek out the answers you desire..."
He turned to face Lone directly, "You are a Ranger, are you not?"
"Well, yeah? What's that got to do with it?"
"Then such answers are your prey, so to speak... You must task
yourself with the hunt, with your... burning sense of curiosity as
your motivation."
"Hmm..." Lone adjusted his body to stare at the underside of the

top bunk, "You kinda make it sound like... an unfortunate
condition."
Tycon rolled his eyes, "I'm not talking about your inability to wash
your genitals, you oaf. Now, go to bed before I beat you within
ilms of death with this puzzle box."
Seven hells. He considered doing it, anyroad, if there were any

chance it would get the thing open.
Lone let out a heavy, overly dramatic sigh... "I just think... there's a
spark... a connection."
"With a young lady you haven't spoken a single word to?" Tycon
smirked.
"It's just a feeling, Boss..." Lone insisted, "Like you said... it's a
burning--"
Tycon reached into the small pouch on his belt that contained
daily necessities, tossing one of its contents to Lone.
"Huh? What's this?"
"It's a bar of soap. Snap off a piece of it for use, next time you
wash."
"B-boss! I don't have crabs!"
Tycon narrowed his gaze. His attempt at being helpful had failed...
"Perhaps you should have specified your burning as figurative, as
opposed to literal."
"It was in the *scope* of conversation, Boss."
Admittedly, it was. He certainly would have noticed, if he cared to

pay attention.
"...You are aware that I am... bad at that."
"Yeah," Lone sighed. "I'm aware..."
"Anyroad," Tycon smiled politely, "what is your first task from

hereon, Mister Lone?"
"I guess I have to bathe with the soap," The young man groaned
listlessly.
"I mean, concerning a certain young lady, you dolt," Tycon sighed.
"Also, you should have been doing that, already."
"I guess? I dunno the first step, though?"

Chapter 496 Rumbling Thrum
Lone looked to him with pleading eyes. Did... he really not know?
Tycondrius mulled the thought over.
His advising of Lone on pursuing Coraline's favor was

counterintuitive to Arod Highblade's wishes. However, he valued
the contentedness and welfare of his companion more than he
cared to impress an Elven highborne.
He swept back his hair, deliberating on his words... "I advise you
to open a dialogue with your target of affection."
Lone sighed... but kept a thin smile, "I guess I have to be a

Ranger, then."
"Yes, Mister Lone..." Tycon rolled his eyes, "That will be your
general goal in this life."
Lone loosed a noisy yawn... "I'm tired, Boss. You goin' to bed
soon?"
"Likely... I'd like to focus on this mystery box for a bit longer. And
besides that, I might... take a walk, so to speak, to inspect the
formations on the ship."
Tycon stood up and took down a decorative, but aesthetically out-

of-place, painting on the wall. Behind it, runic lines inside of a
circular spell formation were etched into the paneling.
"Ughh," Lone narrowed his eyes, "Looking at that makes me

dizzy. I dunno how you do it, Boss."
"Mm. Amusing," Tycon pursed his lips. "Your mana sense is

developing well, for this to affect you. Only a year prior, you'd have
suffered no such ills."
"Yeah, I'm done thinking about it," Lone reached for his blanket.
"Good luck on your mystery, Boss."
"Hmph, thank you for the well-meaning notion... but luck does
nothing for me. I'll be satisfied when I gain an understanding."
"I guess we're both hunting for answers, huh, Boss?"
"Indeed," Tycon rolled his eyes as he reached to turn off the oil
lamp. "Sleep well, Mister Lone."
...
"Empty night," Coraline threw her covers off and sat up, bumping
her head on the top bunk.
"Ugh, just what I need. Stars and stones, you're so duuumb,

Coraline..." With tears at the corners of her eyes, she got out of
bed, rubbing at the growing lump on her forehead, "I hope it
doesn't bruise..."
Rats.
Rats were in the walls, scratching and squeaking, just as she

thought they would. They might as well have come in and put on a
carnival, with how much noise they were making.
Besides that, there was also a rumbling thrum from somewhere in

the ship... like a thick tree was being sawn in half or... or a dire
bear was being tortured to death. The sound was just as
persistent as the rats, so it didn't worry her as much as it annoyed
her half-to-death.
Elves didn't need to sleep-- not really. She had grown accustomed
to the habit, being part of human society for so long.
She was still young... both by Elven standards and Human...

Sleep was healthy. Young people (like her) needed sleep to grow.
Oh, sleep... How she missed her sweet embrace...

She lit her oil lamp and began to put some real clothes on...
...She'd grow eventually. Sleep was stupid.
Decently dressed, she carried her lamp out into the hall. The other
passengers had gathered around one particular room with their
own lamps... likely not for the rats as much as the other terrible
grunting death rattles.
Standing in the cramped hallway were the three members of

Ramon's guild, the Castiglioni couple, and the dovahkiin guard,
Olesya.
"I'll have to go and wake the Captain for the keys," Olesya sighed.
"He sleeps with earplugs."
"Tch," Ramon snorted, gesturing towards Coraline as she

approached. "Even the little girl's awake. Seven hells, I ain't above
teachin' another entitled noble a lesson if I can get some gods
damned rest. Doesn't this guy know who I am? I'm the guild
leader of the--"
"Oh, dear," Lucrezia walked towards Coraline and took her hand.
She wore a gorgeous child-sized nightgown with a pair of
embroidered sleep gloves. "You couldn't sleep either, little one?"
Coraline felt her heart warm as she gripped the Popoto woman's
tiny hand in hers, "I'm fine, Lady Lucrezia. Why are we all
standing here?"
"That's what I'd like to know." Captain Nikandros' voice echoed as

he approached from the opposite end of the hallway... "Dear
guests, have you all decided to mutiny? If so, my employers
require my two-week resignation notice."
No one laughed at the Captain's joke.
"Captain Nikandros," Lucrezia cleared the crowd and placed her

fists on her waist. "The noise from Sir Tychon's room is absolutely
dreadful! And the rats... You *must* do something about this!
Giorgio, dear, please tell him!"
There was something strange about the way Mister Giorgio
looked. The older Popoto blinked his eyes, dazed and a bit pale...
likely from his earlier libations, "Y-yes, indeed. Dreadful."
"Captain..." Olesya narrowed her eyes, "Why are you up at this

time of night? ...And where is Maisie?"
"Yeah, that'll do," Ramon nodded. "If Miss Maisie needs help
sleeping, I volunteer myself as tribute. I reckon usin' those jugs as
pillows, I'll be sent to one of the eleven heavens."
The half-elf, Elladan, rolled his eyes, "Seven hells, Ramon. If it's
not fighting that's on your mind, it's f--"
"Elladan!" Felicity cut him off, "Please, there are ladies present...
and you too, Ramon~"
Captain Nikandros fumbled through his coat pockets, removing a

key, "Miss Maisie is... indisposed, at the moment. I was working
with her uh... plotting the course, you see. I decided to make my
rounds afterward-- when I noticed your lamplights in the
hallways..."
"The rats, Captain," Lucrezia glared. "If you don't give me a

suitable answer, I *will* speak to your supervisor when we reach
Cersei's Rest."
"Right, right..." Nikandros nodded, breathing an oddly-timed sigh

of relief. "The rat-catcher on deck should be Petty Officer Mittens.
I'll let him know, immediately."
"Petty Officer... Mittens?" Coraline tilted her head.
"He is stray cat we picked up, few calls back," Olesya rolled her
eyes, her words marked with a strong Nemayan accent.
"Captain Nikandros," Lucrezia crossed her arms. "I must insist on

your sobriety, concerning the matter."
"C-can't insist on... bein' sober all the time, my love..." Giorgio
muttered.
"One issue at a time, dear guest," Nikandros smiled with chagrin.
He knocked on the wood of Sir Tychon's door with two heavy

bangs, "Please excuse me, young master-- but is everything
alright?"
Chapter 497 Open Door
Footsteps approached the door from the opposite side.
With so much noise that they'd been making, Coraline found it odd
that neither Tychon nor Lone had emerged until then.
The young, green-haired noble opened the door, his yellow eyes
reflecting the dim lamplight, "Good evening... ladies and
gentlemen. Is something amiss?"
At the same time, the groaning growls from within his room
intensified and grew clear.
"I apologize for interrupting your rest, young master," Nikandros

bowed his head.
"No... there is no trouble..." Tychon raised an eyebrow. "I have

been working on a certain puzzle box... though it should be quite
obvious why I would not have heard any commotion in the halls."
"That..." The Captain put on an embarrassed smile, "Is... your

companion, Mister Lone... in good health?"
Mister Lone?
Were the sounds in the room from his snoring or his death rattles?
"I see..." Tychon opened his door wide and gestured towards the
sleeping boy taking up the bottom bunk. "Mister Lone is... quite
lively, as I'm sure you can tell."
Coraline spied the most subtle of movements. The noble had

flicked his wrist... as if he was a sleight of hand artist in the middle
of a trick.
...It was incredibly suspicious.
Tychon placed his empty hand on his chin-- "I will gag him with a
bundle of cloth to reduce your worries."
"Thank you for understanding, young master," Nikandros nodded.
"Hmph. That guy's got some strong lungs," Ramon shrugged.

"Nothing more to see here. Let's head back. My head's KILLIN'
me..."
Coraline stood on her tiptoes to look into the mysterious young

master's room, the dim lamplight in the halls enough for her Elven
eyes to see everything clearly.
They had no luggage... She recalled that she hadn't seen the duo
with any when they boarded. Were their belongings sent ahead to
Cersei's Rest?
A painting on the wall had been taken down, revealing one of the
ship's spell formations... too complex, even for her to decipher.
As Tychon had said, there was a wooden puzzle box resting on

his desk, but...
Coraline pursed her lips, "Sir Tychon... why is your lamp off?"
Tychon loomed over Coraline, his eyes narrowed to thin,

judgmental slits. It made his pale yellow eyes look even more
insidious...
"The moon is out, Miss Coraline. The additional light would be

redundant, no?"
That would make sense... but the noble's room was on the same
side of the ship she was on.
...The light of the moon didn't shine through her window.
But why... would... he lie about that?

A piercing scream split the night, causing Coraline to whip her
head to look down the adjacent dark hallway.
Ramon turned to Elladan, his eyes serious, "Let's move."
"Right."
Immediately, the two sprinted down the hallway, their third,

Felicity, trailing behind them without a word.
"Sea god's socks," Nikandros cursed. "That was Maisie's voice!"
"Of course you'd recognize that whore's screams," Olesya

grumbled. Grasping her sword scabbard, she ran off in the same
direction.
Coraline quickly hurried after. Her heart thumped in anxious

anticipation... she had a bad feeling about this...
...
It was strange how quiet Mister Ramon's chain shirt was as he

ran. It made more noise than Mister Lone's gambeson, but there
must have been a slight enchantment on it... not enough for
Olesya's detection tool to catch it, but still there.
Coraline caught up to Ramon easily enough, but as expected, the

half-elf Elladan had quickly sped ahead of them both.
"Oh, what the HELLS-- come onnn!!" Ramon groaned.
An oil lamp had fallen onto the floor, causing a small fire, which
the tiefling hurriedly stamped out with his boot.
Elladan dragged Miss Maisie away from an open door... the door
to one of the larger passenger rooms on the ship.
"Oy. What's wrong?" Elladan snapped his fingers in front of the

human woman's face.
"I... I-- I just.... he was-- I saw 'im there, an'--" Maisie was crying,
choking on her sobs. She had both hands cupped over her mouth
while she stared past Elladan with wide eyes.
Coraline needed to know what was in there.
In her heart, she already knew. There was only one passenger
that had not gathered to complain about the noise... and that
person would have most certainly resided in the most expensive
of the Golden Eagle's suites.
But the most damning fact... was that one of Miss Maisie's hands
was covered in blood.
Coraline slipped past Ramon and stepped towards the door to

Arod Highblade's room.
"(Do not enter, Sapling,)" Elladan warned in Elven. "(We must wait
for the Sky-Captain.)"
Coraline pursed her lips, "(Lord Highblade was my friend, elder

brother.)"
She used the term 'friend' very loosely. Their relationship was
certainly positive... but she didn't want Elladan to realize that her
curiosity got the better of her.
She pushed the door open, lifting her lamp to illuminate the room.
Sure enough, Arod Highblade lied face-down in a growing pool of

his life essence. Blood had marked a back wall at thigh level,
stained downward...
She sensed Elladan standing at her back.
"(A tragedy has befallen the Ancient...)" He whispered in awe.
Guilt took hold of Coraline's heart. Lord Arod was arrogant and
rude and was a generally terrible person to everyone but her.
Still... he was an Elven warrior... and he didn't deserve to die
without a blade in his h--
The Blades of the Forgotten King!!

They were gone!!
This wasn't just a murder! The Ancient was robbed!
With wide, incredulous eyes, she turned back to Elladan, the

grimacing Ramon, and the hyperventilating Maisie.
Someone on the Golden Eagle was a thief... and a murderer.
"Seven hells take the bastard," Ramon scoffed. "He'll have all the
burnt meat and brimstone he could get, down there."
It seemed like Ramon had, in-fact, both heard and understood

Lord Arod's earlier sentiment.
Elladan placed his palm over his eyes, tilting his head back
towards the ceiling, "Gods damn it, Ramon... I *told* you not to
take the Ancient's blather seriously. You only know-- what, ten
words in Elven?"
The demonblood crossed his thick arms, scowling, "Well-- shut

up! You could tell by the way he said it, that the prick meant what
he said!"
",
Chapter 498 Control
oraline's ears twitched. The other passengers had arrived in the

C
hallway.
"Maisie! Are you alright?!" Captain Nikandros voiced his concern.

He was heaving, sweat pouring down his forehead from the short
run. "By the gods, woman-- is that blood?"
"C-cap'n! M-mista Highblade, he-- Oh, it's terrible!" Maisie sobbed.
Coraline placed her oil lamp on a desk and knelt down to inspect
Arod's body.
Two wounds.
There was a puncture wound on his lower back and the front of
his throat had been slit, ensuring his death.
"Someone attacked Master Highblade from behind..." Coraline

turned back towards the crowd in the doorway... "--with a bladed
weapon."
"He-- he got done in by a sword!" Maisie shouted, her light voice

crescendoing into a high-pitched screech, "An' the only one that
coulda done it is the dragon BITCH!!"
"And I still *have* that sword, you stupid whore," Olesya growled
back.
"Ladies!" Nikandros shouted, "Now is not the time!"
Coraline retrieved her lamp and stepped back into the hall. She
carefully observed the faces of the men and women there...
Someone standing among them had murdered Lord Arod and
stolen his artifact weapons.
"Oh, dear... oh, dear....." Lucrezia fanned herself with her hand,
her breathing labored. "This is the most horrible development!"
"W-worry not, my love," Giorgio cooed, "I will protect you."
"You two got nothin' to worry about," Ramon groaned. "The elf
died 'cuz he carried around two fat sacks of silver on his back.
AND he was an insufferable DICKWAD!"
"Gods damn it, Ramon," Elladan shoved the bigger man. "Did you
have something to do with this?"
"Don't TOUCH me, knife-ear!" The tiefling shoved his companion

in return, and the half-elf's back struck the wall. "I may be a
heartless killer, but I ain't a THIEF!"
"That's it!" Elladan stretched his back, "You're dead, goat!"
"Who you callin' a goat?!" Ramon pointed angrily.
Elladan grabbed Ramon's wrist and, in a single swift motion, threw

the tiefling to the wooden floor with a loud crash of metal chain.
He then mounted the bigger man's chest and began to rain down
a series of merciless punches onto Ramon's red face.
Felicity, their third guild member, hurried to Nikandros, "Captain!

You have to stop them!"
Coraline grimaced, looking at the old, slightly plump ship Captain.

He wasn't going to be of any help in a fight.
Meanwhile, Ramon and Elladan were rolling on the ground,

striking each other with fists, knees, and elbows.
The guardswoman, Olesya, averted her gaze from the fight,

pretending not to see it. She wasn't planning on breaking up the
fight, either.
Coraline didn't blame her.
"I'm tired of your stupid face, Ramon!" Elladan shouted, "⌈Rattling

Strike!⌋"
Ramon took a mana-empowered punch to the face, but the only
thing it did was making him more angry.
"GRAHRRRRRH!!!" With a crazed roar, he brute-forced Elladan

off of him, sending the half-elf tumbling down the hallway.
Those two were... adventurers. And they were using Skills on

each other. If Olesya were to intervene, she'd risk being heavily
injured. --And if either of them managed to wrest her sword away
from her...
Nikandros smiled with chagrin... "Those two are... young. They'll

sort this out by themselves."
"No, Captain!" Felicity yelled, "You don't understand-- Ramon has

the Berserker class!"
Coraline's heart lurched into despair. If Ramon activated his

⌈Berserk⌋ ability, then there wouldn't be only a single murder on
the Golden Eagle. Elladan could very well die and Ramon might
even turn on the other passengers.
In her latest lapse of judgment, she dashed towards Ramon. He

had his back turned to her, so she had a chance... She wasn't
well-trained in close combat, but if she could put him into
chokehold, she could hold on for dear life.
With almost supernatural speed, Ramon turned... towering over

Coraline at his full height.
His eyes were hazy and bloodshot, burning redder than his skin.
They were the cold-hearted, murderous eyes of an adventurer.
"M-mister Ramon! You must regain control!" Coraline shouted, her

voice cracking in fear.
"GRRRRGHH!!" The tiefling reached out his hands toward her.
"Ramon, DON'T!!!!" Felicity yelled.
Lady Lucrezia let out a shrill scream.

In that critical moment... Coraline's two weeks of martial training
failed her.
She flinched.
Her eyes closed-- and the world was dark. She didn't even put her
hands up to defend herself.
She just... stood there... and waited.
...But nothing came. No grab and breaking of her spine. No skull-

splitting punch. She stood blindly, patiently waiting for her end to
come... and was granted only silence.
...Until a loud smack upon the wood beside her rang in her ears.
Opening her eyes, she turned to see Mister Lone sitting up

against the wall, cradling the back of his head and groaning his
pain, "Owww..."
Ramon had grabbed him, instead of her...
...When had he arrived?
"I AM in control..." Ramon muttered, shaking his head, "I'm always

in control."
Control. Coraline straightened her back. She needed to take

control of the situation before anyone else got hurt.
Whenever she did that back in her old guild, she was hated for it...
but someone needed to do it.
She turned to Nikandros, tilting her head up to look eye-to-eye

with the ship Captain... and she put as much steel into her voice
as she could manage, "Captain, have the passengers return to
their rooms."
The half-elf Captain narrowed his eyes, "Dear guest...

Respectfully, this is *my* ship."
"Do as the girl requests, Mister Nikandros."

Coraline furrowed her brows. It was Tychon, walking nonchalantly
towards them... and he had, once again, lent his deep voice in
support of her.
Nikandros' face reddened and his eyes bulged, "I beg your
pardon, young master!"
"Miss Coraline is protected by House Highblade and thus, is

qualified to act with their authority," Tychon explained, gesturing
towards her dismissively. "Also, it's late. I'm tired."
"Th-that's right!" Coraline stammered. "I want everyone isolated!

...There is a murderer among us."
Nikandros inhaled deeply through his nostrils. Of course, he

wouldn't be happy about his leadership being taken away... "Very
well, young mistress...
"Dear guests, please return to your rooms... the crew of the

Golden Eagle will guarantee your safety."
Chapter 499 Won’t Be
Sleeping
Coraline turned her attention to Mister Lone.
The cheek-scarred youth had rushed to her aid... and took an

injury that was meant for her.
He'd come straight from bed and hadn't put his armor back on, so
he was just dressed in the thin undershirt he wore underneath it.
But... when he rubbed the back of his head, the bottom of that
shirt lifted up...
The subtle action earned her a peek at Lone's surprising sculpted

abs... and a flush in her cheeks.
"M-mister Lone..." She gulped.
"Huh? What's up?"
"I'd like you to... you're the... Eh..." She took a deep breath, trying
to get her mind off of the boy's stupid sexy stomach and the... and
the happy trail that reached his navel, "S-stay with me for awhile,
will you?"
"Huh? Me?" He pointed at himself.
Coraline frowned. Did she misspeak?
WAIT! YES! She did! With her phrasing, it sounded like she was
inviting him to--
"Y-you're the only one I can trust!" She exclaimed. "I need you--
for... for investigating."
Bleigh. That didn't sound much better.
"What?" Lone contorted his face in confusion, "Wh-why?"
...That was absolutely not the response she was expecting.
She briefly explained the integrity of his alibi. His... snoring was
audible in every part of the ship. Due to the ship's formations, that
sort of thing couldn't be replicated by magic.
Also... a simple Echo-type spell wouldn't be able to emulate that

kind of sound-- like an ugly treant begging for death.
"Oh..." Lone smiled politely... "I am so... sorry."
Coraline pursed her lips, her frustration growing along with her
confusion, "What's that supposed to mean?"
Was he apologizing for his snoring? ...Or was he impotent?
"No, nevermind," Lone held out his palm. "Just give me a sec to
get permission from--"
"Enjoy your investigations," Tychon waved with his back turned.

"I'm returning to my room."
Coraline furrowed her brows, glaring at the noble's back as he

departed. She didn't like that person's general nonchalance
concerning Arod's death. Earlier in the evening, he was
conversing amicably with the Ancient... but after he died, how
could his only concern be sleep?
Sleep was stupid.
The other passengers returned to their rooms, with Nikandros and

Olesya escorting the still-frantic Maisie back to hers.
Coraline took a blanket from the bed and laid it over Arod's body.
'Your murderer will be found, Master Highblade,' She promised in

her heart.
"Lone, come with me to interrogate the passengers and crew..."
The boy furrowed his brows, "I'm pretty sure B-- I mean, Tycon's
probably sleeping..."
"I doubt anyone else will be able to," Coraline shrugged.
...
⟬ First interview: Lucrezia Castigliano. ⟭
"Oh... The fireworks... They're lovely... Just like you... my love."
Giorgio Castiglioni was cutely muttering nonsense in his sleep.
Lucrezia tucked her husband's blanket snugly around his

shoulders before planting a kiss on his forehead. The old man's
lips curled up into a smile that melted the ice around Coraline's
cold heart.
"Can you believe it?" The gentle Popoto turned back to Coraline,
shrugging her small shoulders, "Giorgio swears on his life to
protect me, but he can't keep awake past eight o'clock."
She held her tiny hand up expectantly.
Lady Lucrezia had changed out of her evening dress, but her pink
and purple sleepwear was no less fashionable. Also, the woman
really liked to match her clothing with gloves...
Coraline had heard that sleep gloves were a thing for older
women? They retained moisture which... according to science,
prevented wrinkles.
Science was weird. She much preferred to rely on magic, as her

ancestors did.
She wouldn't question it aloud, of course. That would be rude.
Obediently, Coraline placed her hand in the older woman's and

allowed herself to be led outside of the room and into the hallway.
"I came to see how you were doing, Lady Lucrezia," Coraline
whispered.
"In all honesty, dear..." The older woman huffed, "between taking
care of a drunken fool and worrying over whether or not I'll ever
make it back home... I don't think I'll be getting my beauty sleep,
tonight..."
She took on a sullen frown, "Miss Coraline, I must insist you stay
with us. A young lady shouldn't be by herself-- not with a murderer
on the loose."
"I can't, Lady Lucrezia..." Coraline inclined her head, "Mister Lone
and I will be speaking to the crew and the other passengers. We'll
get to the bottom of this mystery."
"Oh~" Lucrezia gasped, holding her hand in front of her collar,

"Mister Lone?"
Lone waved shyly, standing on his side of the hallway, "H-hello."
Lucrezia leaned forward, lowering her voice, "You won't get any
sleep tonight either, dear... not with the way that young man
snores."
"I won't be sleeping with him, Lady Lucrezia," Coraline pouted.
Was everyone going to think she was planning to sleep with him?
She hated being the topic of gossip... especially as her standards
hadn't yet fallen so low.
Mister Lone was cute... but she didn't know anything about him.
Did he even have a job? He looked like he wouldn't last a single
sun in an adventuring guild.
The older woman placed a gloved finger over her lips, "Maybe you
should reconsider?
"A young gentleman like him would have *boundless* energy to

keep you awake," she beamed. "And besides... I'd feel so much
better if I knew Mister Lone was by your side, protecting you."
"I can take care of myself, Mother," Coraline groaned.
'Empty night...' Coraline cursed in her mind. She hadn't meant to

let her sarcasm slip.
"You remind me of my oldest..." Lucrezia stifled a giggle, relaxing

her tense shoulders... "Always headstrong... always stubborn,
even as a babe... I would be *honored* if you would call me your
Aunt. I have no siblings, you see... and you are the most
*adorable* child, Miss Coraline."
"Aww..." Coraline was touched, placing a hand over her heart...

"Thank you, Auntie Lucrezia."
The gentle Popoto woman squeezed Coraline's hand, "Now, tell

me what's on your mind, dear."
"Right..." Coraline took a deep breath and tried her best to put on
a confident face, "Auntie... could you please tell me about the
events before I saw you in the hallway?"
Chapter 500 Need
Lady Lucrezia explained that she was taking care of her drunk
husband.
Coraline had expected as much.
The only reason she sought out Lucrezia first was out of concern.
The kindly old woman was distraught... and she'd likely never
encountered such a violent death. While they interviewed, her
hands still shook and her voice cracked.
Coraline's hand holding onto hers was probably the only thing
keeping her together.
She recommended that her new Aunt keep her door locked and to
not open it for anyone until morning.
Afterward, she walked down the hallways, trying to ignore the

conversational squeaking of the rats in the walls.
Lone followed close behind her.
"Hey, you," She frowned.
"Y-yeah?" Lone smiled, idly rubbing the back of his head.
Her heart softened upon seeing the boy's innocent, naive look.
What was she doing, dragging him around?
Coraline had enlisted Mister Lone's help to pursue her sleuthing

endeavors...
It was selfish of her... but...

She trusted him. It wasn't just because of his solid alibi, but...
there was something about his presence-- maybe even from the
scent coming from his clothes.
Whatever it was, it put her ever-so-slightly more at ease.
He risked himself to protect her-- someone he didn't even know.

Despite his battle-scarred face, he must have been a good
person.
"N-nevermind," She turned away, walking ever-so-slightly faster.
She was going to ask him to walk beside her instead of behind...
but that didn't seem appropriate, anymore.
...
⟬ Second interview: Guardswoman Olesya. ⟭
Olesya was rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, standing guard in
front of the Captain's quarters.
"(Little star...)" She smiled warmly at Coraline's approach, "The

Golden Eagle has sent an emergency transmission to authorities
at Cersei's Rest. We can expect enforcers from the Church when
we land."
"Thank you for letting me know, Miss Olesya." Coraline nodded.

"Is the Captain still awake?"
There was a dim light from within the room-- perhaps from
Nikandros perusing the maps, or whatever he said he was doing
earlier.
"No, no 'Miss'," The dragonblooded guardswoman sighed, staring

at the ceiling wistfully. "My status is more... a slave than a free
woman. Call me by my first name. Please. Olesya."
"I thought slavery wasn't a thing in the Holy Country?" Lone asked
innocently.
"My family... they need the coin," Olesya admitted. "The debt...
The Captain-- he pays for it... and I... do things for him, when he
has need for me."
Coraline felt her heart sink in her chest. She'd read an article,
once, about a common plight of women in Nemaya Strana.
The cold, harsh lands could only feed so many... and poverty and
hunger afflicted a larger percentage of their people than in the
other, smaller nations. Many Nemayans would emigrate to find
jobs, more easily available elsewhere, sending back coin to their
families.
With a uniquely higher female population than male, some

Nemayan women would be... sold, more-or-less. The lucky ones
would find work in legal brothels. The less lucky would work the
streets they lived on... or find themselves the personal playthings
of villains with moderate wealth.
At first glance, it seemed that Olesya had found honorable work

as a guard on the Golden Eagle. With the latest information, the
truth was... more complicated than that.
"Miss Olesya..." Coraline lowered her voice, "If you need help... I
can talk to the Tyrion inquisitors for you. They won't allow
Nikandros to do as he pleases... even if he is part of the
Windwright's Guild..."
"No, (little star)..." Olesya shook her head, "It is no trouble. I have
no worth outside of my profession... If the Tyrions send me home,
it will be to watch my family starve in the streets... or maybe
myself."
Lone crossed his arms, "What if you... join an adventuring guild?

Maybe in a different nation?"
The guardswoman narrowed her eyes, the dark scales on her

brows furrowing menacingly... "Even if I try to escape my debts
here, I cannot be protected forever. My debtors will find me... and I
will gain a new master, maybe even worse than (a drunk [????]
[????]... [????])"
Olesya let out a string of curses in the Nemayan old language.
Coraline didn't understand most of it, but it definitely wasn't... nice.
Lone averted his gaze, whispering quietly to himself-- too soft for
non-Elven ears to hear... "--just need to join a strong enough guild,
then..."
Coraline grimaced at the thought. Not every adventuring guild was

the Rhodoks or the Aleran Furies. Only the most exceptional
guilds were considered untouchable by their host nations.
When she first joined Brockdale Bridge, she thought her suns
would play out exactly like the stories she'd heard of Sol Invictus.
In her first week, she got bit by a horse and got a fungal infection
from cleaning the guild bath.
Maybe life in Sol Invictus was just as bad. Being in an adventuring

guild wasn't as glorious as it seemed.
With Olesya having shared her circumstances... besides having a

weapon, she also had a motive. Fencing the Blades of the
Forgotten King could possibly allow her to settle her debts...
Coraline glanced back at Lone who responded with a solemn nod.

If she didn't have him by her side, she wouldn't have had the
courage to risk her next question.
"...Olesya... I apologize, but... can I see your sword?"
The guardswoman sighed, "I understand..."
Slowly, she drew her arming sword from her sheath, presenting it
forward in her palms.
Coraline took it and inspected it carefully... breathing a sigh of

relief when she found no evidence of blood.
"Thank you, Olesya," she smiled.
Unfortunately... the guard still wasn't free of suspicion. Olesya

may have had access to the vault, after all... and there could be
other weapons there. After the sword's inspection, the
guardswoman did relax a bit, though.
"Do your duty, (little star,)" A grave expression returned to

Olesya's face as she resheathed her weapon... "As I do mine."
The guard's words chilled Coraline's blood. She felt bad for the
guardswoman... but she wasn't in a position to help without also
risking her livelihood.
If she reported Nikandros for sex trafficking, she wouldn't be

thanked... and Olesya might even think of it as a betrayal of trust.
...At least she still had until they landed in Cersei's Rest to decide
on that.
Coraline inclined her head, "I'd like to speak to the Captain, now."
Chapter 501 Panicking A Little
⟬ Third interview: Nikandros, Captain of the Golden Eagle. ⟭
Stepping into the Captain's quarters, Coraline reflexively covered

her nose and mouth with her hands.
Everything. reeked. of vomit.
...and alcohol.
The door closed behind her and Lone. It granted them privacy...
and protected Olesya from the smell.
Coraline glanced to the wall at a ventilation duct. The magic

formations that circulated clean air throughout the ship were not
working fast enough.
Taking a look around the room, it looked like it'd been stripped of
anything nice. The most expensive things around were the maps
on a table at its center, a compass and some measurement tools.
Nikandros' military coat was hung up in an open wardrobe
dresser, expensive and its breast heavy with achievement medals.
Also... the bed was made.
Who makes their bed in their own room?
A psychopath, for sure.
Distracted as she was, Coraline couldn't react in time to a sudden

pressure atop her head. A heavy hand pulled her down, just as
the sound of glass shattering rang in her ears.
She pieced together what had happened as she stared at

sparkling green fragments showering the ground beside her...
"G-get off of me," She shoved Lone's arm away.
A little bit of glass never hurt anyone.
"Sorry," Lone bared his teeth in a grimace. "I moved out of reflex."
"It's fine... just... just don't do it again," She warned in a low voice.
Mister Lone's hand on her head wasn't appropriate-- not at all.
"Oh... Dear guests," Nikandros rolled his eyes, his arm still
forward from the throw.
He was slumped in a leather chair, wearing a sheer sleeveless

undershirt, stained yellow. Earlier, she thought his tummy was
cute. Without his coat on, it was not.
"F-forgive me if I don't stand," Nikandros explained with slurred

speech, "It's... customary... for the Captain to drink... in order to
deal with the SHITE he deals with every gods damned sun."
The Captain was drunk... very drunk.
Coraline couldn't blame him.
Being the Captain of a prestigious luxury liner that had fallen out
of favor, the murder of a high elf was the last thing he needed.
Alcohol was a coping mechanism. It was one that she knew well,
herself.
"Captain Nikandros," Coraline grimaced as she stepped towards

him, skirting around an unsavory pile of retch. "I have a few
questions. It won't take long."
The half-elf Captain narrowed his eyes, trying to focus his

unsteady gaze, "Ohhh... it's... it's you... the fffffucking... girl. Sea
god's.... ssssshite. You... you highbloods are the gods damned
worst..."
He belched loudly... and Coraline flinched, fearing the worst.

Thankfully, the Captain took a long pause... and swallowed
whatever was in his throat, "Ugghhh... Soooo... Come to mock my
inability to keep my ship in line, have you?"
Coraline sighed, careful to breathe through her mouth... Speaking

to the Captain was going to be more difficult than she had initially
judged.
She tried to adopt the friendliest voice she could, muffled as she
was through her hands-- "Not at all, Captain. I just wanted to ask
you about--"
"Sod off, wench." The Captain groaned. With an unsteady hand,

he reached over to an adjacent table, grabbing a brown bottle...
"The hells is the green one? Bah."
Nikandros took in a deep breath, raising his voice, "Before you

go... how about a drink? Dear guests?"
Coraline grimaced beneath the hands covering her mouth,

"Captain, please, I just--"
"Come on, now!! You and the boy!!?" He poured the dark liquor
into two dirty glasses-- taking a swig directly from the bottle, "Trust
me, it's... it's the only way to live... when life... is so ffffucking
unFAIR. Come on, then. This is the good stuff..."
"Don't mind if I do," Lone cheerfully stepped forward.
Coraline grabbed the boy's wrist, glaring as sharply as she could.
Lone paused... then returned obediently to her side, "Uh, business

first, Captain."
"Well... fine... more for me," The Captain grinned. He grabbed one
of the glasses and downed its contents in a swift pull.
"Make it quick, then," Nikandros gestured lazily. "I don't have all
sun. I have... maps to... aw, the hells with it..."
Coraline pursed her lips. Concerning the situation, getting straight

to the point was a necessity, "Captain Nikandros, where were you
when Master Highblade was murdered?"
"Ugh," Nikandros bit his upper lip, making a strange smacking

sound. "I was... ffffucking... the maps, you mushroom-brained
whore."
"And the key to the vault? Do you still have it?"
"Of... of COURSE I do!"
The Captain tilted his body to jam his hand into his trouser pocket,
then slammed the key on the table. Some of the contents in the
remaining glass spilled.
Such was generally an unforgivable sin... but it wasn't Coraline's

place to judge.
"What do you take me for?" Nikandros growled, "A drrrrrunk?"
"And lastly..." Coraline hesitated.
She wasn't planning on asking for anything else... but she would
not find a better situation to ask for liberties... "I need an
exemption from the ship's formations. I need to be able to cast
spells."
"Right, right... Sure... Ah huh..." The Captain nodded

absentmindedly, reaching for the remaining glass. Instead, he
clumsily knocked it to the floor, "Sea god's codpiece... Beatrice!
BEATRICE!! Where the... gods... damned..."
Coraline shot a confused look to Lone, who returned the look in

kind.
Who was... Beatrice? That name wasn't on the boarding list.
Then... she felt it.
In an instant, the air blurred around her... and she was...

embraced by an invasive, sweltering warmth.
"Coraline, what's going on?" Lone knitted his brows.

"I'm.... f-f-ffffine," Coraline insisted.
She was not. Perspiration just... poured down her face and upper
body. Her hair was sticking to her forehead and... everything just
felt terrible. Admittedly, she was panicking-- but only a little.
Fine was subjective.
"Beatrice, there you are," Nikandros yawned noisily. "Clean up this

mess."
"CaptaINN!" Coraline squealed-- far more panicked than she had

intended.
"Oh, right," Nikandros put his palms on his cheeks, squeezing his
face. "Beatrice, give that girl an exemption... Allow her to cast
spells... not Evocation or Necromancy, though... and... not on me."
Coraline sensed... a fwooshing sort of response... and the heat...

the presence of whatever-it-was disappeared completely.
",
Chapter 502 Swords Of Truth
If Coraline hadn't felt like she'd just jumped into a warm bath with
all her clothes on, she would have sworn that she'd imagined the
entire ordeal.
As the presence went away, Lone relaxed his shoulders.
She turned to scowl at him. She was fine!
She hadn't brought the boy along to fret over her wellbeing. The
notion was practically insulting.
Turning away from the stupid boy, she looked back to Nikandros...
However, judging by his light snoring and the saliva dripping down
the corner of his mouth, the Captain would no longer be
entertaining more questions.
Coraline sighed... She didn't get much information, but... the

probability of the half-elf Captain being the culprit was low.
He had the motive and the means, but Nikandros had more to
lose from Lord Arod's death than to gain.
"Let's go, Lone," She gestured towards the exit.
"...Right," He grimaced, reaching for the door handle.
When the Captain awoke, he'd have a terrible ache in his neck
from his sleeping position. It would be a subtle payback for being
so rude to her...
...
⟬ Fourth interview: Maisie, Chef and Healer. ⟭

It was late.
Thankfully, Coraline's spellcasting abilities were unlocked with

whatever Nikandros and... Beatrice had done. Once she and Lone
left the Captain's quarters and bid Olesya a good night, she spent
a few moments to clean herself and her clothes with an Unranked
spell.
She could have showered in her room... but that would have
invited the rats to gnaw at her naked ankles.
Traversing the halls, Coraline spotted a light coming from

underneath Miss Maisie's door.
She was planning to talk to her in the morning, but since she was
still awake, it seemed appropriate to at least check on her.
After two polite knocks, Maisie answered the door, opening it just
enough to reveal her face.
"Miss Coraline..." Her high-pitched voice was even higher than

Coraline had heard earlier. "You scared the hells outta me... come
in, quick. There's a--"
The dark-haired woman widened her eyes in shock, "Wh-what's

Mista Lone doin' here? Isn't he a suspect, too?!"
"*I'm* a suspect?" Lone pointed at himself indignantly, then back

at Maisie, "YOU'RE a suspect!"
Coraline sighed. Mister Lone wasn't wrong, but his words lacked a
certain... tact. His noble companion, Tychon, seemed to have a
tiny bit of that. Maybe he forgot to share?
"Mister Lone has a solid alibi, Miss Maisie," She explained, "I
figured the whole ship could hear his snoring-- especially through
the vents?"
"Oh..." The mature human woman grimaced, opening her door to

allow the two of them in... "I... I must'a not been payin' attention. I
w's with the Cap'n. We was... double-checkin' the kitchen's
inventory."
Coraline was sleepy before, but with the alarm bells ringing in her
head, she regained her clarity. Nikandros had said they were
checking the maps in his quarters-. The kitchens were nowhere
near that.
Maisie was lying.
She hastily scanned the contents of the woman's room. Her

Alizeaun maid outfit was hung up beside her desk. Her clothes
were arranged sloppily in a corner pile. Upon her desk were small
pots of makeup and hair products and a couple of painted
portraits on cheap, wooden discs.
Coraline honed in on a rectangular plaque... upon which, detailed

a Tyrion military rank and was carved with a few sentiments. It
meant the weak-looking woman was, at least, basically trained in
martial combat.
"Miss Maisie..." Coraline frowned, "You served in the Tyrion

military as an Immunes?"
"Y-yeah?" The woman placed a hand in front of her collar, biting

her lower lip. "I was a medic up 'till a few years back. Why?
What's it to ya?"
Coraline sharpened her gaze, "Then I'm assuming Master

Highblade wasn't the first body you've seen."
"Well, no... I mean--" Her eyebrows rose with realization, then

furrowed into an insulted grimace, "What ezactly you tryin' to say,
bitch?"
Coraline subconsciously took a step back, making sure Lone was

beside her... "I just think it strange... You're perfectly qualified to
deal with blood and death, especially as a combat medic."
"I left that life behind me!" Maisie huffed, "An' ya can't jus' expect a
MURDER six malms up in the air! AND I was TIRED, okay?!?"
Lone crossed his arms, frowning. It seemed that he too wasn't
entirely convinced that Maisie was being truthful.
Coraline took in a deep breath. She had a very specific First-

Circle spell to get force a confession... It did have a few... Rules
that made it tricky to use, but this was as good a time as any, to
cast it.
"Then you won't have a problem if I cast a Truth spell on you."
"Yeah?! Go aheeeaaad!" Maisie crossed her arms, wearing an

ugly sneer, "I ain't got NOTHIN' ta hide!"
Coraline nodded. She really shouldn't have, but she was looking
forward to making the woman regret those words.
"⌈Swords of Truth!⌋" She made a quick series of gestures with her

hands, before forming a diamond shape with her thumbs and
forefingers, "Miss Maisie! Where were you before you found the
corpse of Arod Highblade?!"
Glowing swords of light materialized around the woman, her

pupils shaking in fear, "I-- ⋖ I was with the Cap'n! ⋗ I swear, I
didn't kill nobody!"
"And where was that?!"
"In-- in the k-- ARGH!!" She was struggling against the spell's
influence... but it was useless. Once she granted permission,
she'd have to answer her question honestly.
"⋖ I was in the Cap'n's quarters! ⋗" She screamed.
That sounded more in line with what Nikandros was saying...
"And what were you doing?"
She grit her teeth, hatred in her eyes, "We-- we were F*CKING,
okay?!?! I was f*cking the Cap'n, bitch! So what if I have needs,
huh?! It ain't a crime!!"
Coraline pursed her lips in a deep, disappointed frown. Those
words weren't marked with the truthfulness of her spell... but it
didn't seem like she was lying.
Maisie was no longer a murder suspect.
"Don't you f*cking look at me like that!" The woman seethed, "Like
I'm just a f*cking whore!?!"
...And Coraline's future meals would probably not be as nice as

they were earlier in the sun. She glanced to Lone, who looked
back with an apologetic face.
"That will be all, Miss Maisie," She lightly inclined her head, hiding
the guilt in her eyes.
"Get the HELLS outta my room!" Maisie shrieked, pointing at the

door.
Chapter 503 Just Standing
There
Lone shut the door behind the two of them.
That could have gone better.
Taking a deep breath, Coraline laid her back against the wall...
and she went over the dozens of things she could have done
differently.
Whew. There weren't many things she could have done *worse*...
Lone raised their shared oil lamp, illuminating the naive, slightly
confused expression on his face.
"What was that? Your Truth spell?"
"Yeah..." Coraline puffed a lock of hair away from her nose, "I'm a
Circle Mage. Big surprise, huh?"
Lone pursed his lips, hesitating for a moment, "Why didn't you...
ask if Maisie knew who the murderer was?"
Coraline closed her eyes and shook her head, "I couldn't... the
spell's not so easy to use. Miss Maisie's beliefs can sway her
answers. She could have just blamed Olesya-- even without any
evidence."
"Then... you could have asked if... Maisie, herself, was the

murderer?"
"That..." She pouted, "The more direct my question is, the easier it
is to resist..."
Coraline didn't want to explain her spell... after all, it was
something only she could cast. However, she didn't like that the
boy kept asking so many... good questions.
"Honestly, I haven't really tested my ⌈Swords of Truth⌋ to their full

potential...
"It's a derivative from the Tyrion Inquisitor class' ⌈Interrogation⌋

spell. For sure, I can get someone's truthful opinion... and I can
ask where someone was or what they were doing at a particular
time-- just those two things..."
Lone nodded slowly. It looked like he understood a bit of her

troubles... "At least you can use it on all the other passengers?
We'll just ask them all where they were at that time."
Coraline lowered her head, feeling her ears droop slightly... "I... I
can only cast it once per sun."
Spellcasting was hard. Lone's questions weren't fair...
"Wow," Lone whistled. "That ability's kinda useless."
Coraline immediately slapped his arm, "YOU'RE kinda useless!"
...That was a lie. If not for him sticking by her side, Maisie would
have probably tried to claw her eyes out. It was really upsetting
that he kept calling attention to her faults, though.
Lone absentmindedly ran a finger along the scar on his cheek.
...It was something the boy often did... and she recalled she'd
thought it was cute when she noticed it, before.
WHY did she ever think *that*? It was stupid and annoying and
only made her more upset!
"Why do you call it ⌈Swords of Truth⌋?" He asked.
"Oh, just because I'm a girl, I'm not allowed to like swords?"
Coraline turned away, tilting her chin up. "Haven't you heard of
'The Unbreakable?'"
Suddenly, her ears twitched.
Something had moved at the end of the corridor-- and it wasn't a

sound the rats could make.
Lone lifted his lamp up, revealing the armored form of Olesya, the
dovahkiin guardswoman. She was standing motionlessly at the
end of the hallway.
"Miss Olesya?" Coraline furrowed her brows... "How long have

you been standing there?"
Olesya pursed her lips for a brief moment... her eyes solemn,
"Long enough."
"That's... a little creepy," Lone bared his teeth in a grimace...

"Then... *why* ...are you just... standing there?"
"It matters not," Olesya turned to walk off, disappearing past the
corner... "I heard everything."
...
Coraline walked with Lone back down the quiet hallways.
"So Miss Maisie and the Captain aren't suspects, anymore," Lone
thought aloud.
"Bleigh," Coraline placed a palm on her face, "Probably not.

Assuming they were... 'busy' when the murder happened."
Coraline felt her cheeks flush a little bit. She didn't think of herself
as a prude, but she wasn't very open to talking about that...
especially with a boy.
"How about Olesya?" Lone offered, "She has a weapon... and it

wouldn't be too hard to wipe the blood off of it. The 'Forgotten
Swords' are probably worth a lot of money..."
"They're called the Blades of the Forgotten King," Coraline

frowned... "But that's too obvious. She'd be caught for sure...
Nearly everyone's a suspect-- including me."
"Nah," Lone shrugged nonchalantly, keeping their lamp forward.
"It's not you."
"Well, *I* know that, obviously," Coraline shot the dense boy a
glare, "But that's not something you know, for sure."
"I believe in you."
They walked in silence for a few moments... as Coraline searched

for words that would convince the scarred-cheek boy that he was
wrong. And that he was also stupid.
"Why would you believe something like that?" She muttered to

herself.
"It's just a feeling," He answered.
Lone didn't sound particularly serious... but he didn't sound like he

was joking, either. It just sounded... honest, like it was a fact he
didn't have to think about.
"Whatever..." Coraline grumbled.
It wasn't worth arguing with that person.
...It felt a little nice to be trusted, but not with an oblivious and lazy
reason like 'a feeling.'
Feelings were stupid. Unreserved trust was stupid.
Those two things were most responsible for Coraline getting

hurt...
Once upon a time, 'Miss Coraline' had unrelenting faith in her old
guild leader and in the adventurers she traveled with. However...
people's priorities change.
People change.
In the distant past, she was even stupid enough to believe the
words 'I love you.'
Unfortunately for her, that kind of 'love' was only true for a few
moons at most...
Lone turned, handing the oil lamp back to Coraline, "So... this is
my room. Are you heading back to yours?"
She furrowed her brows, staring into the lamp flame.
It was late at night... Coraline was a tiny Elven girl without a

Martial Class... and there was a murderer on the ship.
...Wasn't it proper etiquette to at least... offer? to escort her back

to her room?
She could very well be in danger-- and Mister Lone didn't seem to
care!
"No," She shook her head, grumbling. "I'm gonna sit in the hallway
to make sure no one leaves their rooms for the rest of the night.
Right there, on the deck. By myself."
"Yeah, makes sense," Lone nodded. "Well, good night."
Coraline felt a vein on her forehead throbbing. She didn't know

why it was affecting her so much, but Lone's indifference was
infuriating.
She didn't expect every boy she met to drop everything they were
doing to vie for her affection-- but... but she was the only single
girl on the ship! And she was cute! Really cute!
"Why are you just standing there?" She scowled.
"I uh... I don't have the key," Lone bared his teeth as he knocked
on the wood.
Sir Tychon opened the door, his form illuminated by Coraline's

lamp against the pitch-blackness of his room, "Ah, Mister Lone.
Miss Coraline, good evening."
In that instant... Coraline forgot why she was upset... and... she
almost dropped her lamp.
The young master was... or was not... he wasn't wearing a shirt...
and beneath his robes... was-- err, was not at all what she
expected.
She saw toned... very toned... pectorals... arms... nearly

everything. Everything was... as perfect as a Tyrion statue carved
out of marble by a horny sculptor.
Smooth... very smooth... hard. stooooone. There wasn't a single

hair on his chest, either-- maybe he... he waxed?
She gulped as she took in the sight. Sir Tychon's abdominal

muscles were so defined, you could set a coin in the creases.
Without thinking, she began reaching towards them. Were they
real? They couldn't be an illusory spell, not with the--
"Boss," Lone frowned. "Put on a shirt."
The boy's voice brought Coraline back to reality. She withdrew her
hand as fast as lightning, hiding it behind her back. No one
noticed.
...She hoped no one noticed.
"No," Tychon grimaced... "Are you here to... report? Or...?"
"I'm here to go back to sleep?" Lone pouted.
"...Very well," Tychon looked displeased... but he opened the door

to allow Lone past. "Take the room key with you, next time."
"W-wait!" Coraline squeaked, "I-I-I... I..."
Tychon and Lone stared at her as she babbled.
Oh, gods, she hated being stared at.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to regain her focus, "I'm-- I'm
here... questions. I have them. To you. To ask. Of-- you. Sir
Baron."
"No. Go away."
Tychon's opinion DIDN'T MATTER. She NEEDED to KNOW!!
"Are you-- are you two..." Coraline pointed, crossing her fingers.
Lone's eyes widened, "What? No! We're not lovers!!"
Coraline breathed a sigh of relief.
...She wasn't sure why.
Tychon rolled his eyes, "Mister Lone, I advise you to mind your
volume, 'lest you wake the other passengers."
Lone put his hands over his mouth, shrinking his head down.
"Just a few questions, Sir Tychon!" Coraline insisted. There were

many, many more things she needed to know.
"Good evening, Miss Coraline."
The door was shut in her face, ilms away from her nose.
She turned her back to the door, pursing her lips.
...Then her face reddened.
She had made... a complete and utter fool out of herself...
And... it was all Tychon's fault.
She did not like that person.
Stupid, sexy... abs be damned.
...
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, stretched his back and loosed
a half-roar, half-yawn. In a flash, he stripped off his tunic, tossed it
at the foot of his bunk, and crawled underneath a blanket.
Tycon had sat back down at his desk, rotating his puzzle box in
his hands.
"Haven't figured it out yet, Boss?" Lone asked.
"I'm not going to answer that question, young man."
That meant the answer was no.
Tycon spun the wooden cube on one of his fingers, "Did *you*
make any progress?"
"I have no idea who the murderer is..." Lone sighed, "We had a lot
of ideas... but because it was both a murder and a robbery, nearly
everyone has a good motive."
A sudden... very uncomfortable thought crept into his mind, "Hey...

Boss."
"Go ahead," Tycon gestured.
"Did... did you kill Master Highblade?"

Chapter 504 The Hero She
Deserved
"No, I did not," Tycon answered simply.
"Whew..." Lone breathed a deep sigh of relief, "Just had to

check..."
Lone felt like he'd dodged a lethal attack. If Boss Tycon was the
murderer that Coraline was looking for-- eh. He was just glad that
wasn't the case.
He tossed and turned in his bed, trying to get comfortable... "All

that thinking's made me hungry..."
Lone saw movement out of the corner of his eyes.
Boss threw things at him, an awful lot. It wasn't moving so fast that
he had to use mana for it, though.
He snatched the small package out of the air.
Measuring its weight in its hand, he groaned, "Ugh... is this more

soap, Boss?"
"Hah. No," Tycon chuckled. "It's your share of the Gann jerky we

cured a few suns back."
"Oh, thanks," Lone's heart warmed.
He unbound the leather and took the thickest slice of jerky to

munch on. The smoky-peppery flavor was perfect for satiating his
hunger.
The flavor was... nostalgic.

"You performed much better against the three than in your first
encounter against the one," Tycon mused.
"Yeah... I'm a lot stronger now."
Those were simpler times... It made Lone recall how strict his
training had been... but also made him realize how much effort
Tycon put into him and the other members of Sol Invictus.
"Concerning the high elf's murder..." Tycon tapped his finger on

the wood of his puzzle box, "I'm assuming you didn't kill him,
either."
"I... I don't know?" Lone shifted the jerky in his mouth to the side
of his cheek, "I might've? I don't think I did... but magic is weird.
You said there were spell formations on the ship, Boss?"
"Indeed," Tycon pointed a palm at the painting he'd taken down

earlier, now returned to its place. "The formations effectively block
anything with somatic and verbal components, Domination-type
spells included. Thus, none of the casters on-board can use non-
martial spells unless exempted."
"So Miss Olesya can probably breathe fire..." Lone muttered, "And
Mister Ramon can... also breathe fire? What do tieflings do?"
"Correct. Bloodline skills are both non-verbal and non-somatic,"

Tycon nodded. "And Turathi tieflings can activate something... fire-
based, usually."
"Wh... what if a Domination spell was cast on me before

boarding?"
"Clever, but no." Tycon rolled his slightly glowy, yellow eyes,
"Nothing of the sort affects you... nor any other passenger. I would
have noticed."
"Oh... alright," Lone sighed, staring at the bottom of the bunk

above him. He'd ruled out both bloodline skills and mind-control
having anything to do with the murder...
He had very few clues on who the culprit *could* be...
It wasn't Boss. It probably wasn't Coraline... and the Captain and

Maisie were probably not the ones, either.
"Mister Lone."
Lone furrowed his brows. It was useless to think about it. They'd
gather more clues in the morning, "What's up, Boss?"
"When I inquired about your progress, earlier... I was referring to

your 'dialogue' with Miss Coraline."
...
A chubby rat scampered along the side of the hallway floor,

unafraid of the small Elven girl swaddled in her blanket.
Coraline sighed. She had spent nearly two bells sitting there...
watching... waiting.
She was so... very... very... tired.
Nothing. happened.
No one woke up. There were no signs of an obvious murderer,

stalking the halls. The ship didn't even have any ghosts!
Everything would have been so much easier if Lord Arod
manifested as a spirit and laid out the specific details of his
murder.
It was fine, though! Coraline had done her share of nightwatch as

an adventurer-- with ghosts and without.
She was an elf, after all...
Elves. didn't. need. to sleep.
She just needed... peacefulness... peaceful-minded-ness. to be at

peace-- to soak in mana from the atmosphere.
...Something like that.

The 'meditative state' she needed was difficult to explain. She
needed to sit still... and concentrate. After so long, she'd sense
the vaguest hint of a very specific, very fleeting state of mind.
It wasn't something that she could... hunt and catch. But once she
found it, she could... will for it?
It would come to her.
It always did.
Bleigh. Sitting cross-legged for so long made her back hurt.
Sleep would have been... so very nice... if she could have

afforded it. Maybe she just liked lying down? It was a lot more
comfortable.
Her evening wouldn't have been so bad, if she had company.
--other than the rats, of course.
Her sleepy thoughts drifted back to the awkward boy with the scar
on his cheek.
Mister Lone was...
...probably not the most ideal for that. He didn't seem to talk very
much. Even she talked more than Lone did-- and she generally
kept her noisy thoughts to herself.
Huh...?
Why was she thinking of *that* guy?
Felicity would make wonderful company. Lady Lucrezia would

have been just perfect-- but she was getting her beauty sleep.
Good for her.
Sleep was stupid~
...It was probably because of recent events. *That* was what

made her think of that person.
Mister Lone had a solid alibi and was... relatively competent.
There was no special reason for it.
Coraline's ears twitched, hearing movement.
Her heart warmed and her lips curved up into an unreserved

smile.
Her savior had turned the corner.
She didn't realize it until that moment... but it was exactly who she
needed to see.
"So... I finally make your acquaintance... Petty Officer Mittens..."
The stray cat had a patchy, tri-color coat... black, white, and
brownish. Mittens' paws looked nothing like her namesake... white
fur traveling up her paws and well past her wrists.
It was certainly a cute name, though-- and thinking about it,

'Mittens' was much more feminine than... 'Gloves' or... 'Sleeves'
Coraline nodded. She would allow it.
Mittens, merciless slayer of rats, was her greatest ally on the

Golden Eagle.
She supposed that Mister Lone was a close fourth.
Petty Officer Mittens proved to be excellent company. She was

friendly, full of meows and gentle nuzzling. The angelic purring
sound she made put Coraline's heart and soul at ease.
The calico even listened patiently to everything she had to say...

complaints about her old guild leader... about how frustrating it
was to stay up late... about her fourth-favorite ally.
Five star customer service.
So far, her flight on the Golden Eagle had been absolutely lovely--
minus the... murder.
Unfortunately, their time was interrupted by the appearance of a
dastardly rat, bigger than two of Coraline's fists put together.
Petty Officer Mittens boldly dashed off to face her newest foe.
Tears pooled in the corners of Coraline's eyes. Her savior was so,
so brave.
'May honor guide thy claws, Petty Officer Mittens! Ne'er has a
Tyrion, nobler than thee, acted in so honorable a defense of her
countrymen.'
...Anyroad, taking too long of a break was no good.
There were plenty of rats on-board. Mittens had a lot of work to

do...
One of the doors creaked open at about the same time... The
emergent Lone slowly turned his head, watching Petty Officer
Mittens chase after her foul prey, down the hall and into the
darkness.
Coraline-- in a far better mood than she was earlier, gave the boy
a small wave.
"Ya couldn't sleep, Mista Lone?" She smirked, mimicking Maisie's

cutesy, high-pitched voice.
"I'm exhausted," Lone shook his head. "I got two bells, though... I
figured I'd come out and let you get your sleep cycle."
Coraline nodded lazily, covering her mouth as she yawned. That

sounded lovely... but her one-sided conversation with Petty Officer
Mittens had granted her a tiny surge of energy.
"I'm not too, too tired," She patted the deck next to her. "Want to
sit and chat for a bit?"
"Umm..." Lone hesitated, placing his hand on the back of his neck.
"Yes?"
Coraline wrapped her blanket tighter around her, stifling a giggle,
"Stars and stones, you're so weeeeiird, Mister Lone."
She pursed her lips and winked coquettishly, "Do you not like my
company?"
"Aha..." The boy smiled in embarrassment, "I guess I can sit for
awhile."
...
Time passed by quickly enough with conversation. The topics

were horribly mundane, but... they weren't... boring?
They didn't talk about the murder or the theories they had or... the
two dozen things she was worried or frustrated about...
She simply chose to enjoy Mister Lone's company.
--which was... surprisingly pleasant.
It seemed silly, but Coraline was caught off-guard by the

realization.
The awkward boy with the scar on his cheek didn't seem all that
interesting... but... he was? It was difficult to explain.
He hid the most peculiar of details... like what his actual

occupation was... and pretty much anything about Sir Tychon.
All that she could really get out of him was that Mister Lone was
that person's subordinate.
They were probably criminals... but if that were true, the boy
exuded far too much innocence and naivete.
Or maybe Baron Tychon actually was just a traveling scholar? His

conversation with Lord Arod had supported that fact.
Coraline didn't want to believe that the answer could be simple.
...The two of them could very well be... very bad criminals.
Chapter 505 Coraline’s Motive
Teasing the awkward boy was fun...
Coraline put her fingers on her eyelids to force them open.
It didn't help.
It was getting more and more difficult to keep awake...
"Hey, Coraline?" Lone tilted his head up, staring at the ceiling.
"Question."
Coraline yawned... then rubbed her eyes with the back of her
wrists, "Mhmmm?"
"You said you left your last guild..."
"Pff..." Coraline puffed her cheeks out, "Yeah. I'm better off without
'em~"
Lone looked to her with a strangely serious expression, "So why

didn't you accept Mister Ramon's invitation to join his?"
"It... it was really nice of him to do that..." Coraline pulled in her

knees and rested her chin atop her forearms... "and I do want to
join another adventuring guild, eventually."
She sighed, rocking her head left and right... "I just... it's all been
so sudden... Getting kicked out of Brockdale Bridge was less like
a setback and more like... an opportunity? Maybe it's wanderlust--
like there's something in my blood that makes the prospect of
starting anew... exciting. Scary, but exciting-- does that make
sense?"
Lone looked away, sighing wistfully, "So there's no chance you'd
join mine?"
Coraline snickered, shaking her head, "You don't even know me,
Mister Lone... not my qualifications-- not my class or my rank. I
could be the worst adventurer this side of the Realm."
Some suns, she even felt that that was true...
The boy looked back and... he smiled...
It was actually kinda cute.
He was smiling like none of that mattered.
Hah.
She'd fallen for that kind of smile before.
She wouldn't let it happen again.
"That's a 'no, thank you,' Mister Lone," Coraline smirked.
"Awwww," Lone grinned. "Come onnnn?"
"Nnnnnope," Coraline yawned, snuggling deeper into her

blanket... "Even if legendary guild Sol Invictus were to invite me to
join, my answer would stay the same..."
...
⟬ Morning, second sun. Twenty-eight bells until Cersei's Rest. ⟭
Coraline clenched her eyes tight. She just wanted... five... more
minutes... maybe ten...
She felt her ears twitch as sound began to return to her waking
senses.
The ship's magical formations emitted a low steady hum, the

monotony nudging her back to sleep... but also annoying her
juuuuust enough to pop an eye open.
Bleigh.
The way she'd slept made her neck hurt terribly.
She blinked her eyes, lifting her head and massaging her stiff
neck.
After breakfast, she figured she'd ask Miss Maisie if she could mix
her a tincture for pain relief.
...Hopefully she wasn't too upset about the other evening.
Depending on what medicinal herbs the ship had, Coraline could

even mash up a poultice, herself. Failing that, Felicity and Elladan
were adventurers from Alizeau-- they might know or have a
natural remedy for sore muscles.
"Good morning."
"Mm..." Coraline nodded, "Good mo--"
Too close!
Coraline found herself face-to-face with Mister Lone.
Tossing off her blanket, Coraline immediately powered a palm-

heel strike into the boy's chin-- just like she was taught.
The back of the boy's skull bounced off the wood paneling and he
fell onto his back. He landed with his head in an awkward position,
slightly upright against the wall.
How DARE he?!!!
The absolute NERVE!!!
What was he doing in her-- room?
...She wasn't in her room.
She was sitting on the wooden floorboards of the hallway outside

of it.
And she had... fallen asleep on Lone's shoulder?
Coraline narrowed her eyes, commanding her brain to work at

hyper-speed to review the events of the previous night.
She was keeping guard... watching for the other passengers'

leaving their rooms.
And then... Mister Lone came out of his...
And he offered to take the rest of her nightwatch?
Why would he do that? Mister Lone was human! He needed to

sleep more than she did.
...Maybe he wasn't... thinking straight? Coraline was pretty clumsy

when she was sleepy...
It was common practice to assign a watch roster when out

adventuring-- and... if Lone was an adventurer, then maybe he'd...
fallen into old habits?
After all, the other evening, she accepted it without a thought.
That was really nice...
...a nice way... to PERV on her while she SLEPT!
Her hands trembled with face-punching fury. Her cheeks were as

hot as a kettle.
Mister Lone had definitely SEEN her sleeping face. That was
UNFORGIVABLE!
So she hit him! With that strike, they were even...
He got to look at her super-cute face while she slept, thinking

whatever perverted thoughts perverts think... And in exchange,
Coraline got... a few bells of sleep?
No. Ugh. Creepy pervy-ness was NOT fine.

She should hit him again.
Wait-- was it possible... Did he... did he *touch* her while she was
sleeping?!
She should MURDER HIM!
No... Mister Lone didn't seem like the type to put his hands where
they don't belong... He was... too sweet... too cowardly.
She needed to apologize. No... first, she needed to check whether

or not he was alive.
Coraline wrapped her blanket around her neck like a cape and
crawled over on her palms and knees.
"Get up, Mister Lone," She shook him. "I didn't hit you *that*
hard..."
...She placed her ear to his chest, listening for breathing.
Then... her opposite ear twitched. One of the hallway doors had
opened.
It was Sir Tychon... with his robes on, this time.
The noble's gaze drifted from the pocket watch he had in his
hand... and over to her and her coward.
"...Good morning, Miss Coraline."
"G-good morning," Coraline stammered.
Slowly... calmly... she lifted her head off of Lone's chest... and sat
upright.
"...You are aware... that the hallway is considered a public area,

yes?"
"Yyyyyesss?" Coraline tilted her head up to meet Sir Tychon's

gaze. It hurt her neck a little.
Then... as un-suspiciously as possible, she forced herself to smile,
"Wh... what a-BOUT it?"
"I advise that..." Tychon paused, taking a breath... "For the sake of
decency, you should restrict such--"
WHAT? NO! NOPE!!
"Wasn't doing anything indecent, SIR!!!!" She shrieked.
In order to prove it, she leapt up with her elbow pointed

downward... and she drove her full body weight down into Lone's
crotch.
"AUUUGGGGGH!!" The pervert shot awake, crying out in well-

deserved agony, "W-w-WW--WWHYYYYyyYyy!??!?"
A deep grimace set into Tychon's face, "I... see. I won't ask
questions, then."
Coraline quickly got to her feet, "Mama raised me right and

proper! I'm a LADY!"
"...Very well," Tychon snapped his watch closed, returning it to a

pocket within the lining of his robe. "Would you two... like to
accompany me to breakfast?"
"Yessir!" Coraline nodded frantically.
"Excellent... and, ah... Mister Lone, do get up," Tychon chided.

"You look ridiculous."
Chapter 506 Patience &
Understanding
" Captain Nikandros," Lucrezia growled, looking as intimidating as

a Popoto could manage. "Just why has the Golden Eagle not yet
landed? Dare I remind you-- there was a *murder* last night."
The atmosphere in the dining hall at breakfast was... awkward...

guarded, really.
Coraline didn't even try to keep the peace. She half-listened to the
conversation while munching absentmindedly on buttered toast.
The Captain had recovered well-- especially considering how

drunk he'd been the previous night. His clothes and hair were a bit
disheveled compared to the first sun, but not enough for anyone
but herself to notice.
"Dear guest, I sincerely apologize," Nikandros inclined his head.

"Though recent events have been somewhat worrisome, I can
assure you that the crew of the Golden Eagle can guarantee your
safety. I must beg for your patience and understa--"
"*Patience* and understanding, Mister Nikandros, can be afforded

when my husband and I aren't fearing for our lives!" Lucrezia
huffed.
Baron Tychon dabbed his cloth napkin to the corners of his lips. At
least *that person* seemed to be enjoying his meal.
"Lady Lucrezia, there are no airship landing pads between Victrix

and Cersei's Rest. If Mister Nikandros were to land the ship, we
would be open to attack from seaborne dangers... I'm sure you
are aware of the implications of that."
The noble's words caused Lucrezia's face to blanch, and she
averted her gaze in troubled contemplation.
Coraline nodded, pricking her fork into her breakfast plate. She
hadn't realized that... and she felt slightly foolish that it had slipped
her understanding.
"More importantly, Captain Nikandros," Tychon leaned forward.
"Y-yes, young master?" The half-elf gulped, trying not to directly

meet the youth's golden gaze.
"The puzzle box."
"I... beg your pardon?"
"I took the puzzle box from the dining hall yesterday evening,"
Tychon sighed, sitting back and gesturing to the shelves behind
the Captain, "I've been trying to decipher it, on-and-off throughout
the night. Tell me about it."
"A... ah," Nikandros chuckled nervously. He took a short moment,

gathering up his energy and once again wearing his customer-
service smile.
"There are many moving panels and hidden internal mechanisms,

dear guest. However, to solve it... there's a... 'trick' to it-- one not
obvious at first glance."
"A trick, you say..." Tychon crossed his arms, his brows furrowed
in contemplation.
"The fastest I've seen a guest find the solution was... two suns,"
Nikandros smirked. "It was a... Gnomish Arcanist, if I remember
correctly."
The noble youth furrowed his brows, "That does not sound so
daunting."
"Depending on the winds, the Golden Eagle will land tomorrow

morning or afternoon," The Captain smirked. "Time is running out,
young master."
Coraline exhaled through her nostrils. The Captain's words were...
a decidedly poor choice.
"...I see." Tychon sat back in his seat, cradling his chin in thought.
Nikandros pushed away his plate and stood up with a troubled

look, "Please excuse me, dear guests. Recent events have left
me... quite fatigued."
Coraline pursed her lips, examining the distress in the older man's
face. She'd heard that... 'professional drunks' were very good at
acting as if they... weren't.
"Captain..." She frowned, "I'd prefer that the passengers and crew
stay together, if you would."
Nikandros shrugged. "Being murdered is the least of my worries,

Miss Coraline. There are far more terrifying things in this Realm--
and I'll risk it all for a drink and a nap. And besides, I'm the only
one on-board capable of speaking to the ship's Elemental Spirit.
Excuse me."
Coraline sighed, returning her gaze to her barely-touched

breakfast. She tried.
After her questioning the previous evening, she'd found the

probability of Nikandros having something to do with the murder to
be low. It was just--
"I will go with the Captain," Olesya began to follow after him.
"Mm. Don't bother, lizard-butt," Maisie rested her chin on the back
of her hands, "I'll go in a little bit~"
Olesya paused, turning her head back to face the human woman,
"Did you have something to say to me?"
"HuhH? To you?" Maisie rolled her eyes, "Don't flatter y'self,

Nemayan."
Olesya hesitated for a moment... but turned and stomped off

without argument.
Coraline breathed a sigh of relief. She wasn't sure if she'd be able
to do the same thing-- take the mature choice of walking away
instead of throttling the skinny, sword-less Tyrion girl.
Maybe she was a bit biased.
She looked back at her plate... at the breakfast Maisie had

'lovingly' prepared just for her.
Miss Maisie very well knew that Coraline was vegetarian.
Ham and sausage was not vegetarian.
Beside her, Felicity leaned over to whisper into her ear, "You need
to eat, Miss Coraline..."
"Y-yeah... I'm... not really that hungry, though..."
The eggs were palatable-- if overcooked and rubbery. The slurry

mess that was supposed to be potatoes was beyond saving.
It was as if she'd made breakfast, herself...
She nibbled at a grilled pepper-- more for Felicity's sake than for
hers...
The grease was so overbearing that everything on her plate was

soaked in it. Even looking at it made her sick.
...Also the pepper was stuffed with ground meat.
Coraline frowned and lifted her gaze towards the bread basket
near the center of the dining table.
At least she could fill her empty belly with that.
"Oh, there's more bread!" Maisie snatched up the basket.
Coraline didn't even have the chance to scream.
...She was going to cry, though. It was never too late to cry.
The merciless woman in a maid outfit passed it to the man sitting
beside her, "Here y'go, Mista Tychon! Pass it down, if ya would!"
"...Very well," Tychon furrowed his brows but did as he was told.
BLEIGH!! Men were TRASH!! They'll listen to any woman without

question as long as they had bigger than a D CUP!!!
Mister Lone was probably WORSE! That pervert! She was

NEVER going to forgive him for taking her bread away!
"Well, time for me to get ta work~!" Maisie stood up, bowing

politely to the guests seated at the table. "I'm assumin' Mista
Ramon made a mess the uvva' night?"
Elladan groaned, lightly inclining his head in apology, "Felicity and

I did the best we could to clean up. Ramon's sheets need to be
washed... and we used some of our own cleaning rags as well."
Felicity frowned, "I'd offer to help... but the formations."
"It ain't no trouble, dear guests," Maisie winked coquettishly. "I'm

exempted from those. And I'll be using a cleaning ritual-- quick an'
easy."
Chapter 507 Defensive Pairs
elicity smiled with embarrassment, "Thank you so much, Miss

F
Maisie."
Elladan nodded, "We'll... uh... make sure that horndog doesn't

make any more trouble."
Coraline followed Elladan's thumb, which pointed behind him at

one of the unused tables.
There, Ramon laid, his breath probably still reeking of alcohol and
vomit. He was lightly snoring, using the tablecloth as an
improvised blanket.
Miss Maisie walked over to the unconscious man, stroking his

horned forehead as if he were a child, "Don't think ya hafta worry
'bout the big lug for tha next few bells-- at least!"
The woman in the Alizeaun maid outfit waved energetically, before

practically prancing out of the dining hall.
She had mentioned drowsiness as a possible side effect of the

tincture she mixed for Mister Ramon. It put the big man down like
a battlehammer to the head.
Coraline, despite her terribly sore neck, chose to suffer in silence.

Whatever Maisie had given Ramon, she wasn't sure she'd be able
to survive.
Still... yet another person was leaving the protection of the dining
hall, even if it was the woman hell-bent on ruining her breakfast.
But what could she do about it? She couldn't ask for the ship
functions to cease while she played detective. The previous night,
she had approached both the Captain and Miss Maisie with
confidence... but left with only bitter feelings.
"Two-man teams..." She muttered.
"What was that, Miss Coraline?" Felicity granted her a gentle

smile... and... and...
She offered her the last quarter of bread.
It took everything Coraline had not to embrace her, "Th-thank you,

Miss Felicity."
She tilted her head, "I'd imagine you interviewed Miss Maisie last
night?"
Coraline nodded her head up and down, her mouth full of sweet
starchy goodness, "Uh huh."
"And things didn't go so well?"
Audibly gulping, Coraline groaned... "Mmhm. That's an

understatement."
"I think... for safety's sake, we should travel in two-person teams."

She liberally applied sweet butter to her still warm sustenance,
"That way, everyone will be accountable for each other."
"Right," Elladan nodded. "And if someone turns up dead, we throw

their pair off the ship."
Coraline sighed. The half-elf seemed to have a tendency towards

violence.
...or maybe adventurers in general lacked tact?
"That's right, Elladan," Felicity smiled. "That's why you're going

with her~"
Elladan winced at the sudden notion, "I'm what?"

"Going with Miss Maisie," Felicity stuck her tongue out. "You can
help her with the cleaning rituals just fine."
The half-elf frowned, his pointed ears drooping slightly...
"(My love...)" He muttered in Elven, "(You know how troubled I am

with most humans.)"
"I trust you enough not to run off with her," Felicity winked.
"Right..." Elladan sighed as he stood from his chair to follow

Maisie... but suddenly, he shot a wicked glare at young master
Tychon, "I'm watching you, noble. Keep your hands off of my
woman."
Tychon frowned... "False. Your observation of me ends as soon as

you step out of this room."
Felicity giggled, shooing Elladan away with a wave of her hand,

"Go on! I promise I won't have too much fun."
The half-elf grumbled some choice phrases in Elven as he walked

out the door. He probably had no idea that the young master could
understand him perfectly...
"Miss Coraline."
"Y-yes?!" Coraline straightened her back.
The deep voice of Tychon caught her by surprise.
She didn't like dealing much with the entitled noble. In many ways,
he was worse than Lord Arod. Ancients were aloof, acted in their
own self-interests, and treated everyone else with disdain.
The green-haired Baron was all that... but... more rude about it.
She slowly turned her head (painfully) to meet that person's gaze,
"Sir Tychon?"
"Concerning your suggestion to move in defensive pairs..." The

noble smiled politely. "--you do realize that you are the only
passenger traveling alone, yes?"
That... was absolutely right.
Beads of perspiration began to form on Coraline's forehead. She

knew she was a suspect. Everyone was. However, the fact that
she was traveling alone put her in a special category of suspicion.
She hadn't realized that until just then...
She opened her mouth to defend herself... but hesitated. All the
excuses she could think of were flimsy and weak-- they would
only make her seem more suspicious! She wasn't the murderer,
though!
Lady Lucrezia stood on her chair, "I must object, Sir Tychon! I can
personally vouch for my niece's character!"
The noble furrowed his brows, "Your... niece?"
"That's right!" Felicity grabbed onto Coraline, hugging her

possessively against her squishy chest, "Miss Coraline is the
absolute sweetest thing! She wouldn't hurt a fly, much less a
person!"
Coraline generally didn't like being touched, but... Felicity's

embrace wasn't unpleasant. She smelled like dried herbs and
flowers-- a type of scent popular amongst both elves and
Alizeauns. She could have gone without her face being mashed
into boobs, though.
Also, if she had access to her offensive spells, she had no

problems zapping flies out of the air.
Lucrezia thrust an angry finger menacingly at Tychon, "And

besides, Miss Coraline's room is the farthest from Master
Highblade's. We would have certainly seen her skulking about in
the hallway if she was the culprit!"
Coraline sighed internally. Auntie Lucrezia meant well... but the

hallways all connected. If she was the murderer, she could have
avoided the group if she'd just gone the opposite direction...
"The young lady's character aside," Tychon continued. "Perhaps it

would be best if, for the remainder of this trip, Miss Coraline
accompanied Mister Lone..."
...What?
She thought she was being placed under suspicion. This

conversation... was not... that.
Honestly, it wasn't a terrible idea. Other than having to be mindful

of falling asleep around Mister Lone, she found his company to
be... not terrible.
She glanced over to the cheek-scarred boy.
He was wearing the most peculiar expression.
Oh.
Well! If he didn't think it was a good idea, she didn't either!
"I don't think so, Sir Tychon~" Felicity smirked. "Miss Coraline can
stick with me and Elladan-- oh, and the sleepyhead too."
"Coraline, dear," Lucrezia placed her hands on her hips, but

cooed in a motherly voice, "Stay with me and your Uncle Giorgio,
won't you?"
It seemed that none of the other passengers trusted the youth

with the golden eyes.
Or maybe... Coraline was... popular?
Whatever the reason, it made her chest feel warm, having people
willing to protect her...
Chapter 508 Not Interested
" Hmph." Tychon crossed his arms, leaning back in his dining
chair, "Do as you please."
Giorgio stood up out of his seat, approaching the green-haired

noble, "Worry not, Sir Tychon! You may have lost this battle, but
this old man can keep you company!"
"I'd like to point out that I've lost nothing," Tychon furrowed his
brows.
"Ohoho, sure, sure." Giorgio grinned, "What say you to a round or

five of Petteia?"
The young noble sighed, a tinge of annoyance and defeat in his

voice... "Very well."
...
⟬ Fifth interview: Ramon, Guild Leader of the Badass-assins. ⟭
Ramon downed an entire pitcher of water before wiping his mouth

with the tablecloth.
"Mister Ramon..." Felicity tilted her head, "What do you think

you're doing?"
The tiefling gestured drunkenly to Coraline, "The uh... the

interview. I'm here for the interview."
Coraline pursed her lips. She had interviewed the crew and the
few others. However, she still needed to ask Felicity and her guild
members about their versions of the evening's events.
Ramon placed a heavy fist on the table, "Coraline!"

The dull thump surprised her and she shot an arm up out of reflex,
"Here!"
"What would you say your biggest weakness is?"
Coraline averted her gaze... "Um... my last employer said I had

really good attention to detail? But sometimes, it slows down my
report-writing? It takes time, double-checking bad handwriting."
...And numbers that don't add up properly.
"Good, good... That's fine," Ramon nodded. Suddenly his face

twisted into a grimace... and he violently shook his head. "Next
question, then... If we hired you, what do you think you can bring
to the Badass-assins?"
"Hah?" Coraline tilted her head in confusion.
Wasn't she supposed to be the one interviewing him? And about a

different topic entirely?
"Go back to sleep, Ramon," Felicity scolded. "You're drunk~"
"And you're ugly!" The tiefling shot back. "But in... in the morning,
I'll be sober... and you'll-- you'll still be--"
Felicity promptly reached over and shoved Ramon's chest. The

tiefling's chair slowly tipped over... fell... and he landed with his
back against the deck... where he immediately began to snore.
"For the record, Miss Felicity," Coraline bared her teeth. "I think
you're gorgeous."
"Awwww, you're the swee~test thing, Miss Coraline," She smiled.

"Now then, ladies, where were we?"
...
With the exception of Mister Ramon's brief awakening, the couple

of bells, lounging in the dining hall, had passed by quickly and
quietly.
Coraline sat with Lady Lucrezia and Felicity, mostly listening to
their lively conversation about perfumes, designer clothing, and
gossip about well-known Tyrion personalities.
Such topics made her realize how out-of-touch with the world she
was. She'd spent the past few years adventuring... but most of
that time was either in the field or stuck at a desk, filing reports
and settling accounts.
She never really dealt with women who cared for such things. She
thought of those people as elitist, short-sighted airheads.
Most of them were.
But that didn't mean the things they liked weren't enjoyable to talk
about.
⟬ Sixth interview: Felicity of the Badass-assins. ⟭
Coraline asked Felicity about the events of the previous night.
She and Elladan were taking care of their drunk-- which was to be
expected.
Unfortunately, their alibi was as unsteady as most everyone

else's. Ramon could move-- and even fight while inebriated. She
couldn't rule him out as a suspect...
She was, however, very glad that Ramon didn't have a weapon...
Oh!
Coraline placed her hand over her mouth, stifling a serendipitous

shout.
The Blades of the Forgotten King!
If all the passengers moved together... they could search the

rooms for the stolen weapons. The ship was huge... but there was
a chance that the thief stowed it in his or her room. And if Miss
Olesya could use her detection tool to search for it...
Bleigh. Coraline didn't want to upset the Captain anymore, though.
Maybe she'd wait a few more bells to ask him for help... and she'd
make sure to be extra polite.
"Is there something the matter, Miss Coraline?" Felicity tilted her
head.
"You're smiling," Lucrezia beamed. "Which one is it, then? The

young master or his strong and silent companion?"
"What?" Coraline scoffed, "I'm not thinking of Mister Lone! He's

not even that interesting."
Lucrezia and Felicity shared a meaningful glance.
"I think we made a mistake rejecting Sir Tychon's suggestion~"

Felicity sighed.
"Oh, it's not too late for our little Coraline," Lucrezia giggled.
Coraline felt her blood freeze. Why did she say what she said?
She wasn't even thinking about that person!
"He's-- he's not!" She insisted, "I'm not interested in him, at all!"
"Oh, dear..." Lucrezia hid a tiny smile behind a finger.
"I'm gonna go tell him what you said," Felicity grinned as she
stood from her chair. "He's going to LOVE it!"
"No, wait! Don't!" Coraline snatched at her frantically, managing to

grab onto the bottom of her blouse.
Felicity giggled, playful tugging back, "Let gooo~ I'mma tell

himmm!"
"Noooooo!!" Coraline pleaded.
She didn't pull too hard... tearing her new friend's blouse would be
terribly rude. Thankfully, her persistence made the woman
concede and Felicity sat back down, her clothes only slightly
disheveled.
Coraline pouted... but she found herself staring at the end of a
familiar-looking tattoo inked upon the woman's shoulder.
"Oh, wanna see?" Felicity beamed. She adjusted her blouse and
rolled up her sleeve, revealing a distinctly Elven design. "You
should know what this is, right?"
"It's so pretty..." Coraline pursed her lips, thinking on it.
It was a tribal tattoo, somewhat stylized for human hands to draw,

but recognizable enough. It seemed that besides Felicity dating a
half-elf, she was quite fond of Elven culture-- going as far as
permanently inking some of it on her skin.
"Oh, my," Lucrezia fanned herself with her gloved hand. "I've
always been afraid of getting a tattoo."
"It only hurts a little bit, Lady Lucrezia," Felicity winked.
"Oh, no! It's not that, dear," Lucrezia's lips curved up into a sly
smirk. "I fear my husband wouldn't be able to keep his hands off of
me."
"--I've had QUITE enough of this, Mister Giorgio!"
Tychon's outburst caused Coraline and her companions to turn.

The young master was reclining back in his seat, staring at the
ceiling with an aggrieved expression.
Lucrezia let out a long sigh, "What has my fool husband done, this
time?"
",
Chapter 509 Legend Of The
Forgotten King
aron Tychon, Mister Lone, and Mister Giorgio sat far off in the
B
corner of the dining hall.
The older Popoto had found a wooden case that unfolded into a
game board for Petteia, and had taught the other two how to play.
Over the past couple of bells, Coraline had picked up bits and
pieces of their conversation... not that she meant to eavesdrop.
She had Elven ears. She couldn't help it!
It soon became apparent that young master Tychon was...

exceptionally bad-- not just at Pettaia, but... every game they
played. It seemed almost... out-of-character for that person.
Coraline did gain some slightly vindictive amusement, seeing the

noble throw a fit over something so... mundane.
Across from the Baron, Mister Giorgio covered his mouth with his
tiny hands, physically holding in his laughter... "You've only started
playing this sun, young man. Pettaia deceptively complex! We can
discuss strategies over bells and bells!"
"Forgive me, Sir," Tychon grit his teeth. "Five losses is... quite
difficult."
"Oh, come on, Boss." Lone smiled politely. "Can we just take a
deeeeep breath? You need to calm--"
"Another word, Mister Lone--" Tychon cut him off, "And I will break
this wooden table with your respectably durable skull."
Ah. There it was. Coraline sighed dreamily. That was the young
master Tychon she was familiar with.
"How rude..." Lucrezia scowled, keeping her voice hushed, "Who

does that young man think he is?"
Felicity rolled her eyes, "He probably thinks he owns the world~
The more handsome a man is, the more rotten his personality."
Coraline pursed her lips to the side, "Felicity... aren't you

romantically involved with Mister Elladan?"
In a beauty contest, Elladan would score nearly as many marks as

Sir Tychon. Then in the muscles department, she favored Mister
Lone would be the clear winner...
Hm... It made her wonder how he'd look with his shirt off.
The woman raised an eyebrow, "Elladan's personality is terrible~ I

took it upon myself to whip him into shape."
Lucrezia stifled a giggle, "Oh, my. I had a similar experience, first

meeting Giorgio-- he was a bit... rough, back then. To be quite
honest, if he were twenty years younger, I'm certain I'd be
defending him tooth and nail from you two."
"Oh, I wouldn't dare, Auntie Lu," Coraline smiled.
"Whew, scary," Felicity grinned. "I'm happy with my man, thank

you, very much."
"Oh, really?" Coraline tilted her head, "You do tease him an awful
lot, though."
Felicity stuck out her tongue, "Once a man thinks the hunt's over,
they get complacent."
Coraline placed her forearms on the dining table, resting her chin
on them, "Hahh... is that what it is, then?"
Maybe that was the problem... complacency.

She'd never get anywhere with anyone if she wasn't proactive... It
was the same with the current situation.
Felicity placed her head on her arms, mirroring her posture,

"What's~ on~ your mind? Miss Co~raline?"
Coraline rolled her eyes. Felicity's little rhyme was very cute, but
also awe-inducingly stale.
"I was just thinking... about Master Highblade's heirloom

weapons..."
"Not to speak ill of the dead," Lucrezia pouted, "but I think it was
terribly rude of him to carry those things on-board."
Felicity waved her hand, "No, they're not really weapons-- well,
they are, but they aren't. They're Elven artifacts."
Coraline tilted her head up, "Miss Felicity? You know about the
Blades of the Forgotten King?"
The woman nodded, "Mhm. Oh, I didn't tell you, huh? Ramon and
Elladan are escorting me to Cersei's Rest for a job-- I'm leading a
presentation on Elven history and myth."
"That's quite impressive!" Lucrezia gasped, "Whose works are you

presenting?"
"Mine... and a few other younger scholars," Felicity grinned. "I

have a degree in Elven language from the University of Arcanix."
Coraline gulped and averted her gaze. It seemed that Miss Felicity
was... better at being an elf than she was.
"Oooh, I know what you're thinking," Felicity giggled. "Why would

a human bother studying those things?"
"Oh, no, not at all!" Coraline quickly apologized. "I was just...
hah... I didn't know much about Elven history or artifacts. It made
me feel kind of... unlearned."
"Mm. It's fine," Felicity smiled politely, "Most of Elven culture is
passed down orally. That's why elves around the Realm are
drastically different-- with the exception of the highborne families."
Lady Lucrezia revealed her tiny smile, "I do love a good story.
Would you enlighten us, Miss Felicity?"
Felicity swept her long braid over her shoulder, "Well... I'm not the
best storyteller, but... allow me to share what I know~"
...
Felicity summed up her research on the Blades of the Forgotten

King.
She'd pieced together some passages in ancient texts referring to

a King of the Elves. Of course, if there was a proper Elven
Kingdom, then it existed long before the current age, where
everything was painstakingly documented.
Coraline couldn't imagine living in such times. She liked reading.
She'd only become 'literate' in recent years, when she was more-
or-less forced to learn the old Tyrion language to decipher
academic texts. But before then, she'd always enjoyed reading
cheap books written in common, sold for cheap at the local
market.
According to Felicity's research... the legends 'foretold' that the

Forgotten King would return to save the world from a Calamity.
World-ending prophecies were common in legends like that... but

what was uncommon... was that Felicity's Calamity was marked
by... dragons.
Dragons don't exist.
There was absolutely no proof that dragons *ever* existed.
Cunning and intelligent scaled behemoths... capable of powerful,

city-destroying magics-- they would be a nightmare to encounter.
Skeletons and scales of giant lizards and snakes were uncovered
all the time... but anything that adventurers encountered of those
sizes were little more than mindless beasts.
The fantastical children's tales that detailed malevolent winged

monsters were pure fantasy.
And for one of those creatures to act peaceably with an elf?

Coraline could see how that wasn't a popular theory.
If a dragon were to exist in the modern age... the nations would

band together for a Realm-wide lizard hunt. Coraline liked to think
that elves, as a people, would do the same-- putting their petty
inter-family squabbles aside and act in defense of the Realm at
large.
...not relying on a single person.

Chapter 510 Defeated
hat Coraline found even more controversial... was that the King
W
of the Elves was gifted his swords by one of those nonexistent
dragons.
Not stolen. Not taken as a prize after a one-on-one battle of epic

proportions. He was *gifted* those swords after what Felicity
described as something like... 'meeting gazes and coming to a
tacit compromise.'
Defeated with a single glance? It was difficult to believe-- even for

a legend.
"It's just a theory," Felicity sighed with a soft, but tired smile. "And
that's not even the most controversial one I have for my
presentation."
"Mmm..." Coraline sat back and crossed her arms, "What else you
got?"
Felicity steepled her fingers, "Are you ladies familiar with the
name... Quies?"
"Oh, Quies of Sol Invictus!" Lucrezia hopped up in excitement,

"When I was a little girl, I saw Sol Invictus perform live in the
Ezyrian arenas~!"
"That's the one!" Felicity beamed, "I found some evidence that the
Lord Ranger might not have actually been human-- but an elf."
"Whaaaat? No way!" Coraline furrowed her brows. "An elf as one

of the most popular Tyrion heroes in the last century? You'll get
*crucified* if you try to tell people that!"
"Mhmmm~ More than a few of my colleagues have attested that
Ranger Quies' Blade Dance couldn't have been so perfect if he
wasn't."
"So it's pure conjecture, then," Coraline rolled her eyes.
"It'll be more popular than the Forgotten King theory," Felicity

stuck her tongue out. "Actually, you wanna know what my Order
argues about the most, with that?"
"That dragons don't exist?" Coraline smirked.
"You'd think, right?" Felicity laughed. "It's actually that... in the

texts, the Forgotten King is supposed to come back to save *all
peoples*-- not only the elves."
"Stars and stones!" Coraline sucked in air through her teeth, "It's
just a myth. And that's *nice!* What's the point in arguing about
that?"
"No idea..." Felicity sighed dreamily, "Still... every myth has some
basis in truth..."
"Six losses," Sir Tychon stood up, his chair scraping the deck,
before tipping over and clattering onto the floor. "I'm done."
"HUH?! Wha!!?" Ramon snapped awake, blinking his eyes at his

surroundings, "Fight? We fightin'?"
"Go back to sleep, Ramon," Felicity scolded.
"Don't mind if I do," The tiefling mumbled, turning his horned-head

and again growing still.
That person was very good at sleeping...
"Boss," Lone bared his teeth in chagrin, "It's just... a string of bad
luck?"
"Y-yes..." Giorgio coughed... "These... these things happen."

Tychon rubbed the bridge of his nose, "I have been soundly
defeated in Pettaia, Red Snake-Black Snake, the Game of
Generals, and literally every. other. game. we have played."
"Yeah..." Lone dipped his head, "It's kinda weird how you lost
every single one..."
Giorgio averted his gaze, "Never in all my years..."
"I'm done!" Tychon shouted, "You've both bested me-- well done!
But I'll have NO MORE!"
Felicity glanced sideways, "Not a graceful loser, is he?"
"Huh. Couldn't tell," Coraline groaned sarcastically.
Lucrezia clicked her tongue... "Oh, dear. I do hope he hasn't the

same temper with his ladyfriend..."
Tychon turned and immediately began heading to the exit.
"Wh-where you goin', Boss?" Lone asked.
Tychon stopped, letting out a heavy sigh... "I was *planning* on

returning to my room."
It was Coraline's turn to stand up, "Y-you can't do that!"
Tychon rolled his eyes, his head and upper body along with it,
"And WHY in the seven--
The noble cut himself off, coughing into a closed fist, "Ahem...
Apologies. Please explain your reasoning, young lady."
"Um. A murderer is on the loose." Coraline frowned, "Sir?"
Her sarcasm was slipping again-- but it was very appropriate.
She hurried to stand in the noble's way, blocking his path...
The best way to prevent unnecessary deaths was to keep

everyone together.
Coraline didn't want to speak to Sir Tychon... but if she didn't do
anything, she was certain she'd regret it.
The noble glared down at her... exhibiting a strange pressure that

made her heart rate quicken... and not in the good way.
"Your reasoning is not good enough, Miss Coraline. Out of my

way," He ordered. "Please."
Coraline gulped... it really was difficult to talk to this person.
She decided to speak in a straightforward manner. The green-

haired Baron would probably appreciate that?
"Sir Tychon! As the representative of House Highblade, I'd like

you to... to not go."
"I have heard your suggestion, Miss representative..." The noble

smirked in amusement, "--but I am going to willfully ignore it."
Coraline stuck her lips forward, pouting. That would have been
much more effective if she were actually a Highblade.
She bared her teeth, "How about as a favor, then?"
"No."
Coraline crossed her arms, "Sir Tychon... why did you speak up
for me, the other night? At the dinner table?"
The noble twisted his lips to the side, "I don't recall doing anything
of that nature."
...That was fair, "Then how about ordering Captain Nikandros to

listen to me?"
"Because I was tired," Tychon's face remained impassive. "It was

a matter of convenience."
ARRRGH!! Sleep was STUPID!
"Sir, do you... *have* to go?"

Tychon hesitated, furrowing his brows... "Well... no. By their
definitions, there's a clear divide between needs and wishes."
Coraline decided to use her secret weapon! Her cuteness! The

noble had softened his eyes for her once before! He would FALL,
ONCE MORE!!
"Sir Tychon... stay with us..." She fluttered her eyelashes, swaying
back and forth while raising the pitch of her voice to
insurmountable cuteness levels, "Pwease?"
...Tychon narrowed his golden eyes to thin, judgmental squints...

"Young lady... are you... unwell?"
"Sh-shut up!" Coraline shouted, stomping her foot, "Just listen to

me!!"
"Come on, Boss," Mister Lone had walked over, a goofy grin
plastered on his face.
Hmph. Lone was Sir Tychon's subordinate. There was no way the
noble would deign himself to--
"Ugh, if I must," Tychon groaned. "Miss Coraline."
Coraline snapped to attention, "Haiee?!"
What kind of sound did she just make?
Tychon gestured to the boy at his side, "My companion, Mister

Lone, is cleared of suspicion, yes?"
Chapter 511 Sense Of Danger
oraline pursed her lips, "Well... yes, but what's that have to do
C
with anything?"
Tychon let out another frustrated sigh as he turned to his

companion.
"Mister Lone, return to the room, if you would, and retrieve my

puzzle box. I'd rather be vexed by an inanimate object than..."
The young master gestured to Mister Giorgio.
The elder Popoto stroked his neatly trimmed beard, "You must
believe in the 'Heart of the Cards', Tychon, my boy."
"Ah... about that," Lone hesitated... before slowly baring his teeth
in a grin, full of guilt.
Tychon stared at the ceiling before bringing his furious gaze back
down.
"What?"
The boy nervously wrung his hands as if he were the smaller

man... "I thought... you had the key? ...Sir?"
Tychon closed his eyes... his breathing slowed... and he physically

trembled with rage.
A sudden chill ran down Coraline's back, down her arms and
legs... losing the feeling in her fingers as the blood drained
elsewhere.
Seeing the young master upset triggered her danger senses even
more than when she faced Mister Ramon... and the tiefling was
wearing armor, had a dangerous Martial Class, and had literal
goring weapons on his forehead.
Coraline's fear defied all of her logic.
Tychon wasn't... a large person or incredibly intimidating-- as

muscular as he was underneath his robes. He wasn't a Circle
Mage... and he didn't pack nor wear adventuring gear.
If she had to venture a guess what it was that bothered her... the
noble had... an almost... predatory aura. Like... a snake in the
grass... like he could strike in an instant, and there was nothing
left but to die an excruciating and agonizing death.
Coraline... did. NOT. like. that. man.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Tychon opened his eyes, his voice

eerily... neutral. "I'm going to visit the Captain to entreat for my
room to be opened. Perhaps you'd all like to accompany me?"
He then turned his golden eyes down to glower at her, "Would

thisss. be. acccceptable? Missss. Coraline?"
Under the man's gaze, Coraline's fear reached an all-time high.

Beads of perspiration dripped down her forehead. Her heart
thumped faster than a rabbit's foot.
She opened her mouth to speak... but her throat had closed up--
she couldn't even breathe. She clenched her eyes shut, blinding
herself, and she nodded as if that was the only thing that would
save her pitiful life.
...It also gave her a sudden feeling of being very stupid.
Wh... why? Why was she acting this way?
She could breathe just fine. Tychon was just *looking* at her.
Looks couldn't kill-- even if she wanted them to sometimes.
Coraline opened her eyes to look at everyone else in the dining

hall. No one seemed to have noticed how much trouble she'd
been having-- not even Mister Lone.
...Empty NIGHT!
Was it because she was SHY?!
Just because Sir Tychon was a TINY BIT attractive-- just because
she hadn't had a boyfriend in for-EVER-- just HOW could she
freeze up like she did?!
"Y-yes, yes!" Giorgio leaped down from his chair, "These old legs
could go for a nice walkabout!"
"L-let's go find Miss Maisie!" Coraline added, her courage quickly

returning... "--Mister Elladan, too."
"Oh, that's a wonderful idea," Lucrezia clapped her gloved hands

together-- something her husband often did. "It's almost time for
lunch, anyroad."
Felicity tapped her cheek, before slowly adopting a mischievous

grin, "OoOoh~ Can we split up into pairs? I want to accompany
the young master!"
"I choose my husband," Lucrezia wrung her hands together,

smiling lovingly. "That leaves Miss Coraline with--"
"Reeee-jected," Coraline rolled her eyes.
Moving in two-person teams was an act of precaution, not for

setting her up to walk with Mister Lone.
...
After waking up a very grumpy Ramon, the remaining passengers

set off towards the Captain's quarters.
Tychon boldly strode ahead-- likely, expecting everyone to follow

him...
Coraline didn't voice her complaints... She wanted to be the first to

talk to the Captain, but she didn't want to bother the young master
with such an insignificant request. She decided to settle for
walking just-behind him.
Mister Ramon complained loudly about the sloppiness of their
'marching formation'. The tiefling, himself, had trouble walking in a
straight line, which made his trivial complaints even more so.
Their disorganized gaggle encountered Miss Maisie and Mister

Elladan. They had just finished cleaning the passengers' rooms.
Elladan had rushed over to Felicity like a puppy that hadn't seen
his master for weeks.
It was adorable.
After some short conversation, it was decided that Miss Maisie,

Miss Felicity, and Lady Lucrezia would head to the kitchens to
prepare lunch.
Coraline was invited to the lunch-prep group... an offer she politely

rejected.
She needed to ask the Captain for permission to search the

rooms and to use Olesya's magic detection wand.
...Anyroad, the kitchens were a dangerous place for her.
For one, Coraline wasn't thrilled about being with Miss Maisie in a
small, one-exit room, surrounded by sharp knives and other
improvised weaponry.
And second... she had no skill at cooking. Whenever she tried, her
concoctions were comparable to that of an evil wizard or mad
alchemist.
It was so bad, she made a metal saucepan explode, once. From

that point onward, her guildmates didn't even trust her with melting
butter.
She was fairly certain she'd be able to do at least that...
And so, she and the gentlemen passengers continued on their

quest to speak with the Captain! --and to fetch him and Olesya for
lunch, of course.
"How ya feelin', fatty?" Elladan tilted his head up at Ramon.
"Bah. Better'n earlier," Ramon groaned. "How's the 'cleanin'

rituals', guy? You get to clean out Maisie's pipes or what?"
"Seven hells, no!" Elladan growled, looking warily behind him.

"And quiet down, will you? What if she hears you?"
Ramon grinned, elbowing Lone beside him, "You should'a met this
guy a year back. Real lady killer, this fella, even if he don't look it."
The half-elf grimaced, "It's in the past, Ramon. I've been nothing
but 'faithful', as it were-- to a single relationship."
"What happened?" Lone asked politely.
Ramon placed his hands on his opposite shoulders, embracing

himself, "Elladan fell in LooOooVe~"
Chapter 512 Behind Closed
Doors
oraline did not like the way Mister Ramon mocked his guild
C
member for falling in love.
It was sweet! And as rough and somewhat violent as Mister

Elladan was, it made her see him in a new light.
"As if there's something wrong with that, Mister Ramon?" She

pouted.
"Ignore him," Tychon hmphed. "There's nothing wrong with a

monogamous romantic relationship. I would prefer the same,
concerning my own lady companion."
Coraline nodded in agreement... but she sighed in her heart. It

was so difficult to fathom the young master's motives. He flip-
flopped from speaking in support of her to actively opposing her
to... reassuring her?
Was he an ally or not? She wished he would make up his mind.
It worried her that the young master might have even murdered
Master Highblade based on a fickle whim...
"Pshhh, naw!" Ramon chuckled, waving his hand. "Not me, green-
hair guy! THIS handsome horned fella won't be tied down to a
single girl-- not as long as I LIVE! Ahaha!"
"I'd like to think it's love," Elladan shrugged. "But in the interim, the
fear of magical vines strangling me in the middle of the night is
enough to dissuade me from pursuing other partners."
"Is that a sex thing?" Ramon snickered immaturely, "Sounds like a
sex thing."
"It is *not* a sex thing," Elladan glared.
"You're probably missin' out then, pal."
...Bleigh.
Coraline couldn't remember the last time she had... anything close
to that. She had endured plenty of that kind of talk, listening to
Felicity and Lady Lucrezia's gossiping.
GENTLEMEN didn't talk about those things in front of a LADY.
"Hey, Coraline."
"AIIIIE!!" Coraline grabbed Lone's wrist and the back of his neck.
Rotating her body, she slammed the boy's broad face into the
nearby wall.
Lone's forehead clunked... and he dropped to the floor like an

accidental shove off of a pier.
Elladan and Ramon stopped, turning to stare with shock painted

on their faces.
Tychon took a healthy step backward from where he was

standing, "Miss Coraline..."
Coraline pulled her arms close to her chest, her hands balled up,
"Y... yes?"
"Was that... necessary?"
Giorgio rushed to the fallen man, "Mister Lone! Are... are you
dead?"
He began to shake him frantically, "I can't lose my second favorite

Pettaia partner-- not like this!"
"If I'm the first," Tychon groaned. "You'd best hope he lives."
Ramon cleared his throat, "Uh... you sure you don't wanna join
our guild, girlie? You uh... you're scarier than Elladan here."
"Really, man?" Elladan looked up helplessly.
"What?" The tiefling held out his empty palms, "She did good!"
...
After Lone was resuscitated, the boys' group (plus Coraline!)

neared the Captain's quarters.
Olesya wasn't standing guard outside of it, like Coraline had seen
her do prior.
Strange...
She had hypothesized that there was some sort of romance-

triangle between the Captain, Olesya, and Miss Maisie... which
was even more troublesome in the fact that the dragonblooded
woman was bound to the Captain by debt.
Maybe she was influenced by recent conversations, but Coraline

was terribly afraid that Olesya may have sought to 'make up' with
Nikandros...
She couldn't judge the woman negatively. Olesya was in a

deplorable position, where her livelihood relied on proving herself
useful to her debtor's perverse whims.
If she was, in fact, taking care of Nikandros' needs... Coraline

absolutely did not want to interrupt them.
Beh. Her mind kept drifting to... things a proper lady shouldn't be
thinking of.
"I'll go and knock..." Coraline frowned, "But if those two are busy, I
think we should just head back."
"Tss," Tychon scoffed. "Go ahead-- but I'm not going to leave
without a key."
Coraline walked up to the door, then turned to glare at Tychon...
which she regretted immediately, as she looked away almost
instantaneously.
"M-miss Maisie can open your door if the Captain's unavailable..."
"Hmph," Tychon crossed his arms. "Right. I should have asked

her earlier."
The man-child really wanted his puzzle box.
Coraline rapped her knuckles on the door, "Captain Nikandros,

we've come to fetch you for lunch."
"The Captain is... indisposed, (little star)," Olesya responded, her

voice muted by the wooden barrier.
"Well! Thaaaat's that!" Coraline lifted her shoulders in an

exaggerated shrug, "Llllet's gOoOo~!"
"Hm. I do look forward to what the ladies are making for us,"
Giorgio muttered excitedly. "My wife makes the *best* fried foods."
Elladan grimaced, "Felicity too, but she'd never allow it. Ramon's
been gaining weight."
"This is all muscle, guy," The tiefling complained. "I don't know
why you two keep cuttin' my rations!"
"Because it's not," Elladan glared.
Though most of the group started to walk back towards the dining
hall, Tychon... as expected, stood by the door, unmoving.
Before Coraline could stop him, he knocked thrice-- and quite

insistently.
"Nikandros, it's Tychon. I'm coming in."
The sound of a heavy sigh came from behind the door... "If you
must."
It was... Olesya's voice again.
A deep, uncomfortable feeling roiled in Coraline's stomach... a

strange feeling of anxiety at what lied beyond. She wasn't worried
about finding something inappropriate, anymore... she was
worried it was... something else.
The noble put his hand on the door handle... but paused and
looked back to her.
Coraline took a step towards him... gulped audibly... and nodded.
...
The dovahkiin woman's answer through the door was... most

peculiar.
Tycondrius pursed his lips and looked back to the Elven would-be
detective.
Her face was as pale as bleached parchment, even with the

corridor lit by the skylights.
She had good senses. She too sensed something... not quite
right.
Turning back to the door, he addressed a mental inquiry to his

System.
Within his mind was a neatly organized framework of information,

the contents accessible with a mere thought-- hence, a System. It
wasn't a revolutionary concept, though its usage was more
common amongst Rune Mages, rather than a Martial Class like
himself.
In particular, his System had the ability to execute analysis

routines, translating his superhuman senses into summarized
information.
« System, inquiry: Who is in the room, beyond? »

Chapter 513 Captain’s Key
ycondrius' System allowed him to use a series of mental

T
shortcuts, most of which he had designed himself.
It was quite convenient.
For any person he'd previously encountered, his System could

always retrieve their names and circumstances of meeting--
without worry of possible error or memory degradation.
For any complex structure he'd previously visited, he could easily

navigate as if he'd a map in hand.
And Martial Skills...
Most Martial Classes only utilized a very small number of Skills.

Practicing a large number was counterintuitive, especially as an
unmastered skill could fail or even backfire in high-stress
situations-- such as adventurers are wont to get into.
Tycon did not have that issue, as he automated several of his.

The power flowing through his circuitry, the physical motions, the
verbal chants, the somatic gestures-- each execution would
activate at his practiced ideal... as long as he had the mana for it.
Because of his System, he could even activate skills mastered

only to Minor Completion with perfect consistency. It was a
wonderful teaching tool for the younger members of Sol Invictus.
The most useful of his System's capabilities was its analysis

function. He could glean an adventurer's approximate Class and
Rank based on his own experiences. He could estimate a
possible enemy's hostility based on their posture, voice, and facial
expression.
...And he could sense persons through a door, based on auditory
clues, the vibrations in the ground, heat, mana sense, and
whatnot...
His System was not omniscient... and he could have gleaned the
answer on his own if he bothered to focus for several moments.
...But why would he?
« System, inquiry: Who is in the room, beyond? »
⟬ System response: One result. Olesya. ⟭
...That was one less person than Tycon was expecting.
"Hey, what's the hold-up?!" Ramon grunted as if he were a horned

bull instead of a tiefling.
"Is there trouble?" Elladan raised a thick eyebrow.
"Doubtful," Tycon shrugged. If there was, he would deal with it.

"Mister Lone, protect the girl."
"With my life, Boss," The young man nodded.
Tycon tried to turn the door handle. It was locked.
That was to be expected.
However, it was an interior door on a passenger ship, void of

reinforcement.
Taking a half-step back, he willed his mana to circulate through his

mana circuits... focusing on empowering his right leg.
...It was something he'd done quite often. He made a mental note
to automate it in the near future.
"Sir Tychon?" Coraline's weak and pathetic voice rose in pitch.

"What are you--"
Tycon launched a front kick near the door's locking mechanism,
breaking it, and forcing the door open.
Ignoring the stunned Elven girl, he stepped into the room, hastily
scanning for danger.
Olesya: She sat on the Captain's bed, blood covering her hands,
parts of her face, and her armored chest.
Weaponless. Non-aggressive. She stared listlessly at Tycon-- but

suddenly smiled, as if she found something humorous.
Captain Nikandros: Dead. The still-bleeding body was seated in a

luxurious leather chair.
Two injuries. There was an open wound on his abdomen and

Olesya's arming sword had pierced through the half-elf Captain's
chest and heart.
Blood drenched his expensive military coat.
That was a shame.
With no identifiable threat in the room, he inhaled deeply, relaxing

his shoulders. Exhaling slowly, he allowed his heart rate to steady
and the surge of adrenaline to wane.
As long as he could keep himself and his companion, Mister Lone,

alive and relatively uninjured, he didn't care for whatever minutiae
he had come across.
...
Coraline shoved her way past Lone to look at the carnage in the
room.
Captain Nikandros sat in the same chair he was in the previous

evening.
Just as before, his head leaned to the side in an awkward

position... but his eyes had rolled back, and blood had spilled from
his mouth, staining his wispy-bearded chin.
The hilt of Olesya's sword gleamed in the lamplight... its blade
stuck through the Captain's chest.
Captain Nikandros had been murdered...
She turned to the dragonblooded woman, Olesya...
Without any logical reason, her vision grew blurry with her tears.
"...Olesya..." Coraline sniffed, choking on her words... "H-how

could you?"
How... how could Olesya smile through all this?
The blonde woman met her gaze for a brief moment... then turned
down to stare at the blood pooling on the deck...
"It... it was a mistake..."
Coraline thrust her hand out at the body of the man the woman
had murdered, "H-HOW can you SAY THAT!?"
Olesya shook her head, closing her eyes... "No, (little star...)
Falling in love with that man. That was my mistake."
Coraline wiped her eyes, trying to catch her breath between

ragged sobs...
If only she had arrived a few minutes sooner... Maybe if she made
more noise in the hallway as they approached? Maybe if she
insisted... a little bit more for the Captain to stay with them... then
he might still be alive.
But she didn't.
She failed.
And that rude... horrible... drunkard of a man... little better than a

perverted slave-owner...
He died for her mistakes.

...and the fate Olesya would suffer after this--
Coraline's ears twitched at the sound of footsteps. Tychon

stepped around her, towards the body.
With a sense of purpose, he placed his hand over the Nikandros'

face, closing the man's eyelids, "Requiesce in pacem."
Then... he began rooting through the corpse's coat pockets.
Coraline gripped her fists tight and screamed at the rudest noble
she'd ever met in her life, "SIR!!!! What in the SEVEN HELLS are
you doing?!"
Tychon hesitated briefly to look back... and to roll his eyes at her,
"That should be quite obvious, no? Mister Lone. The key."
"Left pocket, Boss!" The boy offered obediently.
Coraline shot him a glare.
Lone's face immediately fell into a grimace, "S-sir Tycon?

Shouldn't we have some respect for the dead? Sir?"
"The dead have no use for such things," The young master
responded without a second thought.
...Then he straightened the dead man's collar and smoothed out

his set of military ribbons.
Lone looked back to Coraline, baring his teeth helplessly.
Coraline was in a state too stunned to voice any more complaints.
Tychon pulled back, wiping his hand free of blood on Nikandros'

coat.
He revealed the Captain's Key to Coraline and the others. Then,

he tossed it to Lone, who skillfully snatched it out of the air.
"Now, go get my puzzle box," Tychon ordered... "--and our room

key."
Chapter 514 Dinner
⟬ A half-bell later. Twenty-three bells until Cersei's Rest. ⟭
Coraline was granted possession of the Captain's Key by

unanimous vote. She hung it by a thin chain on her neck, lent to
her by Lady Lucrezia.
She felt a little overwhelmed by the other passengers' trust of

her... It made a little sense, as she was the only person actively
trying to solve the murder and robbery. But still... she openly
declared that she'd only travel in a group for accountability
purposes.
Olesya was imprisoned in the hold, in the ship's single jail cell.
Inquisitors from the Church of the Eternal Flame would deal with
her when they landed in Cersei's Rest. She, a Nemayan, had
killed a Tyrion citizen. Incarceration would be the least of the
consequences she would suffer under the Church's draconian
laws.
Miss Maisie was devastated by the news of Nikandros' death...

and she took her anger out on her. She screamed in her
annoying, high-pitched voice, she cursed in every language she
knew-- she did everything short of hitting her.
That was fine. Coraline felt terrible, anyroad. Without anyone

yelling at her for her mistakes, she would have just felt more guilty.
Dinner... looked absolutely amazing.
Lady Lucrezia and Felicity had put their love and care into her
meal-- vegetarian, this time!
It looked soooooo good... But... she could neither smell nor taste
it.
She figured she was suffering a physiological effect of depression.
Food was supposed to make her feel better... but her own body
seemed to be sabotaging any attempt at cheering herself up.
Halfway through the meal, Miss Maisie excused herself.
Coraline silently watched her go.
Mister Lone looked to her, pouting his lips.
It was up to her to do or say something about it... As miserable as

she was, it seemed she was the only one willing to address it.
"Someone should go with her..." She muttered, "To make sure she
doesn't do anything she regrets... or try to do something to Miss
Olesya..."
She was feeling not-so-great, herself! Coraline knew to stay in a

group. Even if she didn't have the Captain's Key, she wouldn't
want to be alone with only her own dark thoughts keeping her
company.
"Yeah, you right," The tiefling, Ramon, took a last, large bite from
his meal as he stood up. He thumped a heavy fist to his chest,
gulping it down. "I ah... volunteer as tribute."
Coraline pursed her lips, "That's not funny, Mister Ramon... Miss
Maisie's hurt."
Ramon rubbed the back of his head, "Well... yeah! I know that."
"Someone else should go..." She grimaced.
Tychon quietly placed his utensils down, looking over with a

serious expression.
Coraline sighed wistfully, shrinking down in her seat. She really

wasn't interested in what the young master was going to say... but
she couldn't stop him from voicing his opinion.
Tychon tilted his head slightly upward, "Mister Ramon, you are a
gentleman, are you not?"
"Yeah," Ramon furrowed his thick, red-skinned brows, "YEAH! I

am! Why? Wanna fight about it?"
"No, I do not," Tychon turned back to her. "That should allay your
fears, Miss Coraline. As a gentleman, Mister Ramon will not take
advantage of Miss Maisie's fragile mental state."
"Oh, that?" Ramon crossed his arms, tilting his chin up, "I know
not to mess around, girlie."
Coraline fixed her seating posture and twisted her lips to the side.
She still wasn't entirely certain-- could she really trust Mister
Ramon?
She put her faith in Olesya... That was a mistake.
It didn't seem like Olesya was the one who murdered Lord
Highblade... so that somehow made the situation even worse.
"(The demonblood knows honor,)" A voice in Elven reassured her.

"(What he speaks will come to pass.)"
The half-elf, Elladan, had spoken in support of his companion.

That... was unexpected.
"H-hey! I can-- I can kinda understand what you guys are sayin'!"
Ramon grumbled. "Quit it!"
Elladan rolled his eyes, "(Trust not his looks. I know no man more
honorable.)"
Coraline nodded, her spirits very-slightly lifted... "Very well, Mister

Elladan..."
Ramon slapped his palms on the table, leaning over and blocking
Coraline's vision of his companion, "I'm gonna cream your corn if
ya don't stop talkin' smack, tree-hugger!"
Across the table, Tychon audibly sighed. Sitting beside her,
Felicity giggled.
"Lone! Felicity! Green-hair guy?" Ramon yelped, "You guys gotta

back me up!! I'm a good person! Hey, come onnnn!"
Coraline steeled her heart once more... Just as Elladan could

vouch for his companion, she could at least trust in hers.
...Even if it was Mister Lone.
Together, they'd get through this... somehow.
...
Coraline got her sense of taste back around dessert time.
She silently thanked the heavens for that...
Lady Lucrezia had baked a chocolate cake.
It was... so, so sweet... but oh, so wonderful...
There was something about the cooking of a sweet old, Auntie-

type lady-- it always tasted good, for some reason.
All that love and affection found its way to Coraline's heart. Also,
her no-longer-flat tummy... and eventually, her thighs.
Cake was evil.
But evil... was necessary in order for good to exist.
Coraline had no regrets.
"Coraline, dear..."
After dinner and dessert, Lady Lucrezia approached her, looking

up with a troubled expression.
"Oh? Auntie Lu, thank you so much for the cake," Coraline smiled,
expressing as much joy and gratitude as she could. "It was
absolutely lovely."
"Oh, I'm glad, dear..." Lucrezia smiled, folding her gloved hands in
front of her collar... but that smile didn't reach her eyes. "Could
you come with me, please?"
Coraline immediately grew worried... "Y-yes, of course."
She placed her hand in her Auntie's and allowed herself to be led
towards a side corridor.
"Oh, are you two going on an adventure?" Mister Giorgio nearly

leapt off his chair. It was a spritely action that, for a moment,
Coraline was deathly afraid would find him injured.
He was fine, though. Phew.
"Can I come along, too?" Giorgio raised an eyebrow.
Usually, Mister Giorgio doted on his wife like a devoted puppy. But
currently, he wasn't so much curious and playful-- but more...
insistent.
"Oh, Giorgio," Lucrezia gently shook her head. "We're going to the
powder room. Unless you'd like to stand guard?"
"Oh, haha," Mister Giorgio laughed politely, placing his hands

behind his head, "Maybe not, then."
Chapter 515 Confrontation
oraline was led by Lucrezia into the adjacent corridor... Once

C
they were far enough away from the denizens of the dining hall,
the Popoto woman halted her steps. Then... her tears began to fall
in earnest.
Lucrezia dabbed a handkerchief to the corner of her eye, "Oh,

Coraline... I don't know what to do."
"What's wrong, Auntie Lu?" Coraline rubbed the back of her tiny
Aunt's hand, cooing softly, "Hey, it's okay. I'm here. Talk to me."
Coraline glared at Lone, who was standing at the side. He was

pursing his lips, looking generally lost.
"What-are-you-doing-here?" She whispered harshly.
Lone scratched the side of his head. "I uh... I'm standing guard?"
He whispered back.
"No, it's fine..." Lucrezia forced a smile and turned towards the
boy who couldn't read the mood. "Thank you for taking care of
Miss Coraline. You must keep her safe, Mister Lone. I'm counting
on you."
Lone smiled. "As long as I can protect her smile, I'll be happy."
That was ridiculous. Coraline didn't need anyone's protection. She

was an adventurer!
...She mentally reviewed the ways she could teach the boy a
lesson...
⌈Electric Grasp⌋, maybe? No... Miss Maisie might not be able to

heal that kind of injury-- and the smell would be terrible.
⌈Flame Wheel⌋? Err... Casting a fire spell while aboard a ship
made of wood would be stupidity at the highest level.
⌈Force Punch⌋ should be fine, though. It would just rearrange the

stupid boy's insides.
Oh, but the formations would still prevent her from casting
offensive spells. None of those would work...
"It's... it's my husband," Lucrezia choked on a sob.
Oh... no.
Coraline took both of Lucrezia's hands in hers, "Stay calm,

Auntie... Just... take a deep breath and talk to me."
"He's... just..." She sniffed, "He's a terrible drunk, you know..."
"Does... does he hit you?" Coraline asked.
She would commit murder for this woman.
...Or at least beat up an old man.
Lucrezia gasped, "Oh! Eleven heavens, no! ...Giorgio would

never, ever hurt me. But... others... I'm not so certain."
Coraline led her Auntie to a pair of seats in the hallway. She sat
by her, patiently keeping hold of the older woman's hand...
Lucrezia steadied her breathing... but each tear that fell from her
eyes stoked the flames of fury in Coraline's heart.
"Take your time, Auntie Lu... I'm here..."
Lucrezia nodded, her mouth twisted in distress... "Sometimes...

when he comes home after drinking with his coworkers...
Giorgio... he has the guiltiest look in his eyes. I always know these
things-- we've been married for so many years..."
Coraline frowned, "You think... that maybe... Mister Giorgio is

cheating on you?"
"No..." Lucrezia grimaced, shaking her head, "It's not that... but
there's something else... He's hiding... a terrible secret, I'm sure.
You know, terrible things...
"My husband is a businessman... a ruthless one. He's had his

share of bad partners over the years... he's had to cut costs,
forcing dozens, if not hundreds of people out of work... then he's
had to deal with competitors... and not all of them on friendly
terms."
Coraline nodded, closing her eyes... her mind racing through

endless possibilities. Hiring assassins was not an uncommon
practice for wealthy businessmen... Some Dark Guilds even
specialized in it.
But... she had a terrible gut feeling that... that was not the reason
Lucrezia was crying.
"Auntie Lu..." She placed her hands on Lucrezia's small

shoulders, "Tell me what's really wrong..."
Honestly, Coraline didn't want to hear the answer... She was afraid
of the secret of Lucrezia's tears.
"When Giorgio and I-- when we went back to our room to change
for dinner... I... I saw it..." Lucrezia's eyes betrayed her pain-- and
every word she spoke seemed to hurt her more and more.
"In our room... I... I found..." Slowly... she looked up... round beads
of tears dripping down her cheeks, "--the weapon used to kill... M-
master Highblade."
Coraline's heart fell into the pit of her stomach. She stared past
Lucrezia, her eyes out of focus.
No... no, that was impossible. Mister Giorgio... was the murderer?
No! She couldn't believe it! "Th-there must be... some kind of
mistake?"
The friendly old man in the dining hall? The man who wanted
nothing more than to enjoy his second honeymoon with his sweet
old wife? Mister Giorgio had MURDERED an Ancient in cold
blood? And for what? To steal his heirloom weapons?!
Lucrezia shook her head, wiping at her eyes, "I... I found Giorgio's
jeweled dagger underneath the bed... still covered in blood. He...
he hid it right away, but... I know what I saw...
"Giorgio... he bought it for this trip... to protect us, he said..." The

woman laughed derisively... "I argued against it... I do hate
weapons... But my husband-- he wouldn't take no for an answer.
"I never thought... that he..." Lucrezia placed her gloved palms
against her face, "I just can't believe it, Coraline... What should I
do?"
Coraline pulled her Aunt close into an embrace. The older woman,
hurt and distraught, cried into her chest without reservation.
A dagger... that fit the profile of the weapon used to kill Arod
Highblade...
She looked over to Lone, who nodded solemnly.
"I'll take care of it, Auntie..." Coraline whispered, "Don't you

worry..."
...
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, led Coraline and Lady

Lucrezia back into the dining room.
Mister Elladan and Mister Giorgio were playing their board game.
Boss was working on his puzzle box.
Ramon, Felicity, and Maisie weren't around, but they were all
together... and Olesya was locked in the hold...
Everyone was accounted for.

He needed to ensure Coraline's safety as she confronted Mister
Giorgio about his crime.
The Popoto wasn't a very large or intimidating person... but Lone

knew not to underestimate anyone based on their looks. His
sworn brother, Pale, was half his size and about half his age. That
guy was one of the strongest people he knew.
Lone didn't know Giorgio's Class... or whether or not he had a

Metal-Rank. But still... it sounded like he'd killed an Elven Warrior
in one-on-one combat.
That kind of skill, Lone had to respect.
Mister Giorgio was dangerous.
So... in order to be completely, entirely, absolutely certain he could

handle the situation... he needed to ask Tycon to back him up.
He walked quickly over to the leather chair Boss where Boss was
sitting. Straightening his back, he pounded his chest with his fist,
rendering the sharpest, strongest salute he'd ever performed in
his life, "Sir Tycon!"
"No."
"I humbly-- wait, what?"
Tycon waved dismissively, "I'm busy... so whatever you were

going to ask me, the answer is no. Come back later."
Boss Tycon's concentration was fully focused on his dumb puzzle

box!
"But... but Boss!" Lone bared his teeth, anxiety rumbling in his gut,
"Y-you've been working on that thing non-stop for bells! Nearly a
whole sun!"
Put it down just for a few minutes and HELP me!
"Indeed," Tycon took a deep breath, rolling his eyes to stare at the
ceiling. "And it's quite frustrating that I have yet to find its solution."
"Boss, please!" Lone bowed his head.
"What does it concern?"
"Protecting the love of my life from danger and death."
"Not my problem," Tycon didn't even bother looking up. "Do it

yourself."
Lone turned his back, his head dipped in shame.
He had failed.
He forgot to account for the fact that Boss was... really, really into
that puzzle box. And when he'd made up his mind, he was
impossible to convince otherwise.
ARRRGH!
It didn't matter! He was strong enough to protect both himself and

Coraline from danger, anyroad!
He didn't need any help!
He was an Iron-Rank Ranger!
That Class was really strong and really rare! Probably!
There weren't more than TWO in Sol Invictus, after all!
He marched straight back to Coraline and placed his hands on her

shoulders, "Don't worry. I'll protect you."
The girl narrowed her eyes and... frowned.
...Oh. Maybe... he was overreacting? He removed his hands,

keeping his empty palms forward, "S-sorry."
Coraline sighed. "Just... just stand over there."
"Y-yeah. I will."
"Mister Giorgio Castiglioni!" Coraline raised her voice.
The Popoto immediately seemed to sense that something was

different.
Slowly, he slid down from his chair. He adjusted his collar and
straightened his coat and trousers. Placing his hands behind his
back, he strode confidently towards the three of them.
Elladan quietly stood, as well, his face marked with worry. The
mood was... strange...
Confrontation was inevitable.
Mister Giorgio raised an eyebrow, "You called for me, Miss

Coraline?"
He was getting too close. Lone took a step forward, standing tall...
his senses focused to a keen edge. If there were any sign of
hostility, he'd put his life on the line to protect the woman he l--
liked.
Coraline crossed her arms, shifting her weight to the side, "You
have a confession to make, Mister Giorgio."
The older Popoto narrowed his eyes, "Oh... I see..."
Giorgio took in a deep breath, turning and pacing to the side...
It was impossible for the man to get away. The three of them were
between Giorgio and the first exit. Elladan had circled around,
blocking the second. The last door led to the kitchen... and the old
man couldn't escape through there.
But when people knew they were trapped... they became

desperate. And when they became desperate... they'd become
unpredictable. That was what Lone worried about the most... a
crazed, final stand, from a man with nothing left to lose.
Chapter 516 Access
" You know..." Giorgio slowly turned back to face them...

"Everything I've done... was for you, Lucrezia."
The old Popoto's voice grew deep, dark... it was almost... evil.
Lone clenched his fists... He really wished had his weapon... or

his wolf companion.
"F-for me?" Lucrezia choked on a sob, "The lies... the secrets,

Giorgio... Just why would you hide the truth from me?"
The Popoto swiped his arm to the side, "You deserve... the
absolute best, my love. And without my troublesome dealings... I
would scarcely be able to afford it on my own."
"No, dear..." Lucrezia gasped. "You didn't..."
"I hope..." Giorgio gulped, placing a palm over his heart, "that
somesun... you'll be able to forgive me."
"Giorgio!" The older woman screamed, "Tell me you didn't!! We...

you... you make more than enough money for us to--"
"I! Lied!" Giorgio grit his teeth. "There. I said it... I lied to you, my
love. I'm... I'm not a wealthy president of a mercantile
association... I'm... I'm just a fraud."
"Eh?" Lone looked to Coraline. Did she understand what was

going on?
Coraline's jaw was unhinged, "Hah?"
...She was supposed to be the smart one. If she didn't get it, Lone
wasn't even going to try.
Tears began to fall from Giorgio's wide eyes, wetting his tiny
Popoto mustache and beard... "I... I took a loan from a friend to
afford this trip. It's our second honeymoon... It had to be...
perfect."
He tilted his head up, "I'll pay it back, for sure! I've always paid
back my loans! My credit is as solid as Tyrion steel!"
"Oh... Oh, Giorgio..." Lucrezia shook her head, "I... I also have a
confession to make."
Coraline turned to Lone, pursing her lips. Lone responded by

wearing a wide grimace.
The older Popoto woman took off her embroidered gloves... "All of
the jewelry I wear... I borrow from my friends. All of the clothes... I
make, myself."
She chuckled to herself, "I know the designers, certainly...
"But these terrible hands..." She raised her ungloved hands, her
fingers covered in bandages, "This is the result of being poked
and pricked with pins all sun."
Lucrezia raised her crying face, "I only ever wanted to be beautiful
for you, Giorgio."
"Oh, Lucrezia..." Giorgio sighed, approaching her. "You only grow

more beautiful, each sun."
"Oh, Giorgio..."
"Lucrezia, my love..."
Coraline loudly slumped down into one of the dining chairs,

placing her hands over her eyes, "The dagger, Mister Giorgio?"
"The dagger?" Giorgio turned to the side, furrowing his brows.
"...OH!!!" The Popoto leaped up, nearly half his height, "THE
DAGGER!!"
Speeding towards Lone, the child-sized gentleman latched onto
his gambeson.
"I was FRAMED, SIR!!!" Giorgio shouted.
Lone frowned. It seemed like the Popoto was trying to shake

him... but that's not how moving a bigger person worked. Mister
Giorgio was essentially alternating between pushing away and
pulling towards him...
Coraline sighed, "Please... explain, Mister Giorgio."
"Someone used my DAGGER to stab SOMEONE!!" Giorgio

wailed, "Maybe... maybe it was even the MURDER WEAPON!!"
Lone gently peeled Giorgio's hands off of him... "Was it... you?
Sir?"
"ELEVEN HEAVENS, NOOOOO!!" Giorgio sat on the floor,

choking and sobbing into his tiny palms. "I... I turned in the dagger
to Olesya! It was in the vaults! I would never, ever do such a
thing!"
Coraline sighed, looking over to Lone with a half-hearted smile, "I

don't... think it's worth using my truth-finding skill on Mister
Giorgio."
"Y-yeah..." He sighed. "I don't think so, either."
...
⟬ Afternoon, second sun. Twenty bells until Cersei's Rest. ⟭
"So... you think the murderer planted the weapon in the Popoto's
room?" Elladan offered.
Coraline shrugged. That was the best explanation she could come
up with.
"He's still a suspect..." She admitted... "and unfortunately, the

evidence is against him."
"What I don't get..." Lone rubbed his chin, "is how the dagger
could have made its way there?"
Coraline sighed... "I don't want to say it, but... it would make the
most sense if Mister Giorgio placed it there, himself..."
She reclined in her chair and put her palms forward.
"It's like this... Let's say... he went into Master Highblade's room.
He gets behind him, (somehow)... he stabs him in the lower back,
he slits his throat." She made a cutting motion across her neck...
"He heads back to his room. He hides the dagger... changes out
of his clothes..."
Coraline paused to catch her breath, "--and then... meets up with

everyone in the hallway."
Elladan bared his teeth, discontent, "Why... would a high elf...

answer the door for a Popoto merchant?"
"I have no idea," Coraline groaned...
Lone leaned back, resting on his folded palms, "And don't forget
how much wine Mister Giorgio had..."
"Right... he certainly didn't have the faculties to... murder a high elf
Warrior..." Coraline placed her hands on the sides of her
temples... "And Lady Lucrezia would have seen all of that..."
Elladan shook his head, "Maybe... Lady Lucrezia is... a damn

good actress...?"
Coraline sighed. It didn't sound like Elladan believed his own

theory.
She looked over to Mister Lone... who was... staring at her...

chest?
"...Key," Lone declared.
Coraline tilted her head, "Key?"

Oh. She was wearing the Captain's Key on a thin chain on her
neck. Right.
"Right, access," The half-elf nodded. "Who has access to... the
dagger-- it should have been in the vaults, right? And who can get
into Mister Giorgio's room?"
Lone took in a breath through his nostrils, "That'd be... Mister

Giorgio, his wife... and Coraline-- but she's always stayed in a
group and hasn't been anywhere near the rooms."
"Right," Coraline held up the Captain's Key... "Oh, and also, Miss
Maisie can open the doors to clean."
Lone raised an eyebrow, "Oh. That makes sense. Does she have
a key, too?"
"She does not," Elladan shook his head, "When I went with her to
clean, the doors... just seemed to open for her."
"They what?" Coraline's eyes widened, "Oh... I see. There's...

someone else with access to the rooms... and the vault."
Elladan and Lone shared a look of confusion.
The cheek-scarred boy leaned forward, "Who is it, Coraline?"
Coraline bit her upper lip... She was going to sound stupid.
"Beatrice..."
Elladan narrowed his eyes... "Who is... Bee-uh... treechay?"
"She's... she's the spirit of the Golden Eagle," Coraline frowned.
The half-elf sucked in air through his teeth... "You can't be serious,
Sapling,"
"Hah... haa..." Coraline laughed-sighed in response...
Elladan rolled his eyes, "That *really* doesn't tell us anything

new."
"It's relevant information!" Coraline slammed her fist on the table...
the sound it made wasn't nearly as loud as she hoped, for how
much it hurt her hand.
"So the most likely murderer is the late ship Captain-- the only
person who can speak with the Elemental Spirit," Elladan
shrugged. "Which again, only reinforces the fact that, in a few
suns, Mister Giorgio's going to be renting out his throat in a Tyrion
prison."
Coraline glanced over her shoulder. The elderly Popoto couple

were sitting together at the other end of the dining hall, holding
hands and talking about nonsense.
It was very likely that they knew their fate. Even though the
evidence against Mister Giorgio was weak... it would be enough
for the Church's inquisitors to incarcerate him.
"YOoooo!" A certain big, burly tiefling sauntered into the dining

hall. Ramon's thick, black and white coat of plates should have
made more noise but was largely muted by whatever
enchantment had been cast on it.
A sullen and somber Maisie followed him wordlessly. She looked

like she was dead on her feet, her eyes puffy from tears and
shambling like an Undead zombie rather than a human.
"Why are y'all lookin' so... saaad?" The tiefling crossed his arms.
Coraline immediately spotted something she did not like.
Resting on the big man's waist was Olesya's sword.
"Mister Ramon..." Coraline bit her upper lip, "Why do you have
that?"
"Eh? This thing?" Ramon patted the sheathed weapon, "Oh. Yeah.
I use a sword, myself-- a two-hander, though. This arming sword'll
do. Gotta protect Miss Maisie from the bad guy! Ain't that right,
babe?"
Maisie let out a long, depressed sigh, "I don't really care..."
"See?" Ramon grinned, "What she means to say is 'I appreciate

my strong and handsome protector very much.'"
Elladan groaned, rolling his eyes, "Ramon, really. Two people

have literally died."
"Come on, Squinty," the big man bared his jagged teeth. "We're
adventurers-- we deal with blood and death and vengeful spirits
every damned sun."
The half-elf took in a deep breath and sighed... but then narrowed
his eyes to thin squints as his companion suggested.
"Ramon..."
"Yeap?"
"...Where is Felicity?"
The tiefling furrowed his brows, "It's just been me an' Maisie-- I've
been tellin' her about all our good deeds. She might even join us
after all this is over."
Elladan stood up, "Ramon. I'm not going to ask again. Where. Is.
My. Woman?"
"Seven hells, man. I dunno?" Ramon shrugged. "Thought she was

wit' you?"
The half-elf stomped towards the exit, literally growling, "If I can't
find her in the next ten minutes, I swear to the gods, I'm going to
*kill* you."
"Hah! I'd like to see ya try!" The tiefling laughed.
Coraline stood up, pointing at the door Elladan exited, "E-

everyone! We have to search the ship!"
She pointed to Tychon, specifically, "You too, Sir!"

The young master stood up with a sigh, still holding his puzzle
box, "Right..."
Chapter 517 Fight
oraline dreaded the passage of each and every minute. It felt

C
like the more time that went by... the less likely they'd find Felicity
alive.
The passengers and single crewmember of the Golden Eagle

faithfully searched the ship-- and for well over the ten-minute time
limit that Elladan had proposed.
They kept in groups... their accountability, perfect, even amidst the

chaos. Coraline kicked and screamed and very nearly cried in
order to accomplish that...
Felicity wasn't in the hold. She wasn't in any of the rooms... They
even checked the two with the bodies. The dead men were still
present, which was a very slight reassurance.
Besides the engine room, there was one place left to explore.
It was the top deck.
Coraline felt a deep pain in the depths of her stomach... like her
anxiety was tearing a tiny hole in her insides. If Felicity couldn't be
found on the ship... then she may have very well been... *off.*
An 'accident', Olesya called it. If Felicity had an accident, then...
"Coraline..." Lone whispered softly into her ear... "You have to

calm down."
Calm? Absolutely not! There was nothing to be calm about-- not

when someone was MISSING so many malms up in the sky!
Coraline clenched her teeth so hard that her jaw hurt, "I am calm,
you-- you... dummy. I'm... I'm just worried. What if Felicity-- what if
she's d--"
"She's not DEAD!" Elladan shouted from the far side of the deck.
Right. He had Elven ears, too.
Coraline shut her eyes... squeezing the tears out. Elladan wouldn't
give up on Felicity. Neither should she.
"Maybe she's in the engine room?" Lone offered.
"Improbable," Tychon approached the two of them, shaking his

head, "The engine room is off-limits. On airships belonging to the
Windwright's Guild, the Elemental Spirits are hostile and
dangerous to normal sentients, save the ship's Captain."
Coraline nodded in agreement. The last thing she wanted was to

aggravate a Metal-Rank elemental...
"We've... we've looked everywhere, though!" Giorgio wheezed,

wiping his sweat upon his sleeve.
With all the rushing around, the older Popoto struggled to catch
his breath. His greying hair was matted to his forehead and he
looked generally miserable. His wife was in a better condition, but
only slightly.
Coraline gulped... they couldn't keep searching for much longer.

But... at least *she* had to keep going! She couldn't give up on
Felicity!
She... she trusted her.
Lone held her hand... and held it tight, "Hey. I'm here..."
Without thinking, Coraline buried her face into the boy's broad
chest, "We... we have to keep looking... You have to help me..."
"I know..." Lone whispered.
"Gahhhh..." Ramon groaned, "We looked everywhere. We gotta

head back! Let me go calm down my elf-friend, alright?"
The tiefling moved-- but not towards Elladan. First, he stepped
near Tychon, confiding something in quiet whispers.
Though the cold, cutting winds on the deck made it difficult,

Coraline could hear Ramon clearly as long as she focused...
"--to watch Maisie, will ya? She ain't in the right mind. Don't want
her to, uh... jump ship, yea?"
Tychon narrowed his eyes, "I'm assuming you're requesting that I

prevent any... potentially self-harmful actions."
"Yeah. Just until I get back," The tiefling smirked, "Can you do that
for me, guy?"
"I will do so," Tychon nodded. "Go about your business."
"Be back in a sec. Might get ugly, but I'm sure it'll be fine," Ramon
waved.
The horned man turned and began jogging towards the half-elf.
"EYYY!" He shouted, "Let's go back, man! Yo girl-- she ain't up

here!!"
A sudden gust of wind buffeted against the ship, causing Coraline

to reflexively grab onto Lone's arm and shield her eyes.
It was... so very strange seeing Tychon move... or rather, how she

didn't see him move. Closing her eyes for that brief moment, the
golden-eyed noble had stepped adjacent to both her and Miss
Maisie.
...A movement technique? The weak-looking youth could use a

movement technique? That was something only high-level
adventurers were capable of doing.
No... It made sense. She knew what the young master looked like
underneath his robes. That kind of body didn't belong to a simple,
studious scholar.
No one else seemed to notice the green-haired noble's...
repositioning?
Oh, Mister Lone did. The cheek-scarred boy gave Tychon a nod of
acknowledgment.
Everyone else was focused on Ramon and Elladan in the

distance.
"Goat..." Elladan took in a deep breath, "Tell me you didn't have

anything to do with this."
"Uh. Sure?" Ramon scratched his cheek, ��I didn't have

anything to do with this?"
"...My Felicity... she..."
"Hey, man," Ramon held his palms out, "She's my guild member,
too, in case you forgot."
"Felicity..." The half-elf's eye twitched, "--is... Mine."
"Uh huh?" Ramon shrugged, "Well, the fact o' th' matter is: I found
her first. I found both of you's. In fact... you should be THANKIN'
me for intra-ducin' you's! ...So let's just-- you know? calm down...
and head back. You and me. Together."
Elladan didn't budge... "I've seen the way you look at her, Goat."
Ramon took in a deep breath, a deep grimace set in his face,

"Y'know, I'd... really... REALLY appreciate if ya stopped callin' me
that."
"The 'fact OF THE matter' is..." Elladan tightened the muscles in

his jaw, "--you've always been jealous of me and her! How about
you just straight up admit it? Goat!?"
The tiefling bared his sharp, pointed teeth. His tone of voice grew
very solemn... his words, spaced and measured... "You better
calm down, knife-ear... or I'm gonna *put* you down..."
Elladan walked up to Ramon, sneering defiantly, "I've been f*cking
her so good, she doesn't give a rat's arse about you, anymore."
The half-elf jabbed a finger into the tiefling's armored chest, "So,
f*ck. You. You pointy-toothed. Mushroom-brained. G O A T ."
Coraline blinked at the wrong moment. By the time she realized

Ramon had attacked, the bigger man had already swung his fist.
That heavy red-skinned fist... it connected with Elladan's chin...

and the impact shook the half-elf's entire body.
Elladan collapsed backward onto the deck. The back of his head
slammed upon the wood... and his arms and legs splayed out
awkwardly.
The fight was decided in a single move... quick, precise, and

without any unnecessary motion. It was a honed strike that was a
result of a hundred thousand strikes before it...
"ERRRARGH!!!" Ramon kicked the unconscious half-elf in the

side.
Then... he stomped on the back of his companion's head.
The fight was over-- but he wasn't stopping.
Coraline's eyes widened.
He wasn't going to stop.

Chapter 518 Berserk State
"R-RAMONNN!!!" She shouted.
No one else!
She couldn't let anyone else die!
That was the only thing in Coraline's mind as she sprinted towards
Ramon as fast as her Elven legs could carry her.
"RAMON! You have to STOPPP!!"
Foolish... silly 'Miss Coraline.' Little... physically unfit 'Miss

Coraline'...
What could she do, by herself? Ramon was a Metal-Rank

adventurer, tried and tested in combat. She was... a paper-pusher
who liked to study magic.
Why did she always insist on trying?
It's not like anyone ever wanted her help...
Tyrants ruled... criminals ran amok.
Injustice... happened, regardless of whether or not anyone

realized it... regardless of whether anyone took a stand, against it.
Her world had fallen apart too many times while she stood by and
watched.
She didn't want that-- not anymore.
She didn't want to quietly lose her job again... her paycheck
withheld each week... false promises keeping her coming back.
Never again did she want a man she loved to... just vanish.
Promising her the sun and the moon... a marriage and a move to
the countryside... but ending with him never speaking to her
again... just hoping that she'd... just forget.
She wanted to fight.
Even if it was stupid. Even if she was useless.
Even if there was no possible way she'd succeed.
She had to do something.
"GRRRRARRRRRRGH!!!" Ramon roared like a madman, raising

his fists up to the sky. He was lost in his bloodlust. He was...
unstoppable.
Coraline leaped up and grabbed at the tiefling's chainmail covered

arm... a useless weight on the man's bicep.
Ramon shook, rotating his body... once-- and then again. Coraline
lost her grip, and she rolled towards the edge of the deck.
The side of her ribs impacted the wood of the ship's railing, a
shock of pain shooting throughout her entire body. It hurt... it
hurt... so, so much... Wracked with pain, she struggled to breathe.
She stared at the grey clouds all around the ship... If she... if she
fell off, that pain would stop. Everything would end.
And... maybe when she stopped falling... she'd find Felicity?
"I'LL KILL YOOUUUU, GOOOAAAAAT!!!"
Somehow, Elladan had gotten up. He hooked his legs onto

Ramon's ankles, dropping the bigger man to the deck...
The half-elf half-flipped up, straddling the bigger man. With one
hand wrapped around Ramon's thick neck, he raised his other to
strike him.
One strike. Two. Again and again. There was hatred in those
fists... and blood to cover them. Something had split-- either
Elladan's hands or his former ally's bony face.
But Ramon... that man was impossibly strong. The tiefling

Berserker pushed off of the deck with a single arm. It was all it
took to reverse their positions, Ramon as the aggressor, Elladan
as the battered victim.
Ramon turned his gaze up to the heavens... then snapped his

neck downward, plowing his two ram-horns into Elladan's chest.
Bones broke. Coraline could hear the dull crunch, muted as it was
by flesh.
Coraline crawled... dragging herself towards them... Her side

ached terribly-- it was so hard to breathe... blood was welling up
into her own mouth.
"R-ramon..." She begged... with all of her heart, "N-no! Ssstop...

Please!"
Ramon drew his sword...
No.
She had to stop him.
Ramon placed both hands on the hilt.
No... Please, no...
Ramon plunged the weapon into Elladan's stomach. The half-elf's

leather armor was as good as parchment paper...
Tears fell hot down Coraline's cheeks. She... she was powerless
to stop him.
Everything she'd done... everything was useless.
Ramon turned... his eyes bloodshot... his sword wet with the blood
of yet another murder.
He stepped towards her...
⌈Berserk⌋...
Ramon was... invincible... unstoppable...
They... they were all going to die... and Coraline... she would be
next.
She wanted to shut her eyes... even with everything that's

happened, she was still afraid of death. It was going to hurt. Her
whole body was hurting, already.
But... Coraline needed to see it. She needed to look death in the
eyes.
She tried... She tried so very hard to save everyone she could.
...But she couldn't even save herself.
"⌈Whirl Strike!⌋"
A blur of maroon red entered Coraline's vision.
She stared at Mister Lone's broad back as he'd dashed between

her and the tiefling.
The bravest man she'd ever seen... swung his heavy fists, striking
Ramon in the side, then in the face.
Those fists... staggered Ramon.
That... that was impossible! The tiefling was definitely in his

⌈Berserk⌋ state! Human fists were useless against that?!
Ramon swung his sword-- almost faster than Coraline could see.
A scream caught in her throat. She didn't want to die-- but even
more than that, she didn't want to see Lone sacrifice himself for
her!
He had no reason to protect her! They didn't even know each

other!
She had selfishly dragged him around, trying her best to help. He
hadn't even complained once! He didn't deserve to die!
...She did.
Lone stepped to the side, dodging the slash with impossible

speed.
"⌈Whirl Strike!!⌋" Lone snatched one of Ramon's horns, then

powered his knee into the man's gut... He reared his leg back,
striking again in the same spot.
Realization struck Coraline's senses. Lone was using a Skill! He

was a Metal-Ranker!
"GRAAAIIIEEEEE!" The tiefling roared turned to a high-pitched

shriek as his body was sheathed in a burst of... supernatural
green flames.
Coraline shielded her eyes, feeling the licks of its sweltering heat
upon the back of her hands...
She heard a body hit the deck... and she heard it tumble and roll.
She looked to the side... it was Lone. The force of Mister Ramon's
bloodline ability had knocked him back... and thankfully not off the
ship.
But without her savior to protect her... Ramon walked slowly

towards her.
Coraline stared at his feet... her eyes drifting up to the massive

tiefling who towered over her.
Ramon lifted Olesya's arming sword to the sky.
Then... her ears twitched.
Clearer than anything she'd ever heard... something... snapped...

It echoed in her mind.
What... what did it mean?

"GRAHHHHHHAHHHH!!"
Lone... it was impossible... but that man... stood up. His eyes were
bloodshot, he was gnashing his teeth... it was like all the mana in
his body had become as berserk as the tiefling's?
He rushed back towards Ramon... and struck him in the side with
his shoulder.
Behind the tiefling, the railing broke.
Ramon... and Olesya's sword... tumbled off of the Golden Eagle...

and into the clouds.
...with Lone after him.

Chapter 519 Last Question
It felt like a jagged spear had been stabbed into Coraline's chest.
With every strained breath she took, it bored deeper into her lungs
and scattered the pieces of her fractured ribs throughout her
insides.
She could barely feel her cold, white-knuckled hands as she

grabbed Lone's wrist and held on in desperation. Her hair whipped
all around as the merciless winds battered the boy against the
side of the ship, threatening to tear him away from her grasp.
"LOOONNE!!" Coraline screamed, "Don't let gooo!!!!"
"I'm NOT letting go!" The boy screamed back, "Just-- quit
moving!"
"I'm not moving!!"
"Well, you're not holding STILL!!"
Tychon leaned one arm over a still-intact railing, "Are you having
trouble, young lady?!"
Coraline angrily turned her head. She was tired. She was
depressed. Her whole body hurt.
The green-haired noble... his hair somehow still-perfect even... an

arrogant smirk on his face... he hadn't done a damned thing
throughout the skirmish.
"I'm a LITTLE busy here, young master!!" She seethed.
"Haha... Really?" The noble leaned forward, ilms away from her
face...
"Is this the best you can do?" He whispered.
Oh. No. He. Didn't.
"NO. IT. IS. NOT!"
With a burst of mana-empowered strength... strength that Coraline

honestly did not think she had, she dragged Mister Lone onto the
relative safety of the deck.
She collapsed onto her back, wheezing hard. Her lungs were
burning. The muscles in her legs and butt spasmed and ached.
Her heart pounded crazily in her chest... but... the pain was fading
away.
Lone was already on his feet. He approached Tychon and inclined

his head, "Thanks for that, Boss."
"For which?"
"Both."
"Tss," Tychon scoffed. "We'll speak of it later."
What were they talking about?
Blinking the tears out of her eyes, she grabbed Lone's offered
arm, allowing him to help her up.
"Hey," He smirked. "You alright?"
"Y-yeah... somehow..." Coraline muttered as she rubbed her side.

The aching had dulled, leaving behind a peculiar sensation of...
warmth... She was fairly certain it was going to bruise.
She shook her head in sudden realization-- "Mister Elladan! Oh,

no... MAISIE! MISS MAISIE!!!"
She turned to address the woman at Tychon's side. The noble

was gripping her arm... and not gently.
"Miss Maisie..." Coraline frowned, trying not to cry, "Can... can you
cast a healing spell on Mister Elladan?"
The human woman grimaced... "Let me go."
"Do as the girl asks," Tychon narrowed his eyes, releasing his
hold. "I'm certain you realize I am fast enough to prevent any
more attempts at foolishness."
Coraline noticed that Maisie's arm was bruised where Tychon had
held her. She could vaguely piece together that the woman was...
unwilling... but a life was at stake.
"Please, Miss Maisie..." Coraline pleaded, "I don't want anyone

else to die."
The human woman let out an exasperated sigh... "Fine."
...
⟬ Early evening, second sun. Eighteen bells until Cersei's Rest. ⟭
"Seven... hells..." Elladan rasped.
The half-elf began to hack and cough. Sweat poured down his
forehead and tears down his cheeks. Agony wracked his broken
body, as he grasped at his bandaged stomach.
Coraline watched him patiently... solemnly.
The injured Elladan had been moved to a bed in the infirmary. For
the past couple of bells, she had sat beside him, contemplating
everything that had happened.
Recent events had torn her apart... it made her doubt...

everything.
She...
She begged...
It hurt her pride... so, so much... but she asked for Lone and
Tychon to accompany her... to protect her.
Mister Lone agreed without complaint. He was... so very sweet to

her. He stood by her side like a loyal pup... a steady rock she
could rely on.
For some reason... Tychon acquiesced, as well, following them in

silence. He stood by the door, quietly shifting the wooden tiles on
his puzzle box, back and forth... back and forth.
Miss Maisie, the human woman, had fallen unconscious after

casting her healing spells on the bloodied Elladan. He had taken a
grievous stomach wound and he only needed enough healing to
be treated at Cersei's Rest.
She went above and beyond... while also overdrawing her mana
in the process.
It was purposeful... inflicting herself with mana fatigue in the

process. As she wouldn't wake up anytime soon, Tychon carried
her to her bed.
Mister Giorgio and Lady Lucrezia were shaken by recent events

as well. They chose not to stray too far, staying in the hall just
outside of Elladan's room.
There were so very few of them left...
The bedridden Elladan turned to meet Coraline's gaze...
"Where's... the goat?"
Coraline shook her head...
Elladan closed his eyes... "Bet the bastard... wished he had

wings..."
He took another deep, pained breath... groaning to stave off

another coughing fit... "Is... is that it, then?"
Coraline bared her teeth in a grimace... and she shook her head
once more, "I... I have a question for you, Mister Elladan."
The half-elf opened one eye, "Yeah? ...Go ahead, then."
She looked back to Lone... and he nodded in understanding. If

she didn't have him... Coraline wasn't sure if she would've had the
courage to continue on.
She moved her hands as she had memorized... a series of

intricate gestures that opened her mana circuits. Finally, she
shaped her fingers into a diamond... "⌈Swords of Truth...⌋"
Elladan furrowed his eyebrows... "Sapling..."
"Mister Elladan..." Coraline gulped... "Where were you when Arod

Highblade was killed?"
The half-elf closed his eyes and took a labored breath... "I see..."
"...Please," Coraline whispered... "Just answer the question..."
Elladan nodded quietly... "⋖ I was in the Ancient's room ⋗

...putting a knife in his back."
Coraline grit her teeth, trying not to cry... "The only reason the
Ancient would let someone in his room... was if they had Elven
blood... and... because of Felicity... who had studied the Blades of
the Forgotten King..."
Elladan closed his eyes... not agreeing or disagreeing.
"And... your class is Thief, isn't it? ...Only someone with the Thief
Class could have planted the dagger in Mister Giorgio's room
without being seen."
"Seven hells..." Elladan chuckled... groaning in pain, because of

it... "That damned goat... he just couldn't keep his f*cking mouth
shut, huh?"
Coraline nodded as she stood from her chair... "Thank you for
your cooperation, Mister Elladan. We'll leave you to recuperate..."
Chapter 520 Useless
⟬ Evening, second sun. Seventeen bells until Cersei's Rest. ⟭
"Doesn't seem right, Boss..."
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark stared at the bottle of jam with
healthy skepticism.
Tycon applied the stuff to a slice of cured meat using a weird knife
(he called it a... spreading knife?)
"It's good," The green-haired noble pushed the bottle towards him,
"Try it."
Lone tried it.
...It was good.
Without Maisie, dinner was a simple fare of cured meats,

cheeses, and some fresh bread. It was a good meal... not quite...
'Golden Eagle' luxurious, but... it's not like Lone could complain to
the Captain about it.
It was just him and Tycon in the dining hall. With Elladan
confessing to the murder and confined to a bed, there wasn't a
reason to stay together, anymore.
"Boss, what's gonna happen to Mister Elladan?"
"Tss," Tycon scoffed. "With his recent injury, his adventuring

career is likely over... I doubt he'd be able to afford Third-Circle
healing."
"I mean..." Lone bit his lower lip, trying to think about what exactly
he was trying to say... "He's probably going to prison, right?
Maybe Turrim Orientem? I still have some friends there..."
Tycon nodded, chewing and gulping down a bite, "Mister Elladan

has murdered a High Elf in cold blood. If he is imprisoned by the
Holy Country, it won't be for long. House Highblade will come for
him."
Lone grimaced, "They'll... take care of him, then?"
"The elves do... everything." Tycon rolled his eyes, "They dabble
in art and archery... spells and swordsmanship-- not with great
focus, which is my main complaint... but over the course of
hundreds of years, their experience accrues to levels that can be
considered... mastery."
He paused to take a sip of Tyrion wine, "The torture the half-blood

is set to endure will be... most unpleasant. Pass the eggs, if you
would, Mister Lone."
"Sure," Lone pushed a bowl of boiled eggs to the opposite side of

the table... "I can't believe Maisie died, too..."
"Dying of strangulation in her room was... troublesome. She could

have hopped off the deck for at least one less inconvenience."
Tycon groaned, "It's frustrating enough without anyone onboard
that can land the ship."
"Ehhh... At the time, Mister Giorgio and Lady Lucrezia were in the
hall. She couldn't have gone out so--" Lone hesitated, furrowing
his brows.
Something... bothered him.
Greatly.
"Boss... why do you eat eggs like that?"
He had... swallowed an entire egg whole... like a snake.
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Am I doing something... incorrectly?"
...He seemed fine, though?

"No, I guess not." Lone shook his head... "Wait, what?"
"What?"
"What do you mean?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "Be more specific."
"Should I be worried?"
"I'm the one worried about my eating habits," Tycon grimaced. "Is
there... a sauce or... jam that I should be using? With the eggs?"
"No, Boss!" Lone took in a deep breath, "About the ship not being
able to land?"
"Oh," Tycon breathed a sigh of relief. "No. We have plenty of time

until it becomes a pressing issue. I'll inspect the formations and
attempt a dialogue with the ship's Elemental Spirit soon enough.
"In the interim..." He flicked his wrist, his puzzle box appearing in
his empty palm, "--I'm going to spend a few more bells on this."
"You really like that thing," Lone grinned.
"I'm very close to solving it," Tycon smirked. "I found the 'trick' the
late Captain mentioned. It won't be long, from there."
"Wanna show me?"
"No."
"Aw... alright," Lone pushed his empty plate away and stood up to
stretch. "I'm gonna head back to start my sleep cycle, Boss. Could
you wake me up, just like the other night? I should be fine after
two bells."
"Take four," Tycon advised, his attention still focused on his cube.
"Your faculties will suffer otherwise. Six bells in two suns is your
limit, according to my observations."
"That'll be fine," Lone nodded.

He turned to walk away... but with a new thought in mind, he
turned back.
"Hey, uh... Brother-Tycon?"
"Yes?" Tycon glanced up.
Lone scratched at the back of his head, "Thanks for always

backing me up. I know I've been a bit selfish, recently."
"I can generally say the same of myself, to you," Tycon rolled his
eyes, chuckling to himself, "Good night, Brother-Lone."
...
⟬ A few bells later... ⟭
Coraline hoped that everything would wind down after Elladan

confessed to having murdered Lord Arod.
Olesya was notified-- she didn't particularly care.
Mister Giorgio and Lady Lucrezia found some relief in it.
Miss Maisie... when they entered her room, they found her dead.
She had hung herself on the top part of her bunk... long enough
for her face to turn a grim, bluish-purple. Sir Tychon cut her down
and laid a blanket atop her with as much care as snapping a
branch off of a tree.
The bells after that didn't get much better.
Miserable grey clouds formed outside the ship and it started to

rain.
The winds didn't seem very strong, but sometimes... the Golden
Eagle rocked erratically to a side. Sometimes it dropped a few
fulms, giving a very uncomfortable feeling of weightlessness for
that split second.
There was thunder, too... and the lightning flashes would brighten
the inside of the halls from the portholes in the ceiling.
The few remaining passengers ate a somber, simple dinner.
Lady Lucrezia baked some bread that had been prepared earlier.
They had that, cured slices of meat, and some fresh lettuce.
Without a proper cook, it was a very good meal without too much
work.
Coraline ate quickly and excused herself.
Using the Captain's key, she searched the rooms with the 'great
attention to detail' she was known for... also using Olesya's magic-
detection wand to aid her...
It was useless.
She couldn't find any sign of the Blades of the Forgotten King...
not even a sliver of its magical signature. She did find a weapon--
Mister Giorgio's gaudy, nonmagical dagger. That wasn't any help.
She searched the rooms thrice over... even the rooms that were
unused. She even checked the vault! She looked everywhere but
the Engine Room...
She wanted to give up. People died... one of them, Felicity, she
even cared about. And even as hard as she tried... it was useless.
*She* was useless.

Chapter 521 Go Back
blast of wind made the Golden Eagle tilt to the side, forcing
A
Coraline off balance. Even though she was a master of Elven
grace and beauty, she earned herself a bruised knee when she
struck it against the floor.
Bleigh.
Coraline didn't want to look for the swords anymore. She was as
miserable as the gloomy atmosphere outside...
What she really needed... was a friend. Someone she could talk
to... without bias... who'd listen patiently to her complaints...
maybe nuzzle her a little bit.
She needed Petty Officer Mittens.
Her ears twitched, hearing movement... Unfortunately, it was the

clumsy clomping of human feet-- not the soft pads of the savior
she so greatly desired.
She hurriedly rushed out of the corridor, keeping quiet underneath

a set of stairs. She was an elf... her footsteps weren't quite lighter
than snow, but she was confident enough to avoid detection from
human senses.
Curled up in the dark corner, she pulled her knees in and hid her
crying face.
The steps grew closer... and she identified them as belonging to

the last person she wanted to see her. Mister Lone lifted his lamp,
illuminating her through the slats of the stairs.
Stars and stones... Coraline was even useless at being an elf...

"Hey," Lone waved, frustratingly innocent.
"H-hey..."
The boy puffed out his chest, looking irrationally proud of himself,
"You can't hide from the Ranger of Sol Invictus."
"Ughhh..." Coraline rolled her eyes.
Was he trying to impress her? With a lie? That was the most
pathetic thing she'd ever heard.
"First, Mister Lone: the only Ranger in Sol Invictus is named

Quiet. And *that* is not *you.*"
Lone scratched the scar on his cheek, "But uh..."
"And second!" Coraline grit her teeth. Her chest hurt... but more
than feeling sorry for herself, this boy made her so mad... "I'm not
*prey* to be hunted... nor am I a prize to be won. I'm a person."
Lone rubbed the back of his head, "Oh... Hey, that came out
wrong. Can... I try again?"
Coraline sighed, glaring at the boy on the other side of the stairs,
"Do I have a choice?"
"Can... you come out of there? It feels kind of weird with you
hiding like that."
"No, you're a pervert..." She muttered.
"I'm a what?" Lone furrowed his brows.
"Nevermind..." Coraline groaned... She wiped her eyes and got to

her feet, rubbing her pained knee. She emerged from her hiding
place... so her face could be seen clearly by Lone's lamplight.
She just wanted him to go away...
The boy stared at her... his stupid smile turning into a frown.
Without a word he reached towards her cheek.
Coraline reflexively slapped his hand away.
She didn't want to be comforted-- not by him.
Lone slowly drew his hand back, his expression crushed. If she

didn't know better, she'd have thought he looked heartbroken.
She almost felt sorry for him.
But it shouldn't have meant anything. It didn't mean anything.

They didn't... have a relationship? They worked together for a
short time-- that's all.
Mister Lone didn't need to care about her.
...Not that she had been kicked out of her guild. Not that she was
jobless and technically homeless... nor about the fact that she had
been crying for over a bell and looked like an absolute carriage
wreck.
She didn't care about *him*, at all...
"Wh... what do you want?" She whispered.
Lone sucked in air through his teeth... "I wanted to ask... if you
found any clues on where the swords are?"
She glared back at him defiantly, "None."
"Well... you have the Captain's Key, right?" Lone instilled a little
more energy into his voice, "Let's go look for them? Together?"
Coraline crossed her arms... and she tried to not sound as

depressed as she actually was, "We *already* searched the
rooms when we were looking for Felicity..."
...And she'd searched those same rooms several times over,

before Lone arrived.
"So..." Lone gulped, "The swords weren't on Elladan, then?"

"No SHITE!!" Coraline shouted, "GODS! You're SO DUMB,
Lone!!"
Lone bared his teeth in a stupid, clueless grin, not even bothering
to shrink back from her outburst, "How about... we beat him up
until he talks?"
"UGH!!" Coraline threw her hands up, "NO! That's a CRIME,

Mister Lone! And torture doesn't work, anyroad... Let's... let's just
wait. The Church Inquisitors will take care of it...
"It's useless..." She turned her back... "I'm useless..."
She was sick and tired of looking at that stupid boy... with his
stupid cute smile... and... his big, fat head.
"Well, maybe YOU'RE part of the problem!" Lone shouted at her

back.
Yeah...
Obviously, that was true.
Hearing it aloud still hurt... very much...
She closed her eyes, letting two thick tears drop down her cheeks
as she heard Lone stomp off.
...
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, hated that kind of talk.
Coraline was giving up.
Fine!
He'd find the missing swords by himself! He didn't want to deal

with that girl anymore... not when she was like that.
He turned a hallway corner and winced as thunder boomed in his

ears. He reached for his weapons, and cursed in his mind,
realizing he didn't have them...
The corridor lit up with a flash of lightning.
A man with a sword stood there... and after darkness blanketed

his path once more, golden eyes remained, coldly staring him
down.
Lone froze stiff with fear, his heart thumping painfully in his chest,
unable to move, barely able to breathe. An icy chill washed over
him... and his entire body was covered by a thin film of sweat.
It felt like he was about to die.
...It wasn't anything new, of course. It was almost impressive how

familiar he was with that shite feeling.
As his eyes adjusted to the lamplight by his side... he was able to

make out Tycon's form at the end of the hallway. His superior was
blocking his path, standing motionlessly, Shatterspike in hand.
[Go back,] Tycon mouthed.
What?! No!
Lone really didn't want to! He didn't even know the girl that well!
And she didn't even want him around!
He shook his head indignantly.
[Go back, or I'll *kill* you,] Tycon drew his thumb across his neck.
Lone clenched his teeth, trying not to cry. This wasn't fair!
[What do I do??] Lone mouthed back.
Thunder resounded and lightning struck once more, illuminating

Tycon's sword-wielding form.
The noble angrily pointed again, back the way Lone came, [Go!]
That meant that Lone just... had to figure it out.

Chapter 522 Not Useless
ith a reluctant heart, Lone turned and trudged back to Coraline's

W
stairs...
There was no arguing with Boss when he started threatening

violence...
Coraline was where he'd left her... She had crouched down and...
was crying into her knees.
...It made Lone feel a little guilty.
Maybe he had overreacted? Coraline obviously wasn't in the best

state of mind. It would have made more sense to... be nice to her?
Even though she was never really nice to him? It really wasn't
fair...
"Hey..."
"G... go away..." Coraline muttered through her sniffling, "I don't

want your pity..."
Ignoring her, he approached and... sat beside her.
He made sure not to sit so close that he couldn't defend himself.
Coraline was stronger than she looked-- or at least her smaller

hands and elbows hurt more? The Elven girl had... a small surface
area? So the force was concentrated?
Egh. It made sense in his head, but not so much when he thought
about it more.
What could he say to... fix the situation? The situation that... might
have been mostly his fault...
He took a deep breath through his nostrils...
All he could do... was try his best.
"You're not useless..."
...
Coraline could scarcely believe that the cheek-scarred boy had

the nerve to walk away from her... and when he came back, the
only thing he had to offer was another meaningless lie.
She took a deep, calm breath... and lunged forward with a palm-
heel strike... just like before... right at Lone's dumb face.
It didn't connect.
Lone-- he caught her by the wrist...
Of course, he would.
He was an adventurer with a martial class... That meant... all the

times she hit him before... he was only PRETENDING to be hurt!
"What would YOU know about being USELESS?!" She shouted,

her eyes brimming with hot tears.
"I've been there," The half-hearted smile that the boy wore gave
Coraline pause...
That look of hurtfulness wasn't something anyone could fake.
"When I first met Tycon... my boss..." Lone sighed as he released

his grip... "He almost killed me."
"He... what?" Coraline rubbed her wrist, trying to think of a

response... "That's... not really surprising, I guess. He is... a little
scary."
Those golden eyes in the darkness were something out of her
nightmares... If there was anything she liked less than rats, it was
snakes.
"I know, right?" Lone chuckled softly, "We've... been through a lot.
I started training as an adventurer... and I've almost died... maybe
a dozen times.
"But... one of Boss Tycon's rules always stuck with me.
"In the beginning... he refused to let me give up on myself. The

combat drills... the weapons training... even dodging halberd
swings and crossbow bolts... It took me a while to understand it--
and I guess I still don't get some of it. The entire guild used to
throw hard fruits at me and the other trainee."
"That's called hazing," Coraline narrowed her eyes. "That's

illegal."
"...Oh. Yeahhhh... it seemed kinda illegal, at the time." Lone bit his
upper lip... "Anyroad... there was one unbreakable rule we had
during training. We aren't allowed to die."
"That's ridiculous..." Coraline shook her head, her chest tight with
emotion... "People die all the time..."
"Not me," Lone turned to face her with a gentle smile. "I'm
immortal."
"Wh-what?" Coraline couldn't help but lean back, giggling into her
palms.
It was... just how serious the awkward boy looked. It was weird.
But... it made her want to forget about all her logic and... just
believe in him.
Lone grinned, "We can't give up, Coraline. And if it comes down to
it, I won't let you give up on yourself."
Coraline gulped hard, averting her gaze... stubbornly holding onto

her sadness... "You... never told me you were an adventurer."
"Oh, I didn't?" He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his
head, "Sorry?"
"It's fine..." She stared at her feet... at the wall... anywhere but
him.
She... wanted to thank him. Lone's words, as clumsy as they

were, gave her that tiny boost of confidence she needed.
She was still a little mad, though. She'd thank him later... if he
deserved it.
"Hey, Coraline," Lone bared his teeth. "I've been thinkin'."
"Oh, CoNgrAtuLatioNs!" Coraline rolled her eyes, but she found

herself smiling.
"Ha. You're so funny," The boy groaned sarcastically. "How does

this ship fly without a Captain?"
Coraline scoffed, "WoOoOowW!!! You don't even know that!? It's

because of the ship's Elemental Spirit."
"Huh..." Lone tilted his head, "What kind of elemental is it? Can it
be... any? Or does it have to be a uh... sky elemental?"
Coraline laughed so hard she snorted-- forcing her to cover her

mouth and nose in embarrassment, "Y-you mean a wind
elemental. It's usually a fire or wind Elemental Spirit, due to their
abundance. And if it wasn't obvious, an earth elemental wouldn't
work well at keeping us... *off* the ground."
"Oh... makes sense," Lone nodded. "But I haven't seen any

elementals on the ship?"
"Whaaat?" Coraline shoved Lone playfully, "You saw her! We both

did. I think the Captain said her name was Beatrice?"
Lone nudged her back with his elbow, baring his teeth in a
grimace, "We did?"
"You have a martial class-- so you probably didn't see her clearly,"
Coraline teasingly stuck her tongue out. "The ship formations
keep us in the air, but Beatrice powers those formations from the
Engine Room."
Lone shifted his legs to sit more comfortably... he was a little

close, but Coraline didn't think he was doing it on purpose. She
decided to allow it.
The boy placed a hand on his chin, "Would... Beatrice know more
about the ship, then? Maybe we could ask her to find the swords
for us? Assuming it's here, somewhere?"
"Stars and stones, if only it were that easy." Coraline rolled her
eyes, puffing out a breath, "There's obviously restrictions in place
to prevent people other than the Captain from communicating
directly to the Elemental Spirit-- normal people, anyroad."
"So it's impossible, then?"
"Bleigh," Coraline groaned... "Not necessarily..."
",
Chapter 523 Let’s Get One
oraline looked up in thought, "If... we had a Formation Mage...

C
they might be able to craft a ritual to find the blades. Maybe we
could even use Beatrice as a power source!"
"Alright!" Lone nodded confidently, "Let's get one, then?"
"Yeah... like that'll ever happen..." Coraline let out a deeply

sarcastic sigh, rolling her eyes to accentuate Mister Lone's
stupidity.
"Wait, what? Why not?" Lone looked thoroughly confused.
She shook her head, laughing derisively... "Formation Mages are

absurdly rare! Even rarer than a Calculator... Maybe we can get a
formation expert... but they'll be a different Class, for sure-- and a
hundred-thousand times LESS effective.
"And thus," Coraline gestured her hand in a circle, "even if we DID

find that... they could take suns or even WEEKS to craft a unique
ritual, Mister Lone."
"I don't get--"
"We have barely HALF A SUN before the Golden Eagle lands!"
She shouted.
Lone raised an eyebrow, "Well... that won't be a problem? I have a

way to handle the formations."
Hah.
Wait, what?
Excitement surged in Coraline's heart... but that was WRONG!
Lone was WRONG! He was also STUPID! She immediately
mushed those feelings down!
What could he possibly know about formations? He wasn't even a

Circle Mage!
She spoke haltingly to convey her annoyance, "I'm - very -

doubtful - that that is true."
Bleigh.
The boy smiled... a gentle smile that, despite her best efforts, put
Coraline's heart at ease, "You said you trusted me, right?"
She'd nearly forgotten. Lone was the only person on the ship with
that privilege...
Which meant... there was A WAY!!
If Lone wasn't lying, finding the Blades of the Forgotten King was
no longer an impossible task! She'd be able to fulfill her obligation
to Master Highblade and not feel so useless about herself!
Coraline was so happy, she could almost kiss the boy! She
grabbed onto Lone's shoulders and gazed dreamily into his deep,
brown eyes.
Oh. OH, NO! What was she doing?!
*PAP!*
She slapped the side of the boy's face, knocking him to the side.
His durable skull thumped on the sharp corner of one of the stairs.
"W...whyyyYYy..." The boy groaned in pain, clutching the side of

his head.
Coraline bit her upper lip, her mind racing to think of an excuse...
"It was... a happy slap."
...Stars and stones. That was the dumbest thing she'd ever said in
her life.
"Yeah?" Lone righted himself, sitting with his legs splayed out,
"Can... I hit you back, then?"
"Yes! Of course!" Coraline nodded.
That was... fair. She believed in fairness. She sat up and

obediently closed her eyes, "Go on, then! You only get one!"
She was a bit nervous. It made her feel very... vulnerable.
It was... a test of faith, she supposed-- of that trust she put in her
companion. Even if he hit her, she couldn't be upset about it... She
hit him plenty of times before.
It made her think back to the time she fell asleep on Lone's
shoulder. What she was doing now was basically giving him
permission to do... whatever he did back then.
Maybe... maybe he'd even try to kiss her?
Should she let him?
...He deserved that much.
--But she'd definitely slap him again if he did! 'Miss Coraline' was
not an easy woman!
"Yeah, I'm not gonna do that," Lone sighed.
Coraline opened her eyes, grinning victoriously. Of course, he

wouldn't! He was a coward, after all!
"Well, you could have! It's not just because I'm a girl, right? Don't
look down on me!"
"I uh... just don't feel like it?" Lone shrugged.
Grinning, Coraline grabbed the gullible coward's hands and

pulled, "Come on! Let's go check out the ship's formations!"
"Sounds good," Lone nodded, getting to his feet, "We just have to
go ask Tycon about it."
"W...wait..." Coraline hesitated... all the excitement bubbled up

draining immediately to critical levels... "W...what do you mean?"
"Tycon. My boss." Lone pursed his lips, "He's the one who can
read formations."
Coraline caught herself on the wall before she could collapse and
fall into the depths of despair... "I should have known..."
Lone crossed his arms, "Don't we need him, anyroad? Since we

don't have the Captain to land the ship?"
She gasped, "Wait-- what?"
"What?"
EmPty NiGhTtT~~~ Coraline had forgotten that the Captain said

HE was the only one who could negotiate with the ship's
Elemental Spirit... In order to survive... she'd need to ask Sir
Tychon for help...
He... he hated her, though. And she didn't like him, either! It was
the LAW of equivalent eXcHaAaNgE~!
"I'm fine with letting the ship crash..." Coraline rested her forehead
against the wood paneling, "We'll all die in a fiery blaze together..."
"Come on," Lone took her hand... "I'm not letting you give up. We
literally just had this talk."
Coraline gulped... She'd grabbed his hands to pull him up, earlier,
but in that moment... his hand felt... different, somehow... "O...
okay. Fine."
She didn't hate that feeling.
...
Tycondrius smiled in satisfaction as he reclined in the desk chair
of his room. He lifted up an iron talisman in his hand, examining
its mediocre craftsmanship.
It was a mere, inexpensive bauble-- the likes of which he could

find sold at any market, unique but similar. However, it symbolized
the culmination of several bells of critical thinking and puzzle-
solving skills.
It was his prize, released upon solving the Captain's puzzle box.
The process was more difficult than it could have been.
He could have threatened Nikandros with physical violence to get

the answer he wanted.
He could have used his System to analyze the various

mechanisms, likely granting him a greater understanding of its
functions. (He did so after he gleaned the solution, and not
before.)
Puzzles were made to be solved.
Every clue hidden in its form, every observable shift... everything

was designed by its creator to reward its solver for a satisfying
final victory.
An investigator takes all the clues they'd painstakingly gathered...

and uses it to paint a picture.
...Tycon was somewhat surprised that Lone hadn't asked him to

assist him and his Elven friend with their murder mystery. To him,
the culprits were quite obvious.
That was their 'puzzle box', as it were.
If the answers were granted to them without any effort expended...
...Well, that wasn't useful to think about.
If they were at an impasse, perhaps he'd advise them to review

what knowledges they had.
Chapter 524 Agreeable
Request
ycondrius sensed motion in the hallway outside-- Lone's unquiet

T
clomps and Coraline's light, Elven steps. They were walking with
purpose, as opposed to merely wandering.
He lit the room's oil lamp, as to not appear suspicious and faced
the doorway.
Lone knocked-- politely, as he was taught, "Boss, we're coming

in."
"Go ahead."
Coraline used the Captain's Key to unlock the door of the room...
and Lone entered before his female companion.
...From what Tycon knew of human culture, it was considered

polite to allow females to enter first-- unless rank was a factor, of
course. He made a mental note to advise the young man on that,
later.
Lone was wearing a strange grin on his face-- as if he'd found

some success in his romantic endeavors, "Good evening, Boss."
Tycon stood to greet them, nodding in approval, "Good evening,

Miss Coraline, Mister Lone."
"Good evening, Sir Tychon..." Coraline bowed her head.
The young lady was... pouting shyly, looking everywhere else in

the room but at him. Perhaps he intimidated her?
Good. He didn't care for fostering positive feelings with the young
lady. That was for his Ranger companion to pursue.
"Have you two come to report?" He smirked.
Perhaps another passenger had been killed. That seemed to be

rather common in recent bells.
"Ohhh," Lone's mouth hung agape in realization, his gaze upon

the unlocked box on the room's desk, "You solved it, Boss?"
"Indeed," Tycon nodded, picking up the cube. He tapped a few

buttons, resetting the mechanisms into place...
"This is the puzzle unsolved..." He shifted a few panels, tapped a

spot with a fingernail, and most importantly, instilled the tiniest
sliver of mana into the device... Placing a finger on the side he'd
determined was the puzzle's base... he then spun the cube three
full rotations.
The two young persons' eyes widened in awe, watching the box
transform from a simple eight-cornered cube to a truncated
dodecahedron.
"And this..." Tycon smirked. "--is the 'trick' the late Captain had
alluded to."
Lone crossed his arms, a look of bemusement on his face, "So...

the secret was... a spin-move?"
"Not quite," Tycon chuckled. "There are magical formations within

the puzzle box's panels. In order to release its contents, I had to
solve both layers, physical and magical."
"Y... you really-- you are... you're... a Formation Mage?" Coraline

babbled... rather inelegantly. "I... can't-- I mean... Lone... you
weren't lying?"
"My companion is a very poor liar," Tycon furrowed his brows, but
kept his polite smile, "Your trust in him would be well-founded."
Admittedly, the girl's conjecture was somewhat flawed. Tycon was
not a proper 'Formation Mage', nor was his Class magical in
nature. However, for all intents and purposes, he was an expert
with well over a hundred years of experience.
...He'd even dare to say he was as good as an elf.
"S-sir Tychon..." Coraline inclined her head, "I... I need your help."
"Oh..." Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Is that so?"
The Elven girl had requested him for help... concerning the ship's
formations?
He was planning to deal with the issue of the Captain-less ship on

his own volition. However, as the young lady had given him a
formal request... it would be rude not to take every advantage that
came with it.
"Very well, Miss Coraline," He nodded. "In exchange, I have a

simple request of my own-- and one I hope you'd find agreeable."
The blonde elf fidgeted nervously, "Wh-what is it, Sir?"
"I will assist you..." Tycon gestured to Barza Keith, the Lone
Shadowdark, "If you were to consider my companion as a
romantic suitor."
The girl's eyes shot open so wide that Tycon feared they'd bulge
out of her childish face.
...
"I-- what? Mister L-- what? WHAT?"
Coraline was ready to hear something lewd.
It wouldn't have been the first time a wealthy, degenerate young

master requested to sleep with her. She was also ready to reject
him wholeheartedly. But Sir Tychon's request--
Her? With HIM?!

NO! Absolutely not! Never in a hundred years!
That wasn't the type of thing to be FORCED! She wanted to fall in

love like in the cheap books at the market! Picnics in fields of
flowers! Dancing in the moonlight to festival music! Facing Iron-
Rank monsters together in the field!
Lone lunged forward, grabbing his superior and half-escorting,

half-dragging the green-haired noble to the opposite side of the
small room.
"Boss!" He whispered through clenched teeth, "What do you think

you're doing?!"
Sir Tychon narrowed his eyes, "A few moons prior, you requested
my assistance in finding you a 'girlfriend.' I recall at the time, you
were *quite* insistent."
"Boss, this is *not* the time," Lone growled. "People are going to
*die.*"
"Irrelevant. I'll ensure the both of us survive, regardless of that

girl's actions," Tychon groaned. "I am *honoring* your request to
the best of my ability-- whether you like it or not. Take this
seriously, will you?"
"I *am* taking this seriously, *Sir.*"
Coraline pursed her lips.
She was... still in the room, literally three fulms away from either of
them.
She could easily hear their conversation, even without her

sensitive Elven hearing.
It was... very rude. This entire ordeal was incredibly rude!
She stamped her foot down, shouting at the top of her lungs, "My
name is CORALINE HEARTSONG!! And I am NOT a WHORE!!"
"Empty night," Tychon groaned, shoving Lone away. "Nor did I
accuse you as such, young lady! I advise you to not always
assume the worst in your social relationships."
"Then why would you--" Coraline pointed, "He-- Mister Lone

doesn't even--"
Tychon grabbed his companion's arm, throwing him forward. Out

of reflex-- and not wanting to fall over, she caught him, steadying
him with her hands on his muscular chest.
"You two obviously work well together," Tychon rolled his eyes. "I
am merely requesting you keep an open mind when it comes to
my gentleman companion."
Lone was wearing... that strange expression, again. It was the

same one at the dinner table on the first night. He obviously
wasn't interested in her.
Coraline snatched her hands back, dropping her gaze to stare at

the floor.
She gulped...
Unless... she had been misinterpreting that look, all along?
Did he actually like her?
There was no way...
As if such a perfect situation could exist...
It was just Sir Tychon trying to fulfill a request. She was probably
the first girl they'd encountered. It didn't matter who she was, or
what her feelings were... or Mister Lone's feelings, for that matter.
There wasn't any meaning behind it.
"Fine," She muttered. "I'll... consider it."
Coraline closed her eyes, thinking back... trying to figure out how
exactly she got into the mess she was in.
Chapter 525 Audacity
Tycondrius observed Miss Coraline's reaction.
Her distress was obvious. Was it because she abhorred Lone's

presence or... was she just... shy?
The physical signs to either were... similar.
He greatly hoped that he was identifying more nervousness than

anger and outrage. The former was positive. The latter two turned
his well-meaning wishes into sexual harassment.
Tycon did not consider himself a very good judge when it came to
the feelings and fickle hearts of young ladies... He doubted
anyone was.
His request to Coraline on Lone's behalf was, by its very nature,

ambiguous-- its results, difficult to evaluate.
At its core, all he asked for was an open mind. Opinions are ever-
changing... Further, he specified no time limit, nor a duration for
her requested open-mindedness.
As the young lady seemed to be in a state of shock, Tycon

decided to press his luck.
He'd solidify his request by asking for something more substantial.

The tactic also utilized a psychological 'trick.' If he could have
Coraline accept even a single facet of his proposed deal, in
theory, she'd be more agreeable to subsequent... amendments.
It would be ideal if he could have the two enter an informal

contract, as monogamous lovers. It would fulfill Lone's initial
wishes of attaining the 'girlfriend' he so desired. Coraline was
ideal, as Lone was attracted to her physically and mentally, and
the two had obvious personal synergy.
Tycon ultimately wished for his friends and allies to succeed in

their endeavors. However, if his Ranger companion were to utterly
fail... he would have still upheld his end of the bargain.
He gestured openly towards the young Elven lady, "Once we

touch down at Cersei's Rest, you will go on a private outing--
*just* the two of you."
"B-b-b-boss?!" Lone gulped, "J-just the two of us?"
Tycon twisted his lips in confusion. Had he stuttered? Why was

Lone panicking? Just the other evening, the young man had
nothing but good things to say of the target of his affection. .
He nodded slowly... "Indeed... Mister Lone, you will be taking Miss

Coraline out to dinner."
"I will?" Lone asked.
Was the fool even paying attention!? Perhaps he should have

allowed the young man to die in those halls... At the moment, it
seemed the hassle of keeping Lone's spirits up was outweighing
the benefit of him as an Iron-Rank Ranger.
In Tycon's peripheral vision, he saw the corner of Coraline's lips

curve upward into a sly smirk. The elf girl placed a hand on her
hip, confidently pointing her opposite palm towards the ceiling.
"Not gonna work! Because..." She pointed her thumb at herself,

"*I* don't have any MONEY!"
"Irrelevant," Tycon waved dismissively. "Your gentleman

companion will be paying for that particular expense."
Lone sighed in defeat, ��I always pay for the meal, though..."
"Hmph!" Coraline crossed her arms, turning away from Lone,

"That's... grr... Fine! I get to pick the restaurant, though!"
"Now HOLD ON!!" Lone yelped, "Boss?! I'M the one paying for the
meal! I should be the one that gets to choose!!"
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Why are you looking at *me*? That's

not my problem."
...
Coraline clenched her teeth. This was a battle that she absolutely
could not lose.
Lone turned to face her, "What do you mean by *you* get to pick
the restaurant?!"
"Exactly what I said, dummy!" She shouted back, "And I get to

plan the rest of the itinerary too!"
Sir Tychon's request was actually not so terrible.
So what if she had to agree to going out at Cersei's Rest? She

wasn't planning on staying in an inn room all sun, anyroad! If
someone was going with her, then so be it!
HOWEVER! It wasn't going to be romantic-- not at all! She'd be

going out on her OWN terms!
Even if everything did work out...
--which wouldn't happen.
Any 'date' she'd go on with Mister Lone-- no, with ANYONE, would
be a massive fail.
THUS, since failure was an inevitability, Coraline was going to

make sure she'd have fun no matter what~!
...Anyroad, there wasn't enough time for her to forge a meaningful

connection with Lone. She'd already purchased her second ticket
from Cersei's Rest to Archangel... which meant she had less than
two suns to spend in the city proper.
Falling in love... takes time-- more than they had.

The entire time she and Lone DID spend together... they'd just
been running around, trying to figure out all the terrible things that
had been happening. They barely knew anything about each
other. And for the emotional connection, it's...
It's not like she... trusted--
Coraline hesitated... and turned to look at her stupid, trustworthy

companion...
...Empty night.
She did.
She did trust him.
They did have an emotional connection.
She even thought he was a tiny bit attractive-- an insignificant,

meaningless amount of attraction, which wasn't at all important, so
she had no reason to think about it.
"We're going..." She jabbed her finger into Mister Lone's padded-
armor pectorals, "--ROCK CLIMBING!!"
"Oh, really?" Lone rolled his eyes, "*You* think you can climb
rocks?"
"Yes. I. Can," Coraline wiggled left and right, drawing circles on

Lone's chest with her finger, "I. LOVE. CLIMBING ROCKS!"
Lone crossed his arms, his chin lifted up arrogantly, "Well, I've
climbed rocks for three MOONS in the Mosswood Wilds!"
"Doesn't mean anything!" Coraline sighed in exasperation, "I've

been climbing rocks and... and TREES since I was a SAPLING!!"
"You're STILL a sapling!��
That was technically true. Coraline was still a baby in Elven years-
- she wasn't even very old by human standards.
HOWEVER, she did NOT like the way Lone was talking down to
her!
"I want to go to the--"
Lone pressed his finger to Coraline's mouth, surprising her into

silence.
"Shh!" Lone pursed his lips, "Add 'going to the beach' on our
schedule."
Coraline slapped his hand away. How dare he?!
"Why?!" She glared, "So you can PERV at women in their

swimsuits??!"
"What?!" Lone drew his head back, pretending to be insulted. "No!

I just like to swim-- also, swimsuits are nice..."
Whaaaaaaat?!
This... this guy, he really--
Coraline couldn't believe Lone's AUDACITY.
"So you ADMIT IT!!" Coraline fumed, "Well, TOO BAD! Because I
packed a REALLY cute one-piece swimsuit! No one-- I mean NO
ONE will go DARE go near you as long as I stick closeby!"
"Y-you'd RUIN me like that?!" Lone growled. "FINE! Then since

YOU'RE picking the restaurant, I'm ORDERING for you!"
"You're going to order something STUPID!" Coraline gnashed her

teeth, "Well, FINE! I'm ordering FOR YOU, THEN!"
Chapter 526 Heartsong
⟬ Later... ⟭
Tycondrius opened his eyes. He'd just finished designing a Martial

Skill. He called it ⌈Lock Tap⌋. He'd automated its mana activation
and maximized its efficiency to an acceptable degree, considering
the amount of time he'd spent.
He reached for the pocket watch on his desk and clicked it open.
His two children, Lone and Coraline, had been bickering without
breaks for thirty-seven minutes.
"--and THEN!" Coraline shouted, "we'll sit together and watch the
FIREWORKS! And everyone around will think we're a COUPLE!!"
Tycon frowned. The current nature of their argument was already

very... couple-like.
"PSH, fine! I wanted to watch the fireworks, ANYROAD!" Lone

crossed his arms, looking far too unnerved for the conversational
topic. "I heard they're the best free thing to see on the island--
next to the NATURE TRAIL!"
"I told you we'll TRY to get to the nature trail," The elf girl groaned.
"But our schedule's already full. We decided to allot more time to
the koi ponds, or did YOU FORGET?!"
"I didn't forget!" Lone scowled. "We already talked about that! And
I already AGREED!"
"Because you finally saw how smart my idea was," The girl
hmphed.
"Because I got to the SAME conclusion!" Lone insisted.

...Did he, really?
"Fine!" Coraline crossed her arms, turning her nose up, "We agree
to disagree!"
"FINE, THEN!" Lone... mirrored the young lady's movements--

turning in the opposite direction.
"FFFFINE!" Coraline growled, "AaaAARGH!! FINE! I'll see you

THEN!!"
She turned towards the door and began to walk away.
"Okay, GREAT!!" Lone shot back.
The young flustered elf opened the door and walked out of their
room.
Lone let out an aggravated sigh... "Boss, I don't think I'm ever
going to agree with Coraline on-- on anything!"
Tycon pursed his lips, deciding not to respond. Their back-and-

forth conversation was... very *loud*. However, contrary to Lone's
words, the two had very obviously reached a conclusion
satisfactory to both parties.
However, Tycon kept his eyes on the door... "The young lady
seemed to have forgotten her original purpose."
"Original... purpose?" Lone raised an eyebrow. "Oh! The

formations!"
It seemed that Mister Lone... also forgot.
It was... baffling how well those two got along.
...
Stars and stones!
Coraline cursed in her mind as she fumbled with Sir Tychon's door
lock. She was just so mad! That boy was infuriating!
She stomped back into the room, her face twisted in rekindled
fury, "I just think it's funny, that--"
OW!! She hit her hand on the door... ARGH!! She was so
CLUMSY!!!
Coraline cradled her reddening knuckles, tears forming at the

corners of her eyes.
"Hey, are you alright?" Lone frowned, "Let me see."
Without asking for permission, the cheek-scarred boy took her

hand in his.
...He was... so... uncharacteristically gentle.
His hands were rough and calloused-- maybe from the rock
climbing he said he did... or from wielding whatever weapons he
used.
Coraline spent more time with a pen or casting spells than

carrying a sword... and honestly, she neglected practice with her
rapier for overlong periods of time. She needed stronger wrist
muscles...
She looked into Lone's eyes... and was surprised to see how
much... care she saw.
Her heart... was beating so quickly. It didn't make sense. It made

NO sense. This had NEVER happened before.
LONE?! Making her heart beat the way it did?!
Why did it feel so nice? To have someone by her side... just

asking if everything was okay?
She... wanted it to last just a bit longer.
Maybe... everything would be alright? Maybe she just had to give

Lone a chance-- keep an open mind, like Sir Tychon was saying.
The boy held onto the tips of her fingers and lifted his gaze to
meet hers... "You're..."
Yes?
"--really stupid."
Coraline spotted a blur of movement. Lone... collapsed to the

ground.
Sir Tychon had struck the boy in the side of the neck with the flat
of his forearm. He was also looking very upset... on her behalf,
maybe?
"Oops," Tychon said in a neutral voice, "It looks like I slipped and
precisely struck Mister Lone's carotid artery."
"Y-yeah," Coraline shook out her hurt hand and stood up straight.
"S... slipped."
"I'm going to the ship's hold to check out the formations. Would
you like to accompany me, young lady?"
Coraline frowned, looking to the groaning boy on the floor, "What

about Mister Lone?"
Tychon nudged him with his boot, "Of course, he'll be coming as
well. Get up, you."
...
"Young master... the Elemental Spirit is not to be trifled with,"

Olesya warned through the iron bars of her cell.
Coraline had accompanied Baron Tychon and Mister Lone to the

ship's hold, where the blonde guardswoman was imprisoned. In
the rooms adjacent were the vault and... the Engine Room.
"Noted. Thank you," Tychon nodded. He walked past the

dragonblooded woman with barely a glance.
Olesya furrowed her scaled eyebrows in worry... "(Little star), the
noble is going to get himself killed."
Coraline pursed her lips, "Yeah... That's what it looks like, doesn't
it?"
"Young lady," Tychon called to her.
Grimacing, she waved to Olesya before hurrying to catch up,

"Why do you keep calling me that? You can't be that much older
than me."
"I am," Tychon rolled his eyes. "I find the term more respectful
than 'sapling.'"
"...Fair."
She could appreciate that.
Sir Tychon was standing in front of a broad wood-paneled wall,

upon which was a painted outline of the Engine Room beyond. It
was a dizzying mess of diagrams and minuscule text, the paint
faded and scratched away with age.
"This is the main anti-magic formation on the Golden Eagle," The

noble explained. "Repeater formations are spread throughout the
ship that essentially relay the functions of this one."
"Sir..." Coraline crossed her arms, "This is... a diagram of the

ship's mana engine."
Tychon glanced up, "Oh."
"I can't believe this..." Coraline sighed, shaking her head.
Why did she think it was wise to put so much of her faith in this
infuriating man?
"There. You should be able to see it now."

Chapter 527 Yet
Coraline had looked away for... maybe five seconds, max.
When she looked back, the diagram on the wall had undergone a
complete transformation. What was once a series of neat lines
and precisely measured curves was now a dizzying mess of
skewed circles, spiraling script, and jagged runic lines.
The longer she stared, the more her skull squeezed her brain. Her
heart pounded painfully in her chest. The room began to spin.
"A-ah... hh..." Her throat... it closed.
Air...
She needed air.
Lone grabbed her arm, keeping her steady... "It's okay. I got you.
Just breathe..."
That... was the stupidest advice she'd ever heard.
She wanted to push him away, but... she also didn't want to fall on
her face. She swallowed hard, clenched her eyes shut, and
focused.
That way, she could breathe... slow... steady... breaths...
--and not because she was told to! But because she didn't want to
pass out!
"Boss," Lone raised his voice, "Change it back, please."
"Mm. Just wait a moment... and... there."

Coraline blinked her eyes... looking up at the wall again. It was
back to how it was before...
Ahaha! She LIVED! She pushed Lone away, "S-sir Tychon. How...
did you do that?"
"Weak illusion," Tychon explained simply... "Single line disrupt."
The noble's words were... painfully short for something that came
out of his mouth.
He was... chewing on something?
"That doesn't make any sense!" Coraline shook her head,

approaching Tychon and scowling up at him, "You-- you're not a
Circle Mage! How can *you* do something like that?"
Tychon raised an eyebrow, "I'm an Unranked Caster. Doesn't stop

me from using mana. Even children can cast spells in the
Kingdom, you know."
...Coraline knew that. But... she had zero idea what that implied!
Magic was *hard*! And formation magic was not something
normal people studied!
"Um. What does that mean, Boss?" Lone bared his teeth.
Yes! Please explain in full to us lowly plebeians!
The noble shrugged as he gulped down a bite, "I don't have to use
a sword to disturb the surface of a pool-- a small pebble will do."
"Anyroad," Tychon continued, "--this formation prevents the

activation of most all types of spells. However, there are two major
loopholes that have been added afterward. Persistent items are
allowed-- as the engine in the room needs to function... Then,
there are two spell types exempt: transformative and illusory."
"Whaaaat?" Lone furrowed his eyebrows. "Why those two?"
"Likely for certain guests who use magic to hide their identities,"
Tychon mused, "Any effective spells from those schools are
Second Circle-- and quite expensive to lengthen the duration or
make permanent. The Windwright's Guild would not easily offend
a passenger of such wealth."
The noble then took another bite of something in-hand. It looked

like... meat jerky?
Utilizing her Elven powers of quickness and alacrity, Coraline

grabbed at Tychon's wrist.
He DODGED!
BLEIGH!
"Wh-why do you have that?!" She yelped.
Tychon half-turned away, possessively guarding his snacks, "I

was hungry. Get your own."
Lone sighed, staring at the deck... "You... you want some of

mine?"
"Sir! WHY do you have that?!" Coraline insisted.
The noble raised an eyebrow, "The rules allow food to be brought

on-board. I honestly don't know what exactly you're asking..."
"WHERRRE WAS IT?!"
Tychon's eyebrow twitched... "I... kept it with my travel gear.

Where else would I keep it?"
"You... you didn't bring travel gear," Coraline fumed as she

clenched her fists... "All you brought is..."
She took a step back, crossing her arms... "The ring... You have
it... Don't you?"
Tychon pursed his lips for a moment... then reached into the lining
of his robe. Upon removing his hand, he revealed a familiar-
looking item, "I do."
Coraline sighed. She should have known. The noble threw a
tantrum nearly every single time things didn't go his way.
She sharpened her glare to daggers, "Tell me how you got your
ring back... and tell me now."
"Tss," The noble scoffed. "I'm starting to dislike your tone of voice,
young lady."
"Boss, come on. Please?" Lone hurried to Tychon's side, lowering

his voice to a soft whisper... "Don't be mean to my girlfriend."
"Your WHAT?" Coraline stared in disbelief at Lone's dumb face,

"Y-you, shut up! I'm not your girlfriend yet!"
Lone frowned... "You weren't supposed to hear that."
"I'm an ELF, stupid!!" She shouted, "I can hear pretty much
everything!!
"And YOU!!" Coraline pointed to Tychon angrily, "Why are *you*

SMILING?!"
Tychon wasn't really smiling-- he was wearing a subtle smirk,

which might as well have been a smile coming from him.
He pursed his lips, "Hm. I was amused by your artful usage of the
word 'yet.'"
Oh.
AHHHHHHHHHH!!! WHY DID SHE SAY THAAAAAAT?!
"Boss!" Lone pleaded, "You promised to help."
"Fine," Tychon sighed.
...
⟬ Flashback: Tycondrius' room, evening of the first sun on the

Golden Eagle. ⟭
Tycon placed his puzzle box down on the desk.
He was defeated by an inanimate object.
It didn't help that Lone's arrhythmic snoring made him want to

commit murder.
It was time to take a break. It was late enough in the evening,

after all. A brief escape would be appropriate.
Standing up from his chair, he stretched his back, then his arms
and legs.
« System, activate Snake Form. »
⟬ Small Shadow Snake Form Activating... ⟭
Allowing his System to guide him, the transformation magic

shifted his muscles, shrunk his bones, had his soft skin hardening
to something more defensible.
The noise his internal organs made as the magic took effect was...
unsettling. The feeling of it twisting and compressing was...
nightmarish... It would be even worse when he eventually shifted
back to his disguise.
He sighed internally, realizing that he'd have to get used to being

human again. It took a few bells for everything to feel comfortable
in his bipedal form.
Tychon took a moment to appreciate his body... shadowy, with

dark smoke wisping from his scales like steam...
The evening's stealthy work would be most efficient in his Shadow

Form.
His natural form was larger, white-scaled, and armored. He used it

sparingly, as his enemies did not need to know the whereabouts
of the Ivory Prince of Charm.
Besides, murdering witnesses was a pain and carried a degree of

risk.
Moving forward, his scales gripped easily to the wooden floors,
allowing him to scale the wall and slither into the air vent.
...It was cold, up there-- which was to be expected.
Using the System's mapping functions, he gained a general

understanding of the Golden Eagle's layout. He traversed his way
over and down... dropping into the hold.
The ship's security was terrible.
In the hold was a single prison cell-- the bars flimsy and its
cleanliness questionable.
The ship's main formation was plastered on a wall behind a thin

illusion spell. Tycon had his System record the information for
later perusal.
The large lockbox containing the passengers' contraband was out

in the open, its only defenses a physical lock and a magical
formation.
Re-assuming his human form, Tycon sat cross-legged in front of

it.
Something took notice of him.
It came from the Engine Room... but that wasn't important.
The lockbox's defensive formation was hidden in the paint upon its
wooden face... and were constructed by the Banker's Guild, as the
guardswoman had stated a few bells prior.
The Dwarves... they released 'new' formations each year, allowing

them to charge their customers annually. However, its core
remained practically unchanged. Likely, the cost and effort of a
complete rewrite was deemed inefficient.
It was yet another security oversight-- this one, not the fault of the
Windwright's Guild.
The Banker's Guild was the largest and most recognizable
authority on locks. Any respectable locksmith in the Realm would
seek to familiarize themselves with their very formations.
That included himself. Why or how he had such knowledge, he

had no idea.
It was convenient, though.
⊰ go away ⊱
Tycon ignored the outlandish thought in his head, tapping the

large chest with his finger... modifying the formation, as he
pleased.
⊰go.away⊱
A presence was adjacent to him, not a fulm away... 'staring'

intently. It wasn't very large, similar to a Popoto in height. Tycon
could even describe it as 'cute.'
With how horrible security had been thus far, he didn't have much
respect for whatever-it-was. If he hadn't transformed into a
human, he doubted it would have noticed him, at all.
As he worked, the air around him grew warm-- perhaps a

precursor of hostility.
Tycon found it comfortable.
On that account alone, he decided to address the Elemental Spirit

with reasonable politeness, "I'll be just a moment, little one."
⊰ no stealing ⊱
"I won't be," He assured. "I only seek to reclaim what is mine."
Flipping the box lid open, Tycon retrieved his spatial ring. Nothing
else in the box looked expensive or was worth stealing, anyroad.
The blur pranced over to the opposite side of the chest, and using
one of its 'arms', pushed the lid closed.
⊰ go away or burn ⊱
Tycon rolled his eyes as he stood up. As dangerous a threat as

the Elemental Spirit posed, he didn't feel like taking it seriously,
"Right."
...He patted the formless warmth on its 'head,' "Thank you for your
patience, little one."
⊰ stop ⊱
Chuckling to himself, Tycon shifted back to his snake form and

slithered back up into the vents.
Chapter 528 Engine Room
"I dropped back into my room just as Nikandros threatened to

enter," Sir Tychon casually explained.
"That's why your lamp was off..." Coraline pursed her lips, "You
can see in the dark, because of your... bloodline."
"Correct," The noble frowned, narrowing his golden eyes as if

confirming her suspicions was a blatant insult.
Coraline sighed... Conversing with this man made her feel like an
idiot.
Tychon's starkly-colored eyes were a rarity-- unheard of amongst

humans. The fact that he wasn't...
Well... that solved that mystery. It also gave a plausible reason to

why the noble had an unnerving predatory aura about him.
He *was* a predator. Literally.
...a predator with a transformation ability.
"Oof," The thought made her shiver. Being in the presence of

snakes made her uneasy.
"Now, then..." Tychon loomed over her, wearing an insidious

smirk, "Aren't you going to thank me?"
Coraline's face twisted into a deep grimace. She did *not* like this
person... not at all...
"Th-thank you, Sir Tychon. That's... that's the final piece of the
puzzle."
"Hah. So you've figured it out," The young master nodded. "Well

done."
Was he being sarcastic? Coraline sighed once again...
"All that's left..." She closed her eyes... "is to deal with the
Inquisitors from the Church."
"First, we have to ensure the ship lands in Cersei's Rest." Tychon

gestured towards the Engine Room, "The door, Miss Coraline-- if
you would."
"R-right..."
Coraline took the chain off of her neck and approached the door,
key in hand.
And because she was the dumbest person in the room and
because the eleven heavens conspired against her... it slipped out
of her hand, clinging onto the wooden deck.
She very much wanted to go upstairs and hide underneath her

covers and never wake up.
Nothing was going well for her.
But UNFORTUNATELY, two people were essentially BLOCKING

her escape-- and both of them had some sort of expectations for
her which she DID NOT ASK FOR. But it was FINE.
It. was. fine.
With her cheeks and neck as hot as a teacup, she bent over to
pick up her latest mistake-- only to be stopped by Lone grabbing
onto her wrist.
"...Ummmm. Let go?" Coraline bit her lower lip, "You guys can
trust me to at least open a door, right?"
"Take a look, young lady," Tychon warned from behind.
Coraline placed her attention on the grounded key... and retreated

a slow step backward.
It had changed color... into a reddish gold.
The silvery chain it was attached to was the same-- and was
quickly melting, darkening the wood underneath.
The entire room began to stink of burning wood.
With Lone still gripping her wrist, she grabbed onto the boy's arm.
She no longer wished to be on door-opening duty.
Tychon stepped past the two of them and raised his voice, "Open
the door, little one!"
Coraline reared her head back in confusion. What... was the

young master doing?
"I'm going to break it, if you don't," Tychon spoke aloud. He was...
trying to intimidate the Engine Room door?
With a resounding click... it slowly crept open, a sweltering heat

wafting out from within.
...Uhhhh...?
Coraline had learned... threeeee things~!
One: the path to the Engine Room was clear.
Two: It seemed very hot and unwelcoming in there.
And... three: Sir Tychon could communicate with inanimate

objects.
Sure.
Why not?
"Thank you," The noble inclined his head politely before calmly
striding into the heated room beyond.
...
Tycondrius hastily scanned the Engine Room.
At its center was a large crystalline formation connected to several

smaller power sources, adjoined with metal tubes and various
inserts. Runic script was painted on the floor, ceiling, and walls--
with bits on the central machine, as well.
At first glance, much of it was redundant-- excellent engineering. If

one facet of the formation were to fail, the ship would remain
airborne.
A vague 'figure' was coalesced in the corner, just out of sight. Its
'body' was made of many 'arms' and it was 'staring' intently-- at
him, in particular.
It was the Golden Eagle's Elemental Spirit... and from its

figuratively cold reception, it was not at all happy to see him.
Thankfully, Tycon knew how to best facilitate a dialogue with an ill-

tempered spirit: beating it into submission.
"Hey, uh... Boss?" Lone crossed his arms, "Is my armor fireproof?"
"What? No," Tycon furrowed his brows, "Why would it be?"
"Is yours?"
"Also no."
With implicit agreement, Tycon began unbuttoning his robe while

Lone began to strip off his gambeson.
Tycon put his ring on, appreciating the dry heat of the atmosphere
against his bare skin.
He tossed his robe and shirt to the relative safety of 'outside' the
Engine Room... and grimaced at Lone's Elven companion, "And
what do you think *you* are doing, young lady?"
Coraline was in the middle of taking her own tunic off, "Wh...
what?"
Did she think she was going to help? That was absurd. He quietly
glared at the girl, intent on making her reconsider.
"F-fine!" Coraline yelped, fixing her attire. "I didn't want to help,
anyroad!"
Tycon turned away so the young lady couldn't see him roll his
eyes. Flicking his wrist and summoning a waterskin from his
spatial ring, he tossed it over to Lone.
"Wait, what was that?!" Coraline asked from behind, "Y-your ring?
Your ring!! It-- it stores things!!"
Tycon winced in disbelief...
He'd thought that was obvious. Perhaps the young detective was
not as clever as he assumed.
He decided to mentally file the interaction away as an endearing

trait. The more imbecile she was, the more likely she'd ignore
Lone's multitudinous flaws. Perhaps their relationship might even
work out.
"Weapons, Boss?" Lone asked.
"It's Iron-Rank," Tycon shrugged.
"IRON-RANK?!" Coraline echoed in a panic, "Oh, no! Ohhhh no...

W...we need reinforcements. Olesya! Olesya can help! And-- and I
need some time to prepare my spells!"
Tycon felt his eyebrow twitch at the Elven girl's noisiness. That
was... a decidedly not-so-endearing trait. However, his own
opinions of the young lady were irrelevant.
"Alright," Lone smirked. "Hand to hand combat, then?"

"If you're confident," Tycon chuckled.
"wat?" Coraline's jaw was unhinged, her eyes near-bulging out of

her face.
Amusing.
The young Ranger unstoppered his waterskin, emptying its

contents to drench his hair and skin. It would provide a thin layer
of defense against bursts of flame. If the fight was prolonged and
the film of water began to boil, the pain would be immense-- but
that was none of Tycon's concern.
...The Elven girl's confusion had dissipated as she stared at

Lone's half-naked body... almost hungrily. Mister Lone did have an
impressive physique.
Lone stepped towards the blurry Elemental Spirit, "Can I go first,

Boss?"
Was he trying to impress his lady-friend?
"Hm. Go ahead."
"WaAAaAit!" Coraline shouted, "Wha-wha-whaaaaat?!"
"Engaging the enemy," Lone raised his clenched fists in front of

his face-- a traditional boxing stance.
In response, the Elemental Spirit materialized... a blazing fiery

illusion with an orange hue. It seemed to take the form similar to
that of the late Captain, a medium height humanoid with smooth,
uncertain features, wearing a wispy, golden military coat.
Approaching his opponent in measured steps, Lone quickly

jabbed his off-hand, then his main... In doing so, the young man
had sheathed his arms in mana. The additional barrier would
further protect his flesh as he pummeled the amorphous entity.
Tycon had no idea when the young man had learned to do such a
thing... and he doubted he'd done it consciously.
Still... he approved.
"⌈Whirl Strike!!⌋" Lone opened with a quick series of double-strike

punches. He was treating the spirit as if he were fighting a normal
two-armed, two-legged humanoid.
It worked.
The spirit may have been Iron-Rank, but it seemed to have been
'raised' in captivity and was unused to fighting. Lone's physical
attacks began to overwhelm his opponent's fiery form as it tried to
defend itself with its own clumsy appendages.
Tycon wondered if it was... taught to not use bursts of fire, as it

could irrevocably damage its surroundings.
Lone picked the spirit up by its 'legs' and slammed it against the
hull, briefly illuminating the Engine Room with a bright flash.
Blackened char marks and bits of embers remained on the wood.
"This thing's reeeeeally HOT!" Lone yelped.
"Then stop grappling it, you fool!" Tycon shouted as he began

smudging the lines on the hull, improvising repairs to the
protective formations. "Quick strikes! Keep AWAY from the walls!!"
"Sorry!!!" He replied, guilt in his voice.
Coraline grabbed onto Tycon's arm and shook him, "Is... is Mister
Lone going to be alright?!"
For whatever reason, she had also placed a hand on his own
unclothed abdomen.
"It's... probably fine?" He shrugged, gently prying her hand off.
The Ranger was not currently disadvantaged... but all combat

carried a degree of risk and possible death.
"It doesn't look fine!" Coraline insisted.

"Tss," Tycon scoffed. "Stand back and watch. If you won't believe
in him-- I always have."
Chapter 529 Burn
ycondrius grit his teeth, as his fool Ranger retreated three paces
T
backward.
Not twenty seconds prior, he had spoken well of him. In typical

Lone fashion, the young man was resolute in proving him wrong.
The Elemental Spirit had discovered that it was not constrained by

its form. Lone was forced back, defending against its elongated,
superheated 'arms'... and far more than two of them, at that.
"Mister Lone!" Tycon roared, "COUNTER it!"
"It's not that easy, Sir!" Coraline snapped.
Tycon shot a displeased glare at the young girl adjacent to him,

"You're serious? You can say that of anything."
⟬ ⌈Jumping Knee Counter⌋ activating... ⟭
⟬ Reaction ability. Targeted ally's physical defenses are improved

against a single attack. Target is compelled to make an
instantaneous unarmed strike against an enemy with increased
accuracy. ⟭
Lone slipped two of the Elemental Spirit's appendages, allowing

him to get close. The fool boy hooked his arms around its 'body'
and powered a brutal knee into its core. The creature shook, its
form pulsated in pain, and its light grew visibly dimmer.
Coraline, yet again, was baffled beyond belief.
Her reaction amused Tycon greatly.

Lone was an excellent combatant. He'd even dare to say that in
combat, he was at his most professional...
That is... if he hadn't burnt his hands and arms terribly from the
last exchange.
The young man was blowing air into his palms, tears brimming
from the corners of his eyes while mewling like a neglected child...
"Ow! Oww! Owwww!"
"*What* did I *just* say, Mister Lone?!" Tycon growled. "Do not
TOUCH the Fire Elemental."
"Sorry, Boss!" Lone turned with a pained grin, "I got caught in the
moment!"
The Elemental Spirit was focusing its energies for a larger attack.
Tycon needed to do something about it. He flicked his hand to the
side to summon his own waterskin, pouring its contents on
himself.
"Sir Tychon!" Coraline shook him, "You HAVE to do something!!"
Tycon felt his mouth twitch. What did it look like he was doing?
"I'm fine!" Lone shouted, flexing his arms and flashing a grin of
white teeth.
Behind him, glowing and rotating offensive formations lit up in

front of the Elemental Spirit.
...The light from it was enough to make Lone turn back, "O... oh.
I'm not fine."
"⌈Shadowfang,⌋" Tycon dashed away from the elf as the spirit's

spell cast completed.
Intercepting the ⌈Scorching Ray⌋ spell, he crossed his arms to

guard himself. Quickly circulating his mana, he shaped it to
disperse the attack-- and protect both Lone and his hair from the
concentrated flames. Still, he took the brunt of it...
It wasn't pleasant.
"AIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" A certain elf shrieked. She even

went as far as dramatically collapsing onto the deck.
Tycon glanced back to Coraline. Why was she screaming? Lone

was safe? And the flames were nowhere near her.
"Tss..." He scoffed in amusement, "Young lady, was that a scream

for me?"
"Sir Tychon..." Coraline cried, "You... you..."
"Boss," Lone grimaced... "Can you not? You already have a

girlfriend."
Tycon stretched, inspecting his body. He'd suffered some burns...

but it looked and smelled worse than it was, "Do not worry, Miss
Coraline. This isn't the best I can do."
"What does that MEAAANNNN?!?!?" The elf wailed.
Hm. The more Tycon suffered the young lady's presence, the
more foolish she seemed to sound.
Maybe he was at fault? Perhaps by associating with certain

Rangers, their intelligence would take a turn for the worst...
...Why were both of Sol Invictus' Rangers idiots?
« Go ahead, please. »
The burns on his arms and parts of his chest began to heal, the
skin repairing itself. If he didn't use magic, his injuries would itch
terribly and even peel after a few suns.
The level of fire attack, ultimately... was trivial.

Though the Elemental Spirit was an Iron-Rank, it only had the
offensive level of a Bronze. It posed very little kill threat to him and
his Ranger.
He hoped his arrogant display made it understand that.
Tycon stepped forward, his arms outstretched... "Now then, little

one, are you ready to be obedient?"
The spirit 'trembled' as if in fear...
⊰ stop . no fighting ⊱
...
Coraline couldn't believe it.
...not that she had a choice. She watched everything literally

happen in front of her.
Lone and Sir Tychon had defeated an Iron-Rank elemental with

their bare hands.
And... and the young master didn't even attack it!
These two were the most powerful beings on the Golden Eagle!
The whole time!!
"Coraline, are you alright?" Lone's perfect pectorals asked her.
"Y-you guys... who... WHO ARE YOU?!??!" Coraline shouted at

his sweat-covered abs.
"We're uh... we're adventurers?" Lone responded.
"Well, OBVIOUSLY!!!"
"Miss Coraline," Tychon sighed.
"I DON'T WANNA JOIN YOUR GUILD I DON'T CARE HOW HOT
YOU GUYS ARE!!!!!!!"
"...Nor was I asking," The unfairly attractive noble frowned.
"Aww..." Lone's abs sighed...
"Young lady," Tychon groaned. "I believe you'd be the best

candidate for speaking with the Elemental Spirit."
"Huh?" Coraline took a deep breath of hot air to calm herself

down... "What do you mean, Sir? You want me to speak with
Beatrice?"
"Hm. You know her name," Tychon pursed his lips. "That will make
things easier. Miss 'Beatrice' has willfully stated that she refuses
to work with me."
"So... she'll talk to an elf?" Coraline pursed her lips.
"That is my hope."
Coraline gulped. She could give it a try.
If she couldn't establish a dialogue with the ship spirit, there would
be a whole slew of complications, though.
"No pressure, right?" She bared her teeth.
"Your 'Beatrice' is threatening to set the Golden Eagle alight,"

Tychon frowned. "Should you fail, we'll all die in a fiery blaze as
we crash into the ocean."
Lovely.
She stood up and approached the... 'throbbing' blur of air, "H...

hello... Miss... Beatrice?"
A whoosh of air surrounded her, observing her, whispering in her

ear, squeezing the sweat from her pores.
⊰ we know you ⊱
"Y-yes... You do."

It was so strange, sensing... the spirit's thoughts in her head.
Beatrice wasn't speaking to her using any language she knew, but
she still understood it intimately... and she somehow knew that
Beatrice understood her.
⊰ wish to burn ⊱
⊰ boat will burn ⊱
⊰ all will burn ⊱

Chapter 530 Friend
oraline bit her upper lip as she looked around her. There wasn't
C
really a good place to focus on. Beatrice was... not in any...
particular fixed location.
"Uh... can we... not burn? The boat? It's a nice boat."
"It's a ship," Tychon scolded, "It's literally in the name: air-ship."
Was that really important right now?!
The spirit seemed to hesitate... flitting about her like a fairy...
It didn't seem unhappy, though... It was more like it was... excited?
⊰ no burn? ⊱
Coraline laughed nervously, "I'd really... like for the ship to land
safely-- you know, with all the passengers still alive?"
⊰ gone ⊱
⊰ nikandros gone ⊱
⊰ no friend ⊱
"Aww..." Coraline pursed her lips... She sounded lonely, "You

know me, though!"
⊰ you are all we know ⊱
⊰ no friend ⊱
⊰ you . friend? ⊱
The spirit's innocence made Coraline smile from the heart, "Of
course, I'll be your friend. My name is Coraline!"
⊰ friend ⊱
⊰ beatrice greets you ⊱
⊰ friend coraline ⊱
⊰ no burn ⊱
"Th... thank you, Beatrice..." Coraline grinned, relieved that she

wasn't going to be immolated to death in the next few moments.
That... was actually quite nice. Through that short, sweet

exchange, she gained an Iron-Rank Elemental Spirit as a friend.
Maybe she could even kidnap her and become a Fire
Elementalist?
As for why she could so easily establish a connection with

Beatrice?
It was because she was cute!
Why two particular individuals kept disrespecting that unnerved

her greatly-- but it was FINE! Beatrice understood! That was
enough!
Tychon turned and began heading to the door, "Sounds like

you've everything in control."
"Y...yeah..." Coraline stared at the floor, even as Beatrice 'danced'

around her in celebration. "I got it."
"Wonderful," Tychon waved. "I'm going back to my room to get

some rest."
He left immediately, not giving anyone a chance for a

counterargument. She and Lone (and Beatrice!) watched his
departing back.
What a fickle person...

She still didn't like him. But he wasn't... terrible. She just didn't
prefer his company.
She turned towards the steady companion at her side, Mister

Lone. He still had a look of concern on his face.
It wasn't really a surprise, as it seemed that he was nearly killed

by Beatrice. If it wasn't for Sir Tychon, Lone might have really died
just then...
As friendly as Beatrice was, she was still technically a dangerous,

untameable force of nature.
"H...hey," She muttered quietly.
"Hey," He smiled.
...That smile. Coraline swore she'd never get tricked by that. It

seemed... she failed, though.
"You... you wanna talk? ...Just for a little bit?"
"Yeah," Lone nodded. "I do. Just you and me, right?"
⊰ beatrice also ⊱
...
⟬ Before noon, third sun. Cersei's Rest. ⟭
"I still don't understand Boss' puzzle box," Lone groaned as he

stepped onto the off-boarding ramp.
"You wouldn't," Coraline giggled. "Only a Circle-Mage or... or Sir

Tychon would be able to. It was designed for people who had a
good sense for magic."
"But... he explained it! And more than once!" Lone idly scratched
the scar on his cheek.
Cute.
"Whoa," He held his hand out, blocking her way, "Watch your
step."
"Give me your arm, then," Coraline rolled her eyes as she latched
onto his outstretched arm.
The ramp had a sturdy wooden railing to prevent any accidents.

However, if he was going to fuss over her, she was going to take
advantage of it.
"Aha, right."
"Dummy."
Lone led her down the ramp, allowing Coraline to enjoy the
'safety' he provided. It made her feel like a princess being
attended by a knight.
Four men from the Church were waiting for them in the receiving
area. They immediately moved to intercept them-- odd, because
they didn't have any reason to run.
Also, escaping Cersei's Rest was impossible. Besides being the

capital and most defended city in Tyrion, it was also... a very large
island.
"Hold," Their leader called out, "You, there-- the gentleman with
the elf girl."
By his attire, he was a Church Inquisitor, wearing a dark, fitted

gambeson, a matching wide-brimmed hat, and a draping cloth
mask covering his nose and mouth.
He also looked big enough to snap Coraline in half... and was a

little taller than Lone, though that might have been because he
was wearing boots?
"Hey, how's it goin'?" Lone asked cheerfully.
...That was the strangest way Coraline had EVER heard anyone
talk to a Church Inquisitor! How could he be so relaxed?!
Inquisitors could literally order someone to death if they even
LOOKED at them wrong!
"I'm well, thank you," The Inquisitor nodded. His voice was deep
and gravelly through his mask, and it sounded like he was
speaking out of the side of his mouth. "My name is Inquisitor
Sagonis. And you are?"
"Lone," The boy saluted... which Sagonis promptly returned.

"What's the mask for, Inquisitor? Are you sick?"
"Axe to the teeth, over a decade back. Wicked scar."
"Can I see?"
Sagonis raised an eyebrow... "Sure."
The Inquisitor briefly took off his mask, causing Coraline to avert
her gaze. What she saw underneath it made her want to puke...
Her male friend had... strange tastes.
Lone filled the Inquisitor in on the situation... and after he put his
cloth mask back on, he approached her.
"Miss Coraline, I presume?" Sagonis narrowed his eyes, sizing

her up... "Decanus Tychon did not mention you were an elf..."
Coraline smiled politely. Xenophobia ran deep in Tyrion culture,

even for elves. Admittedly, this was the best reception she could
have hoped for.
She inclined her head in respect, "That's correct, Inquisitor."
"I will have you answer my questions, concerning the murder of

your Ambassador, the... gentleman from House Highblade."
"The person responsible is confined to a bed on the ship,"

Coraline nodded. "I'll take you to see them."
If the Church enforcers misbehaved, she'd consider having

Beatrice teach them a lesson.
"Very well," Sagonis nodded. "And the Elven relics?"
"That..."
Coraline turned back at the off-boarding ramp.
Atop it was a certain green-haired noble (who was also a

Decanus, it seemed.)
She smiled politely, "The young master is bringing them now."

Chapter 531 Avoiding
Crucifixion
ycondrius descended the ramp with a sense of purpose, a burlap

T
sack heaved over his shoulder.
He had contacted the authorities in Cersei's Rest using the ship's

communication device... and he'd declared his rank as Decanus. It
was technically true, as he had been granted a battlefield
promotion while he worked for the now-defunct Rhodok
adventuring guild.
For authenticity, he wore a set of Tyrion Decanus armor he'd

looted from their forward team's remains. The sword on his side
once belonged to a young, bright-eyed Avenger-- one he killed
personally. He hoped he wouldn't have to kill any more Tyrions,
this sun.
Tycon approached his two companions and the group of Church

enforcers, with whom they were conversing.
He quickly identified the gentleman with the largest hat, rendering

a salute, "Good morning, Inquisitor. Decanus Tycon reporting as
ordered."
"Good morning, Decanus," The cloth-masked Inquisitor returned

his own sharpened salute. "My name is Inquisitor Sagonis... And
my first inquiry is: where... is... your helmet?"
"Forgive me. It was lost in honorable battle, fighting against

heretics in Ezyria."
"Mm. Granted," Sagonis nodded. "I trust you'll amend that before
reporting to your... Centurion?"
"Of course," Tycon sighed... "It seems I'm never more than a
single mistake away from crucifixion."
"Decanus... Tychon... admittedly, I am unfamiliar with your name,"

The Inquisitor took a few steps to the side... keeping vigilant, "I'd
think I'd have remembered such... peculiar eyes."
"*I'd* like to think I've been promoted for my skill, rather than my
handsome appearance."
"Hm. I hope the same of me," Sagonis adjusted his cloth mask,
briefly revealing a wicked scar... "And who exactly, may I ask... is
your superior?
Tycon took care not to roll his eyes.
It was an unspoken rule amongst current and former military

members to informally 'test' their peers. It was a social game...
They would compare their time in service, their achievements, the
prestige of their Legion... and sometimes, even their legitimacy.
As Sagonis' Munifices were not-so-subtly dispersing, positioning

better to block off any avenue of escape, Tycon judged it was the
latter.
"I work for Archbishop Natalya Crucis," Tycon sneered defiantly,

"You might have heard of her."
The Inquisitor subconsciously straightened his own back upon

hearing the name... "I see."
"Is that a look of pity, Brother-Inquisitor?"
"Something like that," Sagonis shook his head, "She is... difficult
to work with, from what I'm told."
With that, Tycon was fairly certain he'd passed the Inquisitor's
test.
...However, he wasn't entirely certain that was something to be

pleased about.
From there, they exchanged some mundane pleasantries. Tycon
was introduced to Sagonis' three subordinates and informed of a
popular local eatery called the Black-Tailed Gull (it had had
opened up in the last half-year.) Most importantly, he was given a
recommendation on where to purchase regulation equipment for a
reasonable price.
Inquisitor Sagonis, despite his villainous voice and rough exterior,

proved to be a very conversational, if hard-working gentleman.
Tycon respected that.
The young elf, Coraline, led the Inquisitor's men back onto the
Golden Eagle to recover Elladan and Olesya. Both were charged
with murder.
The Church enforcers were well equipped to deal with resistance.

They admitted to hoping for it.
"Decanus," Sagonis addressed him. "Your elf has informed me

that you have the Elven artifacts."
"Indeed. Though, with all due respect," Tycon grimaced, "she's not
*my* elf."
The Inquisitor sighed, "If you're going to reprimand me, Tychon..."
"--Oh, no. Don't misunderstand," Tycon chuckled. "She is the

romantic partner of my mercenary companion."
"Hmph. The scarred boy?" Sagonis narrowed his eyes... "He's a

fine young man. Guide him well."
"I try," Tycon shrugged.
"The artifacts?"
He lifted up his burlap sack and reached in, firmly gripping a cat
by the loose skin on the back of its neck. The black, white, and
brown calico hissed, violently scratching at his hand.
"This... is a Druid from Alizeau," Tycon presented it forward. "Are

you familiar with the Class?"
"I am, Decanus. Vile transformation magic, for certain," The
Inquisitor groaned as he unstrapped a metal collar from his belt,
"Reveal thyself, Witch... and perhaps I may be merciful."
Tycon rolled his eyes and groaned, "Brother-Inquisitor, come now.

Mercy is not in the Church's doctrine."
"The Witch doesn't know that."
"If she does not, she will," Tycon smirked. "Release your
transformation, Miss Felicity, or I will break your legs on the
Inquisitor's behalf."
"Oh, please, Decanus," Sagonis chuckled, "There is no greater joy

amongst our faithful, than the *breaking* of Witches."
"Hm," Tycon pursed his lips as he grabbed hold of the cat's hind
paw, "Sound logic. I'll begin, then--"
Before Tycon could be granted such 'joy', he felt the Druid begin
to transform. In a flash of magic and a puff of smoke, Miss Felicity
returned to her human form.
An adult woman, she wore proper adventuring gear, padded

armor, a sword on her side... and two familiar blades on her back.
Tycon tossed her to the ground, kicking her hard in the abdomen.
Quickly mounting her back, he locked her arm in a painful hold.
Arm control. Neck control. Those were most important in subduing

a difficult individual.
"AUGH! L-let go of me!!" She screamed, struggling desperately.
Tycon dislocated her shoulder, prompting an ear-splitting shriek.

Arm control.
"Impressive," The Inquisitor nodded as he latched the null-magic

collar tight around her neck. "That isn't the first time you've done
that."
"Indeed," Tycon chuckled, releasing his grip and rolling off of the
Druid. "There is a magical tool on the ship to verify the swords'
authenticity."
"Very good," The Inquisitor grabbed the human woman by the hair
and dragged her to the standing, "That will be all then."
Felicity seemed to have some choice words to say on the matter...

"HAhhhhhHH! Harrghhckkk!"
Thankfully, it seemed her magical collar also prevented her from

speaking.
Tycon gestured to the woman, "I'd like a receipt for this."
The taller man glared in response, "You can trust my word,

Decanus. I am an Inquisitor who answers only to the High Oracle."
Tycon bared his teeth in chagrin, "Forgive my rudeness, Inquisitor

Sagonis, but... you know my superior."
He removed a rolled-up parchment from a pouch, offering it

forward.
The Inquisitor stared for a moment... but relented with a sigh.
"I do not envy you, Brother-Decanus," He retrieved his pen and

inkpot, "Very well. Let us ensure one of our finest avoids
crucifixion, this sun."
"I appreciate it," Tycon chuckled derisively, "I hear and obey... for
the glory of the Eternal Flame."
",
Chapter 532 Dinner Invitation
oraline breathed a sigh of relief, watching the Church's men walk

C
off with their captives: Felicity, Elladan, and Olesya.
The three of them had survived the events on the Golden Eagle...
but with three counts of murder and two counts of grand theft.
They would not have long lives...
"It's so unnerving dealing with the Church of the Eternal Flame,"

She groaned, shaking her head. "It's like... they're always looking
for signs of heresy."
The green-haired Decanus frowned, "That is... essentially an

Inquisitor's job description."
"Coraline..." Lone bit his upper lip, "How did you know? That it
was Felicity, I mean?"
Coraline puffed out her cheeks in contemplation... "I recognized

her tattoos... they're distinctly Elven-- and they mark her as
belonging to a Druidic Order. Druids can turn into animals... and
during their transformations, their gear gets melded with them."
"Ohhh," Lone grinned. "You're pretty smart Coraline."
"Hah, right..." Coraline smiled politely.
She actually felt very stupid. Sir Tychon knew about it, the whole
time... If she hadn't learned about the loopholes in the ship
formations, she might not have figured it out, at all.
It was... blind luck that she'd met the two of them.

Lone had absolute trust in his superior... and admittedly, he was
reliable in the worst of situations.
It made her reconsider joining their guild...
Bleigh. She'd have to think about that in the future. She couldn't
waste her airship ticket to the Eastern States. It was expensive.
"Coraliiiiiiine!!!!!"
She turned abruptly to see two approaching Popotoes, one of

them waving like a madwoman. Coraline waved back, trying not to
mind the harsh looks of the various Tyrion passersby.
Empty night, she haaaaated being stared at...
"So glad we found you!" Mister Giorgio huffed, "We'd thought

you'd already left?"
A tearful Lucrezia rushed to Coraline and embraced her at the

waist, "Oh, Coraline! I'm so glad that all that dreadful business is
behind us!"
Coraline hugged Lucrezia back, "Me too, Auntie Lu... Oh, I'm so
sorry about your chain. It was so beautiful..."
"It's fine, dear," Lucrezia held her hand, gently smiling. "As long as
you're safe, everything is fine~!"
Lone wore a troubled smile, "Wh... what are you guys wearing?"
The two Popotoes had forgone their usual wealthy-middle class

attire. Auntie Lucrezia was wearing a multi-colored dress and
wide-brimmed sun-hat (and was without her gloves.) Mister
Giorgio was wearing a gaudy striped shirt, half-trousers, and a
small pack where his belt buckle would be.
"After everything that happened... I just wanted to wear something

simple," Lucrezia smiled.
"It looks great on you, Auntie," Coraline beamed.

"This is my *adventuring* gear! --so to speak," Giorgio chuckled.
"Especially this lightweight, leather kangaroo pouch! It's very
convenient for touring to see the sights."
Lone nodded in awe, "I... I want one."
"I forbid you from wearing that in my presence," Tychon whispered

harshly.
"Miss Coraline, have you finally decided to travel with Mister

Lone?" The older woman smiled, her eyes shining radiantly in the
afternoon sun.
Giorgio put an arm around his wife, "Oh! You two are a wonderful
match!! And Sir Tychon, you would be their protective older
brother!!"
"I feel like an exasperated parent," The noble rolled his eyes.
"Nonsense, my boy! You're far too young for that!" Giorgio

insisted, "Don't be in such a hurry to grow up! Enjoy it! It won't last
forever!"
"Y-yes," Coraline admitted. "Tomorrow evening, I'm leaving for the

Archangel... but Mister Lone and I will... will be going on an... an
outing in the morning."
"It's a date!" Lone grinned.
Coraline chopped the idiot boy in the throat. He bent over, holding
his neck and coughing painfully.
"Oh, wonderful! Absolutely lovely!" Giorgio cheered.
Lucrezia put her palms together, "Dearest Coraline... is your

boyfriend quite alright?"
"He'll be fine," Tychon answered for her. "Now... if you'll excuse

us, Mister Giorgio, Lady Lucrezia, we must be off to arrange a
place to stay."
"How about we travel just a little bit longer!" Giorgio pouted,
"Dinner! On me! How about it?!"
Coraline bowed her head... then grabbed the back of Lone's head
and forced him to bow with her, "I'm sorry, Mister Giorgio. We
really must be going."
Tychon took a step forward... "Where do you propose?"
Coraline reached up to snatch at the noble's ear, "What do you

think you're doing *Sir*?"
With a smooth grab and twist, Tychon removed her hand, "Mister
Lone."
As the noble rotated Coraline's arm over her head, she found
herself spinning-- and terrifyingly fast... "Eee!!"
"I got you!" Lone caught her by the waist and dipped her as if they
were dance partners.
...Dazed as she was, whatever had just happened was nothing

short of impressive.
Tychon smoothed out the folds on his robe, "I've... found the
company of the Castiglioni's to be... nice. Let's travel together,
another sun longer."
"Oh, that would be wonderful!" Lucrezia clapped her hands

together in excitement.
Giorgio bobbed his head up and down, "I met a town crier earlier
that absolutely RAVED about a restaurant called the Black-Tailed
Gull!"
"We accept your invitation," The young master declared.
"Aha..." Lone chuckled... rubbing at his neck, "Boss' biggest

weakness is food."
Coraline pursed her lips. That could be useful information... "Well,

I suppose it'll be fine."
...
⟬ Later that evening. ⟭
Dinner with the Castiglioni's was excellent-- even though

Tycondrius did have to suffer nearly two bells of Pettaia history
and stratagems.
During which, they discussed the following sun's plans.
In the morning, Tycon would pay a visit to the Basilica. Though

simply named, it was the largest and most defensible Church
structure in the nation, erected in the near-center of Cersei's Rest.
Lone and Coraline would be going on their outing, which would

last until the early evening. At that time, they'd see her off on her
airship to the Eastern States.
After dinner, Tycon was happy to withdraw to the comfort of his

inn room. He was looking forward to taking inventory of his and
Lone's gear.
As for the two children, they'd split off from the group to visit a
nature trail... or something of that design.
However, after a few bells... he heard a knock on his door.
Opening it... he beheld the sight of Barza Keith, the Lone

Shadowdark.
Chapter 533 Nuance
ycondrius reclined in his room's comfortable chair, listening to

T
Lone detail the minutiae of after-dinner adventures.
"--and the nature trail was really nice! And we got to see the
fireworks with the Basilica in the background, too! It's like-- a
magical castle!"
"That is correct," Tycon mused. "The Basilica is a fortified

structure, with magical formations guarding its walls."
"Fair enough," Lone chuckled.
Tres Leches let out a lazy yawn as the young Ranger stroked its
metal coat. He was lying in his bedroll... prepared to sleep on the
floor.
That was technically fine. The room only had a single bed and
Tycon was not planning on sharing.
However, he found the very presence of the young man and

wolf... baffling.
"Mister Lone..." Tycon pursed his lips... thinking carefully on his

next words.
"Yes, Boss?"
"I recall... you used your own coin to purchase the use of an inn
room."
"Well... yeah," Lone sighed wistfully. "It was really nice!"
So he'd... been to his room. Tycon paused, inhaling through his

nostrils... "Then I must ask: why... are you here? In... *my* room?"
"I mean... is it okay?" Lone sat up, frowning, "I didn't want to sleep
outside?"
"Well... yes. I would be a disservice to make you sleep outside if

we have indoor lodging," Tycon pursed his lips, "I mean to say...
why are you *not* in the room you paid for?"
"Oh," Lone sat up. "Coraline came to my room and... and we sat
up and talked for a while. You know, we talked a little more about
what we'd do tomorrow... like which beach we were going to? And
we might go to a war museum?"
"...Go on."
"Well, Coraline said she wanted to sleep in a bed? So... I told her
she could sleep in mine. So... I came here."
Tycon's eye twitched... it sounded... correct, but something

seemed... off? Like there was a nuance either he or Lone was
missing, "Very well... That was rather polite of you."
"Yeah," Lone shrugged, lying back down. "I just wanted to be a

gentleman, y'know? I'm not... a noble or anything. But I tried to
think... what would a noble do?"
That was not at all what an entitled noble would do. Tycon
decided not to inform him of that.
"I asked her if she'd join our guild..." Lone sighed, "She uh... she
didn't believe me when I said I was part of Sol Invictus."
"Ah, a shame," Tycon shook his head.
Coraline would have been an excellent addition to Sol Invictus,

and it seemed she had a unique interrogation skill that would be
useful for internal affairs. Sorina Capulet would be able to utilize
her.
Unfortunately, Mister Lone's persuasive abilities were... unrefined.

Also, their guild, Sol Invictus, had a certain reputation for being a
very elite combat force. Tycon hypothesized that the young lady
might have been intimidated.
"She said she wasn't ready to join a guild." Lone blew out an
exasperated puff of air... "I mean, I didn't want to be pushy-- or to
guilt her about it."
"Right..." Tycon averted his gaze.
Guilt and entrapment were strategies often used by Sol Invictus'

Chief Financial Officer, Sorina Capulet. Using it, she recruited a
number of excellent talents, including Maeva Leserre, Popoto
Potata Pota, and Boxtholomaeus.
"I just wish..." Lone took in a deep breath... "That... I could just
drop everything and go? Not that I'd want to... but, I guess I'd like
the ability to. Does that make sense, Boss?"
"Don't be daft," Tycon chuckled lightly, "There are rules in place

that would allow you to annul your contract."
Lone groaned, "Right... The only way is to buy my way out, right?
And that'll take... a zillion years."
"Hah, no, you dolt," Tycon shook his head. "Why does no one
read the terms and conditions of their service?"
"Boss, the contract was written in the language of the Holy

Country!"
"Yes," Tycon furrowed his brows. "Is there... an issue with that?"
Lone bared his teeth, "That's not something normal people can
read."
"...Fair point," Tycon conceded. "Very well. Outside of any legality

loopholes-- unjust treatment and the like... you can contest your
contract by way of Trial by Combat."
"Huh?" Lone furrowed his brows... "Who would I have to beat?"

"A combatant of my choosing," Tycon smirked. "Which would be
me. I was the one who personally enlisted you, after all. As a side,
the young Pale has the same conditions for properly earning the
mantle of Invictus' Leader."
"Don't suppose you'd... let me win, Boss?" Lone grinned, "Or Pale,
for that matter?"
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Not a chance... but take heart. That is yet
another reason for you to train harder."
Lone chuckled softly, "Yeah... I'm getting there, though. Any

advice?"
"A proper sleep cycle, for one," Tycon smirked. "You're going out
with Miss Coraline tomorrow morning, are you not?"
"Hah, yeah. I am," Lone sighed contentedly. "I'mma go ahead and

get some rest then, Boss. Turn off the lamp light, please."
"Very well," Tycon reached for the knob on the desk lamp. "Good
night, Mister Lone."
...
⟬ The following evening... ⟭
Coraline took a deep breath of the cold wind atop the airship
docks. The passenger airship she was going to board was a
normal one, its passenger list in the hundreds. There wasn't going
to be any small, intimate murder mystery on this trip-- or so she
hoped.
"So what guild are you *really* from?" Coraline jabbed Lone in the
side with her elbow.
"I told you, before," He grinned. "I'm from Sol Invictus."
She looked at the somewhat handsome cheek-scarred boy at her

side. He was always playing the fool. His words were so sweet, so
pure... yet the drivel that came out of his mouth couldn't possibly
be true.
"Such a LIARRRR!!" Coraline giggled, rolling her eyes. "And then

you'll tell me you trained under Lord Ranger Quies, himself?"
"I met him, once," Lone scratched his head, that broad smile of his
never fading. "He seemed nice?"
"Hah?" The boy's absolute confidence made her hesitate briefly...

"Was he really an elf?"
"Um. Yes?"
"Please form a single-file queue!" The airship guardsman

announcement interrupted her thoughts. "Cersei's Rest to the City
of Archangel! No stops to the Eastern States!"
Chapter 534 Promise
Reality washed over Coraline as she gazed into Lone's eyes.
She... made a mistake.
She actually had fun... on her date.
She'd said that it would never happen.
She even promised herself...
She utilized the power of DETERMINATION to make it so!
But... in sharing Lone's company... in dealing with his honesty and

protectiveness and... his cute metal wolf... she let her guard down.
And now... everything had come to an end. She was going to

board that airship... and go home.
"Hey, uh..." Lone idly scratched at his cheek. "I want you to have
this."
Coraline's eyes lit up, staring at the dull metal circle in Lone's
offered hand.
He. was giving her. a ring.
"H'yah!!" Coraline launched a palm-heel strike at Lone's face--

which he unfairly dodged.
She quickly followed up with a dozen normal-consecutive-

punches. He couldn't dodge those!
"Wh-wh-wh-wwhaaat is thisSSssSs?!?" Coraline roared.

"It's! Ow! Ow!" Lone defended himself with one arm-- and poorly,
"It's-- it's something to remember me by!?! Come on! Stop!"
Coraline snatched the ring out of the boy's still open palm. It was
cheap, but something like that came to no surprise. It was Lone
she was dealing with, after all.
"You can't take it back!" She growled angrily, "This is mine now!
PRECIOUS!!"
Lone rubbed the side of his reddening face, "Th-that's fine."
...Coraline's hand hurt from punching and slapping him. But more
than that... her chest felt warm... and it felt like tiny confused fish
were swimming around in her stomach. This person... this boy...
he actually cared about her enough to give her... to give her a...
Bleighhhhh.
"So this... this is... a promise ring, right?" She asked nervously,
"That we'll meet again? Right?"
"Um. Sure?"
She smacked him again, "Could you THINK about what this
MEANS?! Just for a moment?!"
"I did! It is!" Lone insisted, "So, could you stop hitting me?
Please?"
Coraline held the ring possessively against her chest... "You're...

you're my boyfriend now. You can't fool around with anyone
else..."
"Oh," Lone's eyes widened.
"What's with that RESPONSE??! Aren't you HAPPY?!?"
The beating resumed.
"I'm happy! Thank you! I'm sorry?! Please stop!" Lone pleaded.
Coraline took a deep breath and wiped a bead of perspiration off
of her forehead... (Also, she canceled her activation of ⌈Force
Punch⌋...)
This... this boy really made her mad... but...
He...
He made her happy.
"H...hey," She muttered...
"...Hey," Lone grinned.
That kind of response made her want to hit him again...
"Ahem..." She coughed into her closed fist and straightened her
back, "Mister Lone! Can I... can I ask you a question?"
"Huh?" The boy raised his eyebrows, "You uh... never asked for
permission before?"
"It's important," Coraline glared. "Just say yes."
"Y...yes."
Biting her lip, she performed the gestures in her memory...

Everything was just as she practiced... everything felt right... The
mana flowed through her circuits, her hands flowed with the gentle
movements, and she formed a diamond-shape with her fingers.
"⌈Swords of Truth...⌋"
She felt tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She... she didn't
want to use her magic. But... it was part of her nature. She was
hurt too many times before to trust blindly.
She wanted to believe him so badly. Everything in her heart was

telling her that it was okay... that he was too stupid to betray her
trust.
But still... she doubted. That was the way she lived her life... by
doubting everything... by asking questions.
So... Coraline took the easy way out... with a truth spell.
It wasn't healthy for a relationship.
It was insulting, really.
But... she really wanted to know the truth. She needed it.
Could she trust this boy-- trust in the ring he gave her? Or was it
another meaningless lie?
Even faced with her oppressive and rude magic spell...
Lone smiled... "Ask away."
Coraline felt her lips tremble...
She hated that smile.
She... fell in love with that smile.
It was a dangerous smile... belonging to an infuriating individual...

a fool who sought to protect her, no matter what.
...The dummy even thought he was immortal.
She looked up to meet his gaze... "Lone... where were you when
you first started liking me?"
Lone sighed... "Seeing you yell at my boss on the docks at Rixus?

No..."
"Try again," Coraline grimaced. She did *not* yell, back then. She
wanted to, but she didn't!
"Sitting across from you at the table in the Golden Eagle's dining
hall?"
"No way!!!" Coraline fumed. All Lone did at that table was stare at
her judgmentally-- like she was a clown!
"Oh, I remember," Lone smirked. "⋖ I liked you from the first
moment I saw you. ⋗"
Coraline felt her cheeks burn red hot as if Beatrice just punched
her in the face.
"Y-y-y-y-you IDIOT!!!"
"Hey! Ow! Stop hitting me! Please?!" Lone cried.
"STUPID! STUPID BOYFRIEND!!!" Coraline shouted, "How DARE

you be SWEET to me just as I'm LEAVINNNNGGGG!!!!!"
Her ears twitched.
There was a sound in the air... so very faint. She'd heard it before-
- but couldn't remember why it was important.
It was a finger-snap... and it resounded through the air.
What did it mean?
Before she knew it, Lone had taken hold of her hand... and his lips
were pressed against hers.
...In a panic, Coraline closed her eyes.
She had to. Kisses were weird if you didn't close your eyes.
Her strength left her. Her anger left her. Embarrassment-- that was
gone, too.
--No, nevermind. That was still there. But it wasn't so bad.
She pushed up on her tiptoes and wrapped her arms around her
boyfriend and kissed him back.
It made her want to cry.

It also made her want to throw him off of the docks, (but only a
little.)
She sighed and planted her feet back down on the floor... "That...
that wasn't fair, you know."
Lone... he smiled. That was it. That was fine.
...That was aggravating.
If he didn't say anything back, it was harder for her to yell at him.
She reached up to plant a last kiss on her boyfriend's cheek... "I'll

see you."
"Yeah," Lone nodded. "See you."

Chapter 535 The Basilica
⟬ The following morning... ⟭
Tycondrius took a deep breath to calm his anxiety.
He and Lone were infiltrating the Basilica, the nigh-impenetrable

fortress where the Holy Country's High Oracle resided.
Using his true form to sneak in was not a viable option. The risk of
triggering the formations, entering as a non-human, were too
great. Worse, there were likely additional and more dangerous
formations within the grounds.
...And besides, snakes were not looked upon kindly as of recent

centuries.
Entering the Basilica using proper channels would have him

waiting for several suns, if not weeks-- longer if his unseen
enemies were to act against him.
Those enemies had been an unrelenting hindrance to him in past

moons.
Athena Vanzano's holdings in Caeruleum had been lost.

Worshippers of the Snake Cult within the city's leadership had
twisted their human laws to oppress him.
It was a grievous insult to him. It was infuriating.
He didn't particularly care for the men and women sacrificed. He

didn't even know their names.
However... they belonged to Athena. And most things that

belonged to Athena, belonged to him. Those hidden enemies took
his assets, his coin. They spat upon his well-meaning efforts to
bring goods and services to the people of the Holy Country for
competitive prices.
Tycon would have his compensation.
Only death awaited the enemies of Sol Invictus.
If he were operating in the Free Nation, he'd have immediately

gathered a gods-damned army, and whipped them into a
bloodrage to demand recompense.
If he were to get his way in the Holy Country... he'd do the exact
same.
He'd raze the city... burn it to its skeletal remains... slaughter both
the heretics and those that chose ignorance over patriotism. He'd
drive his enemies out of hiding, tear out their still-beating hearts,
and spout some drivel about justice and righteousness.
The irony was admittedly enjoyable on the giving end-- rather than
on the receiving.
Maybe he just wanted to murder people. For once, he had decent

reasons for it.
Tycon raised the visor of his helmet and turned to glare at the
Ranger following close behind, "Look alive, Mister Lone."
The Lone Shadowdark was dragging his feet, looking as if he

were half-dead, "I'm coming, Boss..."
Though the young man hadn't explicitly stated so, he was in a

state of... loss since the previous evening-- after Miss Coraline's
departure.
He'd get over it.
...Maybe.
Tycon placed a reassuring hand on his companion's shoulder,

"We'll get you a pen and parchment to use in a few suns."
The Ranger let out an exaggerated sigh, "Why would I want that?"
"You can write your girlfriend a letter," Tycon narrowed his eyes.
"Or had you not realized she might want to hear from you?"
"Mm..." Lone perked up, "Yeah... alright. Alright!! ...Yeah!"
"Once is enough, Mister Lone," Tycon groaned. "Now... I'll have

your thoughts on this place."
Lone glanced up and all around him, at the high columns, wall and
ceiling murals, and geometric tile designs of the Basilica, "It's uh...
big."
Tycon was hoping Lone would have... possible battle tactics in

mind, or at the very least, something relevant.
Still, general observations were fair.
"Anything else?" Tycon gestured.
"I... I'm not sure we should be doing this," He mumbled

underneath his breath. "Didn't you say we were supposed to wait
to see the Archbishop?"
Tycon rolled his eyes, "The wait to see Natalya Crucis properly is
*criminal*, to use Tyrion diction. Worry not. I memorized the
layout, the other sun, while you were out gallivanting."
"But... that lady's like... a Church noble? And we're kinda--"
Before he could finish, Lone's shoulder was clipped by a passing

Munifex. Unable to keep his balance, the young man slammed his
elbow awkwardly and painfully against one of the many marble
columns, "Owww..."
"Flame take you, man! Watch where you're goin'!" The armored
human glared.
"I advise *you* to watch your language, Munifex," Tycon growled.

"And open your Flamescarred eyes..."
The offending whelp looked Tycon up and down before inclining
his head, "My apologies, Decanus."
"How about you apologize to my subordinate? He outranks you,

as well."
The Munifex cursed underneath his breath but rendered a crisp

salute, "I apologize, gentlemen."
"Y-yeah!" Lone barked back indignantly.
"You too," Tycon glared. "Respect goes both ways."
"Aha..." Lone rubbed the back of his head, "My bad, man."
The Munifex looked stunned for a moment, but nodded

respectfully, "N-no problem, Sir."
"You look like you have some time, young man," Tycon pursed his
lips. "Direct us to Archbishop Crucis' office, if you would."
...
Tycon pushed open the heavy door with slight difficulty. He

needed to circulate his mana in order to do so with one arm.
He expected no less from Archbishop Natalya Crucis, for even her

doors to be so... oppressively burdensome.
Taking up most of the Archbishop's personal office was a large

planning table at the opposite end. It held a large map of the Holy
Country, various pawns and pieces shoved about it. It seemed her
own forces were marked in red-- her favored color, it seemed.
Everything else in the room was overly large, bordering on

tyrannical. The walls displayed crimson-red battle flags and the
furniture was made of looming darkwoods, tipped with sharp
ornamentation.
...Tycon thought this was the Holy Country, not the... Dark, Spiky-
Overlord Country.
The stylistic choices of the Archbishop matched quite well to that
of her Centurion, Zenon Skyreaper. Perhaps that was why she
wanted that fellow to succeed.
The room was also cold... frigid... matching the character Natalya
preferred to convey.
Tycon would have liked to think it was because she knew he'd be
arriving.
He doubted that was the case.
Natalya Crucis was seated at her desk, diligently reading some

official-looking documentation. Even working on mundane
paperwork, she wore a ceremonial suit of blood-red armor, mostly
functional in that it was both padded and warm.
"Get the f*ck out or be crucified at dawn," She said... not even
bothering to identify the two handsome gentlemen that had just
entered her lair.
...By her words, Tycon knew the woman did not actually realize it
was him.
Crucifixion at dawn was too polite of a threat.
Tycon bowed politely, "Good morning, Natalya."

Chapter 536 Bearing Gifts
" ⌈Lux et VERITAS!!⌋" The Archbishop thrust her palm forward, a

golden orb of radiant mana condensed in her hand.
Tycondrius nodded in appreciation. It looked quite dangerous.
Lone immediately dove out of the way, sliding clumsily on the

waxed and polished floor and hiding underneath a bench.
Ignoring his Ranger, Tycon seated himself on the hardwood chair

opposite Natalya. There was no seat cushion and the
Archbishop's high-backed chair was raised compared to his... but
he was used to sitting on stone to converse with far more...
intimidating allies.
"Did you get my message?" Tycon smirked.
The Archbishop growled, slamming her palm into her desk. She
forcibly quenched her offensive spell. That was quite nice of her,
as it was very capable of severely injuring Tycon and obliterating
her very nice door.
"Tycondrius..." Natalya's voice dripped with displeasure. "Had I

known you were coming, I'd have arranged to crucify you before
sundown."
Tycon bared his teeth in a grin, "I'd like to apply to *not* be

crucified, if at all possible."
"To be seen," Natalya rolled her eyes as she pushed away her
stack of papers. "Perhaps I just want to see you stripped, flayed,
and paraded around the capital?"
"I consider myself a modest gentleman, Lady Crucis," Tycon

leaned forward, steepling his fingers, "Perhaps I can entertain you
in private?"
The Archbishop crossed her arms, clearly not amused, "What did
you bring me?"
Ah. He was ready for this. He produced a small booklet and

placed it on the woman's desk.
Natalya eyed it suspiciously, "This is?"
"Coupons for Olea Garden."
"Not good enough."
Tycon pursed his lips in a grimace. He was really hoping it would

be... He reached forward to take it back-- but the Archbishop
greedily snatched it away. He was left with his empty hand
extended awkwardly.
Natalya sneered at his discomfort, "What *else* did you bring me,
Ivory Prince?"
Tycon let out a light sigh. He didn't like Olea Garden... but there
was a 'Buy One Get One Free' offer he could have used.
He stood and flicked his wrist to summon his other gift from his
spatial ring. Bowing ostentatiously, he presented the Archbishop a
thick bouquet of freshly picked roses. The color perfectly matched
her general decor and had the luck of also matching her chosen
attire.
"Really?" Natalya groaned, "How dare you use your... parlor tricks
here. Don't you know that magic is synonymous with heresy in--"
The woman stood to snatch the bouquet out of Tycon's hands...

and hesitated, "Oh... These are real?"
"Indeed," Tycon nodded. "I pray sleight of hand isn't so serious an

offense."
He was far more reliant on the flowers than the coupon book.
They were expensive. To haggle the price down, he'd expended
no small amount of time and effort, as well as hard work and
healthy sweat. The latter, of course, was provided by Lone
spending two bells splitting firewood for that stingy florist.
By the look of wonder in Natalya's eyes, the woman seemed

properly mollified.
Tycon decided to press his advantage, "Perhaps that rates a delay

in my execution?"
Natalya returned her expression to a fierce scowl, "Again, that is

to be seen."
Tycon pursed his lips. Perhaps a different avenue of attack would

prove more effective...
"Then would it rate us holding our intimate affairs behind closed

doors?"
"Brazen talk, coming from you." The woman placed the bouquet
back on her desk, "I would love to wipe that arrogant smirk off
your face."
Tycon raised an eyebrow, grinning, "And I'd love to hear you

scream."
Natalya scoffed, her voice raising in pitch, "Are you threatening

*me*? An Archbishop?"
"With a good time-- yes, I suppose."
The woman took a deep breath, twisting her lips and closing her
eyes... "Are you aware of the meaning of roses in the language of
flowers?"
Tycon briefly reviewed his knowledge... and that was not in his
repertoire. Thus, he formed his next words of his preferred
language: deception and false praise.
"I do not. I found them appropriate because I found them the most
beautiful. They suit you."
Women liked flowers. They also liked being called beautiful.
Beauty is subjective, therefore it was not a lie.
He very much hoped that those two things were as constant as

his memories told him. The threat of death by crucifixion was very
real.
"Mmm~" Natalya hummed as she sat on the edge of her desk,

half-turned away. It was a pose that accentuated her overly large
pair of buttocks, "Roses... they do have thorns. Are you trying to
say something of me, Prince Tycondrius?"
Tycon hesitated.
That... was a trick question. He did not want to answer it.
His best bet was to deflect it awkwardly-- which unfortunately,

would make him appear weak.
"Right!" Lone stood up from wherever the hells he was hiding,

"Boss means to say that thorns cause bleeding if a guy were to
fall in your bush!"
Tycon grabbed the man by the collar and pulled him close to growl
in his ear, "Really, Mister Lone?"
"Boss!" He whispered harshly, "You guys were talkin' about sex! It

was clever! Give me some credit!"
"Why is *he* here?" Natalya gestured dismissively.
Tycon gulped. He wanted to thank his companion for the artful

save, but it was not the time.
He shoved Lone away and adjusted the young man's mussed

clothing... "Why *are* you here, Mister Lone? Perhaps you should
leave."
"Aha... r-right," Lone bowed, combat-rolled to the door, and let

himself out with respectable speed.
"My apologies, Archbishop," Tycon turned with a... with an
admittedly nervous grin.
"Why are *you* here?" Natalya winked coquettishly, "Perhaps

*you* should leave."
...Damn. Tycon could not win against this woman.
She gestured towards the bouquet, "The roses, Prince."
Grimacing, Tycon picked them back up... "If they aren't to your
liking, I'll get rid of them."
He intended to place them back in his spatial ring where they'd

keep fresh. It shouldn't be too difficult, hawking them in the streets
afterward.
"There is a vase on the shelf behind you," She waved. "Remove

the oleanders. Replace them with the roses."
...So she did like them.
Tycondrius of Charm, Gold-Rank Holy-Room-Decorator,

performed his assigned task.
Chapter 537 Bluff
he Archbishop had circled around her desk, sitting on its edge in

T
front of Tycondrius. She crossed her long legs while she
brandished a sharpened dagger.
She seemed determined to make him feel as unsafe as possible,

alone in her presence.
"Tell me why you're here," She said. "And if you say it's to bed me,
I will execute you immediately."
Tycon tilted his head, "I suppose that's because you already
knew?"
Natalya casually flipped the dagger forward.
Dangerous.
He carefully caught the rotating blade with his thumb and

forefinger. Having successfully protected his vulnerable genitals,
Tycon then tossed it aside.
The woman followed the blade with her eyes, watching it sink into
the wood of her planning table... It marked a certain Ezyrian trade
hub.
"Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat. "The Brazen Guard were

recently assigned a mission that furthered the agenda of the
Snake Cult."
"From the city of Caeruleum?" She placed a finger to her lips.

"They had issued a statement damning the Kasydonian guild as
heretics."
"Do you believe them, Lady Crucis?" Tycon smirked.

"Do you have any evidence, Ivory Prince?" Natalya rolled her
eyes.
"The surviving members of the Brazen Guard Collective, including

the members of Athena's Guild Letalis, can testify under a ⌈Zone
of Truth⌋."
Natalya shook her head, "You know magic doesn't hold in a lawful
trial, especially in Tyrion. You have no heretical relics, there was
no reportable structural damage-- you couldn't even bring back
any corpses! You have nothing."
Tycon leaned forward. It was a dangerous risk, as he was well

within the woman's striking range, "Do you believe *me,*
Natalya?"
Natalya leaned back, looking up in thought, "Most of the Senate

seems convinced."
"Ridiculous..." Tycon seethed through clenched teeth.
"Despite the reports, there are enough that doubt the Brazen
Guard's sudden treachery..." Natalya pursed her lips... "Many
have taken sides, allowing me to better separate my allies from
my enemies. For that, you have my thanks..."
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "However?"
"However... I need a proper cause in order to act against the city

proper. All I have are my suspicions."
"The sword of the Eternal Flame has fallen for less," Tycon offered
politely.
"For non-humans and Witches, yes," Natalya clicked her tongue.

"It shames me to say, but I need more than that to sentence my
people to death."
Tycon placed his hand on his chin... "What do you need from
me?"
Natalya smirked as she looked him over.
...He held an impassive gaze, keeping his calm under the Gold-
Rank woman's scrutiny. It made him very uncomfortable. Tycon
rather preferred being predator than prey.
"I need..." Natalya paused... "Something. Anything. I need

physical evidence of Caeruleum's affiliation with the Snake Cult--
even if you have to fabricate it."
"Hmph," Tycon crossed his arms. "How reliable are your Scryers?"
The Archbishop nodded, "Any item you can produce, I can track
down their owners in less than a bell."
Scrying magic was considered 'divine guidance,' allowing the

Church's sanctified psykers to identify heretics for violent
interrogations. That scrying was not considered as heretical as
other, less mundane magics, was yet another of the Holy
Country's hypocrisies.
"I have something to show you," Tycon averted his gaze.

"Something you can crucify me for."
Natalya waved her hand, aglow with magic. The heavy doors to
her chambers locked with a suitably heavy bolt.
"I'll have it, then," The woman licked her lips. "Now."
A bead of sweat had formed on Tycon's forehead. Reaching into

the lining of his robe, he activated his spatial ring... and removed a
small coin.
It was a favor of the Snake Cult. He had earned it from one of

their heretical members in the city of Silva.
Natalya's lips curved up in amusement, "I was expecting

something... bigger."
"You wound me, Lady Crucis," Tycon rolled his eyes as he held it
up between his fingers. "I retrieved this from a heretic. I daresay
your Scryers might be able to find similar identifying items."
The woman's eyes lit up, "Oh? So you can use your tools skillfully,
despite their shortcomings?"
To accentuate her point, she not-so-subtly brushed her heeled

boot against his inner thigh.
Tycon exhaled through his nostrils, "Your assistance with the

matter is imperative."
"Of course~" Natalya cooed, "Give it to me."
"You'll have to be more specific."
"The coin, Tycondrius," Natalya gestured towards him. "It will be in

good hands with my Scryers."
Tycon chuckled, shaking his head, "Disappointing."
Natalya furrowed her brows into a glare, "I beg your pardon?"
Tycon relaxed in his chair, tilting his chin up, "And what will *your*
hands be doing?"
The Archbishop pressed her boot against Tycon's abdomen, "Not

what you were hoping for."
"Hm. Very well," Behind the mask of Tycon's arrogance, he

internally breathed a sigh of relief. He was successfully unnerving
the Archbishop... but he feared the facade would fail if he pushed
her too far.
"Is there tracking magic on it?" She asked.
"Not on the coin, itself," Tycon shook his head. "But again, it's very
unique."
"A double-edged sword, then," Natalya groaned.
She stood and held up two fingers of her off-hand. The coin drifted
from Tycon's palm, levitating in the air in front of her, "I'll have my
Scryers compile a list of suspicious individuals, then... which
would hopefully aid me in my pest problems..."
Natalya heaved in a deep breath and sighed, "And what would
you like for your troubles, dear Prince?"
Wonderful. Tycon had been waiting to hear those sweet words.
"I want my forces to lead the Purge of Caeruleum," He declared.
"Oh?" Natalya raised an eyebrow, "Disappointing. I had thought

for certain you'd ask for where in the Basilica I resided."
Tycon grimaced in a sudden panic. It would be problematic if

Natalya were to call his bluff. He did not actually want to become
the woman's plaything. He'd certainly be flayed if he were trapped
in her quarters.
"I had thought milady was... not so interested in my... tools?"
"Oya?" Natalya giggled ominously, "Do you have more than one?"
Tycon averted his gaze for the briefest moment. He only had the
one. Snakes tended to have two. He found it peculiar that the
topic had come up twice within only the last few weeks.
"Would you like to see?" Tycon offered.
Natalya leaned in, her hot breath smelling of sweet herbs, "You
play a dangerous game, Ivory Prince."
Tycon smirked, "What do I get if I win?"
...He desperately hoped his confidence would scare the woman

off. Sleeping with the Archbishop would be nothing short of
disastrous.
"Get out," Natalya stood up abruptly... "Pervert."
",
Chapter 538 Sly Rogue
⟬ The Basilica, Inner Courtyard. ⟭
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, mulled about the outdoor

temple grounds, walking with as much confidence as he could
manage.
If the members of the Church found out he was trespassing, he'd

either get thrown back in prison or get crucified. Either would be...
really bad.
Being around so many armed and armored enforcers was nerve-

wracking. It seemed he'd arrived while most of them were taking
part in mid-sun martial training.
A Centurion challenged him. Barely able to keep his composure,

Lone stated that he worked for Decanus Tycon, who worked for
Archbishop Crucis.
He was left alone after that. The Archbishop seemed to have a

frightening... reputation. It made him slightly worry about his
boss... but if anyone he knew could survive against her, it would
be Sir Tycon.
Stepping out into the grass, Lone breathed in the fresh air. It was
much cleaner than he was used to... and slightly salted by how
close they were to the ocean.
He'd gone to so many different places in the past couple of

years... the Mosswood Wilds, the island of Saint Guinefort, the
hills where the Halls of the Dead Snake were hidden... and of
course, that stupid prison, Turrim Orientem.
He'd fought and killed many enemies... undead heretics, giant pig-
beasts, moving statues... mimics, demons, and even a few
gorgons.
He'd served with many allies... a Titanblood Swordmage and an

Elven Ranger, a noble Fisherman and a hero of the Holy
Country... and even a sly Rogue.
And that sly Rogue... was scaling the wall in the courtyard.
Lone blinked his eyes. Spiky blonde hair... wearing a unique glove
on his left hand. That was undoubtedly Edge, his arena partner
from his time participating in the tournament at Caeruleum.
What. Was. He. Doing. In CERSEI'S. REST?!?!
He was still supposed to be serving time in Turrim Orientem!!
Lone glanced all around and ensured no one was watching. As

fast as he could, he slipped away, dashing from column to training
rack... and scaled the brick wall with his bare hands.
Pulling himself up, he projected his voice in a loud whisper, "Edge!

What the *hells* are you doing here?"
The Rogue turned with a scowl, "Awww, Flame take me."
Then he drew his rapier.
Lone didn't want to fight... but they were somewhat safe atop the
palisades. With all the training below, no one would be able to
hear the sounds of their duel.
"Edge! Snap out of it, it's me!" He drew the Shatterspike

longsword-- it was too dangerous to risk the howls of Tres Leches.
"The Lone Shadowdark..." Edge grimaced, his voice sounding

hurt, "I'm sorry it's come to this. ⌈Flourishing Strike!⌋"
The Rogue dashed forward in a dark blur, a lethal rapier thrust

aimed at Lone's heart.
Lone deflected the lunge with the base of his sword-- just barely.
With his opponent unbalanced, he successfully struck his elbow
against the side of his friend's head... and quickly followed with a
sword-pommel smash aimed at his nose.
The Rogue swayed his head back to dodge, rolling backward on

the stones, and getting back to his feet.
"Lone..." He growled... "Where's your eyepatch?"
Lone clenched his jaw shut, trying to think of an excuse.
Edge was referring to the eyepatch he wore during the

tournament. Back then, Lone told him it was to keep his power
level in check.
It didn't, actually... so Boss Tycon made him get rid of it. He felt
terrible for lying-- this misunderstanding was all his fault! He just
wanted to have a cool backstory!
"Won't answer, huh?" Edge shut his eyes, shaking his head. Was
he... crying? "I'll end you, then. It's the least I can do-- I won't let
the darkness take over, old friend!"
"Wait!" Lone yelped-- but not quick enough.
Edge lunged forward once more, sweeping his blade low.
Lone took a step back and to the side, then with both hands on
Shatterspike's hilt, he swung from overhead.
The strike hit Edge's rapier guard.
Lone was in trouble.
The Rogue twisted his sword around, deflecting the Shatterspike

away... while simultaneously slashing down towards Lone's left
forearm.
It was going to hit. It was going to hurt.
He couldn't afford to hold back anymore. Igniting his mana, it

circulated quickly through his body as he activated a skill in
desperation, "⌈Rush!⌋"
Lone dashed forward with mana-empowered speed before the
swing could hit him-- and planted his elbow into Edge's solar
plexus, knocking him to the ground.
Lone placed the cold steel of his sword against his opponent's
neck, "Edge, stop! It's me!"
"It can't be! You--" Edge's eyes opened wide in surprise, "Y-you
learned to control your power?"
"Whew. Yeah," Lone nodded, breathing a sigh of relief and

relaxing his guard.
Finally, the hostility in the Rogue's eyes lifted... He wiped at his

moist eyes and brushed aside the hair matted to his forehead,
"Whew... Shite... Haha... Always gettin' ahead of me, aren'tcha?
Lord Ranger?"
Lone offered his hand, pulling Edge back onto his feet.
"It's a hundred years too soon for you to challenge me," He

grinned.
"Right," Edge nodded. "Hey, it's good to have you, man, but listen.
Follow me-- we don't have much time."
"Wait, what? Wh--"
Before Lone could stop him, the Rogue had already turned his
back and began climbing to the next level of palisades.
Why? Where was he going? Why in the seven hells was that guy
sneaking around in the most guarded structure in the Holy
Country?
Lone wouldn't get any answers by doing nothing... so he

immediately went up after him.
Edge was fast... but he was faster. He'd even gotten some
practice in, the other sun, hanging out with his hot girlfriend.
(Coraline was not as good as she thought she was.)
He reached the top before Edge did, pulling himself up with one
arm-- just to show off how strong he was.
"Hey! You're not supposed to be here!"
Eleven heavens and Seven HELLLLLS!!!!!
A Church guard was approaching with his weapon drawn, while

Lone was caught on his hands and knees.
Chapter 539 Exotics
arza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, was supremely confident on

B
the ground. He could even say he excelled at ground-fighting!
He wore an enchanted item on his waist-- so good it was probably

a legendary item. While his knees were on the ground or he was
lying on his back, his reflexes were like a tiger's and his
slipperiness was like a snake's!
Also, while he wore it, he didn't have a gag reflex. He tried not to
think about that.
Lone tumbled over his head, curling his body in... and rolling
towards the armed guard, he shot both feet up like a bolt from a
crossbow.
POP! He landed a perfect shot against the man's chin and he

crumpled to the ground like a stack of swords.
"Flamescarred shite..." Edge let out a long whistle. "Nice work,

Lord Ranger."
He offered his hand to Lone, helping him up.
Lone grimaced at his partner, then at the unfortunate guard.
Yes, he had knocked a man unconscious with a single strike. Yes,

it was a very skillful display that made him look very cool. BUT it
was like he'd leapt out of a fiery-hot pan into the fiery-er depths of
the seven hells.
He'd just assaulted a member of the Church... in a Church

temple... in THE Church-liest temple of all the Church-ly temples!
Lone was an accomplice... and there was no taking that back.

"Edge..." He looked over at the Rogue, holding in his tears...
"Now, will you finally tell me what's going on?"
"R-right..." Edge picked up the guard's fallen sword, "But before

that, should I...?"
"Let's not," Lone shook his head. "No killing."
They were in enough shite as it was.
"...Yeah," Edge nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. "Too risky."
Edge dropped the sword, took a bundle of rope off his pack, and
tossed it to Lone. Then he took out some cloth, getting to work,
gagging the guard.
"It was supposed to be a quick in and out," He grimaced, "--but it

looks like I'm not good enough to do this solo."
"And we're too far in to bail," Lone exhaled through his nostrils as
he tightly bound the guard's wrists and arms.
Edge turned to him, his eyes unusually serious, "Will you help me,
Lone? Just like you saved me below Turrim Orientem against the
Cataclysmic Rat-Beast?"
Lone shuddered involuntarily, "Yeah, I'll help you, man... I still can't
believe that thing was a Circle Mage..."
Edge grinned, nodding, "Hopefully, I won't let you down, this time."
"Hah. You've never let me down."
Edge had always had low self-esteem issues. Thankfully, Lone

never had that. Ever.
Still, to try and cheer his friend up, he decided to change the
subject, "So... what's my cut?"
The Rogue laughed, smiling and averting his gaze... "50-50, but
after the profits, yeah? --I gotta pay off a few other parties
involved..."
Lone slowly pursed his lisp to the side. 50-50 was far too good of
a deal. Edge wasn't the type to lie to him, though. The guy was
seriously just too nice!
The thought of it reminded him of one of Boss Tycon's ominous

sayings...
In their profession... good people are always the first to die.
...
The two dashed down the hallway, then hid to avoid the eyes of
two wandering Church Acolytes. The wing of the Basilica they
were in was packed full of doors. It made Lone feel uneasy.
From the look of the people they saw, behind those doors would
be... living quarters.
Lone steadied his breathing, his back to the cold stone wall, "What
are we looking for?"
"Set of items. The owner won't miss 'em..." Edge whispered. "Only
problem's that working in the Basilica has a ten thousand percent
increased chance of crucifixion."
"What kind of items?" Lone frowned, "Drugs?" Magic?"
"Neither. We're looking for exotics," The Rogue shrugged.
"Seven hells, Edge... what kind of person are you working for?"
"Not something I wanted to ask... Even considering the risks, the

coin's too good to pass up."
Lone grimaced, "That's pretty suspicious..."
"I'm tired of hurting people, Lone," Edge let out a defeated sigh.
"Thankfully, borrowing things is just as lucrative."
"That's called *stealing,* Edge."

Edge chuckled quietly to himself, "Things go missing all the time...
It'd be a waste if no one made a profit off it."
Lone peeked down the hallway... and seeing that it was clear, he
waved his partner-in-crime forward. Sprinting past dozens of
nearly identical-looking doors, Edge slowed his pace near one it
looked like he picked at random.
"This is the one," He pointed.
Lone was lost inside of buildings-- not like in the wilds. He figured
it was probably a downside of being a Ranger.
Still, he had a trick or two-- one of them, he'd learned only

recently.
"Let me give it a try," Lone smirked.
"Really?" Edge glanced nervously down either side of the hall,

"You pick up some Rogue skills, Lone? If your class has been
Hero, all this time, I'm gonna kick your arse, y'know."
"You wouldn't be the first to try, nor the last to fail," Lone stepped
past his friend and gently pressed his hand against the wood...
"Open the door, little one..."
He closed his eyes, regulated his breathing, and opened up his

senses to the world of mana. There, he searched for 'life'... hoping
to find the presence of the Door Spirit.
He couldn't find anything, though. Unlike in the forests, everything

around was just dull stone.
Wherever the Door Spirit was, he wasn't skilled enough to find it.
Or maybe... there wasn't one?
...Tycon made the whole process of Door-Whispering look easier

than it actually was.
"Uh..." Edge prodded him, "Is it working?"

Lone retracted his hand, placing it on the back of his head, "N-
nah. Go ahead."
"Um... alright. Watch me while I take care of this."
Taking Lone's place, Edge took his glove off his left hand, and
held it over the door's locking mechanism. His eyes glowed with
mana as he channeled his skill, "⌈Unseal.⌋"
Lone carefully watched their surroundings... but twice as carefully,

he watched his partner.
There was a reason Edge kept his left hand gloved. He held a
forbidden curse inside of his body. He'd only seen glimpses of it...
but what little he'd seen made him glad that he wore a set of
enchanted Never-Soil Trousers.
It was also why most people were smart enough to avoid working
with the guy.
Lone was different, though. He was immortal.
That uneasiness didn't leave him, though-- and he watched beads

of sweat form and drip down the blonde Rogue's face...
"Can you handle it?" He asked.
"I'm stronger than you remember," Edge growled.
He sounded more confident than he looked. Lone watched him for

several more moments... his entire hand turned pale... and then
his entire body began to tremble.
"Don't push yourself too hard," He whispered.
"I can control the-- ARGHHH!!" Suddenly Edge's eyes turned ink
black. A thick liquid of the same color streamed out of his mouth
as if he'd bit his tongue.
Lone narrowed his eyes, slowly and calmly drawing his sword... "If
you lose control for even a second... I've got to put you down."
"Wouldn't... ergh... have it... any other way... GrrrraARRgH!!"
Edge's hand glowed bright with mana... and finally, the door gave
way, pushing wide open.
Grabbing Edge underneath his arms, Lone dragged the man into
the room. After he closed the door behind them, the Rogue
dropped to his hands and knees, desperately gasping for breath.
Lone took a quick look at his friend. His eyes had returned to
normal and he'd wiped off the bile on chin with his sleeve. It
looked like whatever was sealed inside of him hadn't won... not
yet.
"Looks like you figured it out?"
"Y... yeah," Edge nodded.
He reluctantly swallowed whatever was in his mouth before

shaking his head and getting back to his feet, "I only dare to use
all my power, with you keeping me in check. Not many people can
defeat me, you know."
"We got wrecked in the Martial Tournament," Lone reminded him.
"I'm not gonna use my full power in a coliseum full of a hundred

thousand people," Edge shrugged. "I've at least that much sense."
Lone laughed... then paused to examine their surroundings...

"Uh... Edge?"
"Yeap?"
Large wardrobe dresser. Expensive mirror. Small pots of hair

products. Makeup trays. Colored sheets and luxurious pillows.
And most damning of all, the room smelled... nice.
Lone gulped... "Why... are we in... a woman's room?"
The blonde Rogue had his back turned and was rifling through
what appeared to be... a hamper for dirty clothes, "Aha... not what
I expected."
Turning dramatically, he revealed his prize stretched between his
two hands, "We're lookin' for these."
Lone's eyes widened, as he stared in disbelief at a triangle of

black lace... "Please... please don't tell me that's what we're
looking for."
"Behold," Edge smirked. "These are the used undergarments of

Archbishop Natalya Crucis."
Chapter 540 Ghost?
ycondrius had no idea where his Ranger companion had gone

T
off to.
After escaping the lair of the Archbishop, he wandered about the

Basilica grounds, asking for a young, cheek-scarred male.
He found multiple witnesses who recalled a wandering young

gentleman-- one who looked rather gullible or easy to take
advantage of. That was undoubtedly Barza Keith, the Lone
Shadowdark.
In theory, Lone should be able to take care of himself. He was a

grown man, after all... and he'd survived worse odds over the past
two or so years.
...It still worried him.
The Basilica was an immense and impressive castle-type

structure with multiple courtyards and various lines of defense.
The design was intentionally confusing for would-be attackers. It

was very plausible to be lost within its walls for several bells. It
also had many sensitive areas to avoid and too many
personalities to possibly and plausibly offend.
Mister Lone... had the uncanny ability to encounter life-or-death

situations... and did so with an unsettling level of regularity.
Tycon's search brought him to a massive empty room with stained

glass windows and a sky-scraping ceiling. It was spacious enough
to comfortably fit a century formation... as well as an attachment
of cavalry-- and a small host of winged angels, hovering
overhead.
Other than the several dozen marble statues arranged about, he
hadn't encountered any living and breathing persons for the past
twenty or so minutes.
He might have been... in a place considered 'sensitive'.
He... may have willfully ignored a mundane barrier or three.
Theoretically, he was worried for his trouble-seeking Ranger.
Factually... he had grown bored of waiting.
The place he found sated his curiosity.
He walked about leisurely, admiring the collection of Tyrion art and

architecture. It was rather relaxing, enjoying himself while free of
the discordant noise that humans tended to make in groups.
Then... he sensed something behind him. It stopped moving at

roughly the same time he noticed it.
Tycon restrained himself from drawing his blade-whip.
The Basilica was the safest place in the Holy Country. Any hostile
creatures that dared to show themselves would be utterly
destroyed by the half-dozen or so powerful Gold-Ranks within the
capital.
Drawing a weapon would make *him* that hostile creature.
Instead, he instilled mana into his form and turned as fast as he

could, hoping to catch a glimpse of whatever ghost was haunting
him.
There, he saw a girl.
⟬ Unranked Human. ⟭
Not a ghost-- at first observation, anyroad.
Tycon furrowed his brows and relaxed his posture. A mere human
girl was nothing to worry about.
She was young-- maybe about Athena's age, petite and slightly
shorter than he was. She had shoulder-length, light purple hair
and wore the plain robes of a simple acolyte.
Tycon approached the young lady, his echoing steps the only
sound in the spacious, high-roofed room.
Looking her over, he noted the particular subtle smile she wore.
She looked amused, as if she knew something that he did not.
...It made him want to tease her.
Tycon lightly flicked her forehead, eliciting a surprised gasp that

broke the silence.
Not a ghost-- or the probability was low, that she was.
The girl put her palms on her head, shutting her eyes.
It was a gross overreaction. He hadn't hit the girl hard enough to

leave a mark.
The young girl recovered, pouting as if offended.
She poked him back.
Tycon allowed it. It was an equivalent exchange.
...After that, their 'conversation' came to a halt.
He wondered who this strange girl was... and why she wasn't
speaking.
...She was probably wondering the same thing, of him.
However, the rules for the 'game' had become established. If he

could keep his silence for longer than his mysterious opponent, he
would be the 'winner.'
Smiling politely, he turned his attention back to the Tyrion statues,

hoping to bait a reaction.
He got one... a ringing sound.
It was reminiscent of a bell... a small, glass bell, smaller than a

palm... lightly shaken.
Tycon slowly turned back towards where he heard the noise...
The young girl was covering her mouth with her hands.
Hm...
If she wasn't a ghostly spirit, with that sound... one particular

bloodline came to mind.
Celestial.
If that assumption was true, the young woman could speak... but it
would sound nothing like that of a common language.
What was strange... was that his System classified her as human.
In order to fool Tycon's senses, the young lady either had a very
high level of illusory or transformative skill... or had a very specific,
very rare ability.
Thankfully, she did not seem to be an enemy.
The acolyte lifted her hands up and began to flash a series of

gestures, [Why are you angry?]
Tycon frowned. He wasn't upset. He was just--
He had a naturally upset-looking face.
Trying to twist his face into a more agreeable expression, Tycon

signed back, [I'm not angry.]
[You look angry.]
[I'm not.]
The conversation stopped there. Tycon was fully expecting some

sort of... challenge, asking why he was present. Nothing came. He
waited several more silent moments until he finally gave in to his
curiosity.
[Did you have a question?] He signed.
The purple-haired girl smiled and nodded... [What is your name?]
Tycon hesitated. He much preferred to speak his name than to

sign it.
If the young lady had the blood of angels coursing through her
veins, she could easily be older than he was. An Ancient who
resided in the Holy Country had a strong likelihood to recognize
his name... and that of his family.
...Also, it was troublesome to sign all the letters in 'Tycondrius of

Charm.'
"My name is Tycon," He bowed graciously. "Might I ask for yours,

young lady?"
The acolyte took on a look of panic-- which hinted that she may
not have been an Ancient, after all.
She performed a somewhat clumsy curtsy, then signed, [My name

is Τ - Ρ - Ο - I - Α.]
Tycon nodded. It was a fine, aesthetically pleasing name, "Hello,

Miss Troia."
[Hello.]
"...Would you like some pork jerky?"
...
Tycon and the quiet girl browsed the art and statue gallery while
snacking on pork jerky. She kept by him, asking mundane
questions, and over time, overcame her initial shyness.
Troia had a pet named Scar.

Tycon's favorite color was... green?
Troia's favorite gladiator was Ranger Quies, on the account that

he was dashing and brave.
His was... himself-- for the same reasons, of course.
It was... the most pleasant afternoon he'd had, as of recent. The

quiet atmosphere of the empty room was... serene and safe...
thoughtful and somewhat nostalgic.
The topic of food came about.
They talked about only that for nearly a bell. The young lady
professed a love for cooking-- but admitted that she was a terrible
baker.
That was reasonable. Cooking was... an art, with improvisation

able to yield excellent, if varying results. Baking was a practice in
precision and building upon long-established rules.
If Tycon didn't have his System for timing and temperature

measurement, his baking would suffer tremendously.
After a lighthearted (but somehow fierce) debate over the merits

of different types of pastries, the young lady stared at the ceiling
with starry eyes.
...Slowly turning to him, she signed, [What is your quest?]
Tycon sighed... thinking back on how to answer.
He woke up in this world without his memories. The only major

clue to his motivations was that he was indebted to someone... his
blood-related mother. Delving into his past, he learned that he
needed to perform three tasks in order to repay that debt.
One such task was to restore the honorable name of House

Vanzano and its mistress, the young Athena. Initially, he'd planned
to do so with heartless calculation. Over time, he grew fond of the
young lady's smile.
As long as Athena was placed on the road to success, his task
would be complete. However, with the friendship he'd developed,
he sought to support her with all his power.
Athena's enemies were his.
He would lead the charge into Caeruleum by himself, if he had to.

House Vanzano would gain influence and respect through
overwhelming military and personal strength.
That.... was all far too complicated to explain, especially through

sign language.
Instead, he signed the 'correct' answer, [I wish to kill villains...]
Troia nodded wistfully... then signed, [Why do you journey?]
He hadn't thought much on why. He had allies... some he lost

along the way, some he gained.
He used them.
Granted, he sought a fair exchange. He would instill into his

friends and allies, strength or coin or honor-- whatever was
desirable. They, in turn, would help him achieve his goals.
[I wish to repay my debts,] Tycon signed.
The young woman took a deep breath... her hands moving almost
reluctantly, [Why do you kill?]
Tycon laughed. That was easy.
[Because I enjoy it.]
[That's not true!] Troia puffed her cheeks, signing angrily, [Don't
lie!]
[I'm very good at killing,] Tycon chuckled, signing whimsically.
[You're a good person!]

What? Tycon couldn't help but laugh aloud... [You're mistaken.]
Troia pouted... [You are a kind and just Prince.]
A cold chill washed over Tycon as he narrowed his eyes...
She knew who he was.

Chapter 541 Offering A Hero
roia dipped her head, bringing her hands up in a panic, [Why are
T
you angry?]
"I'm *not* angry," Tycondrius pursed his lips.
[You're a little angry,] The young lady stressed motioning her

palms together as if squeezing Tycon's supposed emotions.
He groaned, averting his gaze away and to the side. He wasn't

angry-- he was... frustrated. And the source of his frustrations
were the... hand signals from a frail teenage girl.
Troia circled around to stand in front of him, again wearing her

smug, know-it-all smile, [I will help you.]
Tycon grimaced as he inhaled deeply through his nostrils. While it

was nice of the young woman, he was very doubtful she was as
useful as she thought.
"Hmph," He crossed his arms, "And how are you planning on

accomplishing that?"
[I will call a hero to aid you in your quest,] She signed.
"A hero..." Tycon shook his head, chuckling derisively. Hero was
easily the rarest Class in the Realm, and the appearance of which
was portentous to threats that could destabilize or destroy the
entire Realm.
He absolutely did not want the aid of an actual Hero.
Still... a figurative hero wouldn't be so bad.

Tycon pursed his lips... "The only person in this place capable of
helping me would be... the High Oracle."
The High Oracle was the only person in the Holy Country that
ranked above Archbishop Crucis. With a word from her, the
process of getting his request approved would be expedited
greatly.
However, from what Tycon had gathered, that person was

notoriously difficult to talk to. Though she was reputed to be an
Oracle to her deity, the Eternal Flame, in actuality, she was treated
more like a goddess.
If Tycon wanted an audience with her, he'd likely have to literally

fight through dozens of the Church's most zealous defenders...
including the Archbishop. But if this young lady had connections...
Troia pointed to herself.
Tycon raised a hand.... and also pointed at her.
She pointed at herself again, smiling radiantly.
...Oh.
Of course.
"Troia..." Tycon twisted his lips to the side, "are you, by chance...
the High Oracle?"
She nodded.
...Tycon narrowed his eyes and sneered, "You don't look like one."
The young lady opened her mouth wide in shock-- but quickly
composed herself... [Is it because I'm a girl?]
"What? No," Tycon glared.
Doubt does not always relate to gender discrimination. In fact, he

thought it was sexist of the young lady to assume so.
"Everyone knows the High Oracle is a girl," Tycon argued.
[Is it because I'm short?]
She was a little bit taller than Athena-- maybe matching

Sasarame's height in her dark elf form.
"Negative. You're about... average height for a young lady, are you
not?"
The young lady puffed out her cheeks. Her eyes lost focus as she
lost herself in thought, but brightened with another short-sighted
accusation...
[Is it because I'm pretty?]
"Sure," Tycon shrugged. "Let's go with that."
Sasarame was much prettier than Troia was. However, beauty

was subjective. Saying she was attractive without context was not
a lie.
High Oracle Troia grinned with a smile so bright it probably utilized

a bit of radiant mana.
Tycon had to squint to prevent his eyes from hurting.
...
⟬ The Owlbar Inn, late that evening. ⟭
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, heard the whistle of a

crossbow bolt and felt it thunk into the table he was taking cover
behind.
Undeterred, he bound a strip of cloth tightly over his injured bicep.

He didn't want to use his healing potion for just the arrow wound.
He and Edge were being attacked by a gaggle of thugs and
undead.
With the way the night was going, it was only going to get worse.
"REALLY, EDGE?!" He turned to scream at his partner, "Did you
not CHECK who the buyer was??!"
Edge ducked his head down-- a thrown hatchet had bounced off
of the top of the wood. A few ilms down, and it could have been in
the man's skull, "Come ON, Lone! How in the SEVEN HELLS
would I know we were dealing with the Flamescarred
NEMAYANS!!"
Lone drew his pistol and rolled out of cover. Two well-placed shots
dropped two Sleeping Country gangsters, but a green bolt from a
mage's wand forced him to jump for cover behind the bar.
A skeleton had crawled its way over the counter. Lone grabbed its
skull and smashed his own skull against it, turning it into bone
powder.
...Breathing it in, he was overcome with a coughing fit.
"You good, Lone?!" Edge shouted.
"NO!!" Lone replied, "The buyer's name was DIMITRI!! You can't
get MORE NEMAYAN than THAT!!!"
"FIIIINE!!" Edge half-groaned and fully-yelled. "I made a mis-

TAKE!!"
"YES!!" Lone roared, hocking phlegm and spitting to the side,

"Yes, you did!!"
Lone watched Edge roll onto his back, kicking the table forward
with both feet. It crashed into an approaching skeleton and it
clattered apart into inanimate bones.
The undead the Nemayans had raised weren't too resilient, but,
there were a lot of them. Also, they were supported by people who
were still alive... which really wasn't fair.
Lone began to haphazardly throw half-empty bottles of alcohol

over the bar at their attackers. Maybe if he was lucky, one of them
would get hurt?
"Is that your big plan, Lone?!" Edge yelled, "Think of ANOTHER
ONE!!"
"Geek the mage?!" He shouted, "Maybe!?"
"Got it!!" Edge flipped onto his feet, simultaneously drawing two
handfuls of throwing spikes, "⌈Fan of Knives!!⌋"
This was their best plan, yet.
Lone emerged from cover, his pistol steadied in both hands.
The Sleeping Country gangsters were all screaming as Edge's

skill sent eight sharp blades straight at the robed mage. All eight
stuck into the man's eyes, mouth, neck, chest, and arms.
That was a *really* good Skill.
The distraction allowed Lone to place two well-placed shots into

the chests of the remaining two living-- and a head-shot into the
last not-so-living.
"Clear!" He called out, holstering his smoking weapon.
Edge sank a dagger blade into one of the Nemayan's throats,

before wiping it on their clothes.
"All clear," The Rogue confirmed.
"Seven hells," Lone furrowed his brows, "Where's the

Necromancer?"
Chapter 542 Dimitri
" Doesn't matter where Dimitri is," Edge walked to the door,
smashing it open with a heavy kick. "We gotta get outta here
before the Church enforcers investigate the noise."
"P-please leave, already!" An armored Champion yelped from

underneath a downed bar table, "I'll tell them you escaped!"
"Good enough for me!" Edge rushed out of the building, into the
streets.
"Tell 'em heretics did it!" Lone kindly suggested.
"Just GO!!!!"
Rushing after his partner, Lone caught up quickly enough... and

their sprint slowed to a steady jog.
"What do you think they want with... y'know... the items?" Lone
asked.
"Hells if I know, Lord Ranger," Edge growled. "But I ain't betraying

my country for a few silver slugs."
"[Then How About... Your Life?!]" A raspy voice cut through the
night...
Lone threw himself off the road to the right, Edge backflipping to
the left-- and both of them barely dodged a brilliant eruption of
green flame.
The path was on fire. There was a hidden enemy that could cast
magic.
Lone nodded as he got to his feet. At least he wasn't surprised.

A suit of dark metal armor stepped out the glowing green, holding
a wicked, two-handed halberd sheathed in the stuff. It flipped up
its visor, revealing a sunken undead face.
"[Hand Over the Items and You May Live,]" It spoke... with
Dimitri's voice, echoey and tainted with Nemayan magic.
"Nah," Edge drew his rapier. "That's what the villains say in the
stories. That's obviously a lie!"
"Again, this is all your fault, Edge," Lone rolled his eyes. "I mean--
look at this guy!! He's clearly evil!"
"I already said I was wrong!" The Rogue snapped, "What more do
you want?!"
"Say it again," Lone smirked. "I just like hearing it."
"[SHUT UP AND DIE, TYRION SCUMMMM!!]" Zombie-Dimitri

roared.
With supernatural speed, the armored zombie leapt up, and it

brought its domineering halberd down onto Edge.
Edge reached up to block-- but his rapier's caged hilt was useless.
The weapon was sent tumbling away, the metal aflame, and when
it landed it was twisted and distorted from the brief contact with
the dark magic.
Lone unloaded shot after shot into the undead's back-- but each
bullet was stopped by a wall of screaming ghostly skulls.
"AIIEAAAAAEEEEGHHH!!!!" The spirits rushed towards him.
...which was something Lone really should have expected.
Thinking quickly, he grabbed the Dark Iron wolf-hammer on his

waist, "⌈Flame On!⌋"
Tres Leches lit aflame, and swinging it upward, he managed to

scatter the ghostly wall into... over a dozen ghost skulls, flying
independently of each other.
Shite.
Edge was dipping, ducking, and dodging the undead's quick

halberd swipes, "Little help?!"
"Use your dagger!" Lone shouted back.
Edge dropped down and rolled backward to barely avoid a

magical halberd smash that obliterated a building wall, "UsE yOuR
DaGgEr, EdGe! How can I use a dagger against an ARMORED
CLASS?!"
Lone swung his wolf-hammer, dissipating exactly one of the many

ghost-skulls flitting around him, "What, you wanna switch?!"
Edge retreated to beside Lone, trusting him with his back, "Yeah, I
do!!"
The ghost-skulls withdrew, spinning around Dimitri's armored form

like a swarm of fat, ugly seagulls. The Nemayan spun his halberd,
sprinting towards them, "[Not Even Death Will Be the End for
You!!!!]"
""SWITCH!!"" Lone had turned to Edge, screaming at the top of

his lungs. Edge had done the same.
Lone wanted to say it was because they worked well together...

but in his heart, he just knew they both really, really didn't want to
die.
The screaming skulls spiraled towards them, but Edge was ready
to intercept. He drew his dagger and started to spin with the force
and fury of a children's toy, "⌈Spinniiiiiiiiiing SLAAAASH!!!!⌋"
Edge's stark, glowing blade cut through the night, destroying a

very decent four skulls. He had to dive away from a fifth one,
though.
"Shite!" He screamed.
Lone grit his teeth and widened his stance. Any way he looked at
the situation, his job was far worse. He took in a deep breath,
circulated his mana, and swung his wolf-hammer, "⌈Flaaaame
ONNN!!!!⌋"
Dimitri skidded in the dirt, repositioning his halberd to deflect the

strike.
BANG!! Impact!!
The armored zombie was forced to step back...
"Shhhiiite!" Lone echoed...
His strength was enough. He just needed to get past Dimitri's

defenses and land a single, solid hit...
Suddenly, an ice-cold shock of pain traveled up his left leg-- the

rest of his body chilled, while that leg burned hot, like it was trying
to reject whatever was attacking it.
"Got it!" Edge kicked one of the skulls away.
Lone knelt down, wincing in pain, and rubbing at where he was

bit, "ArrrrRRRGH! That HURRRTS!"
"Yeah, why didn't you dodge?" Edge rolled his eyes.
"Shut up," Lone groaned loudly... "Using magic isn't fair..."
"Necromancy spells're no joke," Edge spat. "Listen, Lone, I can't

fight off so many fliers with just my dagger."
Lone drew the Shatterspike off of his back, offering his partner the
hilt, "You know how to use this thing?"
"Psh," He took it. "Do I know how to use this thing..."
"Well, do you?" Lone stared.
"Just watch," Edge flourished the sword, testing its weight in his
hands... "⌈Spinning Slash.⌋"
The Rogue steadied himself, then spun in a circle, the
Shatterspike arcing around him, lashing out at over a dozen
skulls. Once he stopped, not a single one was left. He slashed the
air, cleaning the spirit goo off the blade.
Lone clenched his eyes shut, rubbing at his hurt leg.

Unfortunately, Dimitri didn't want to let him rest-- even for a
moment. Lone brought up Tres Leches to block a green-flamed
halberd strike, and then he had to combat-roll away as another
weird green geyser erupted from where he was.
He speed-crawled towards the safety of Edge...
Looking up with an angry glare, he began to shout, "And WHY

don't you ALWAYS use two-handed weapons? HUH?!"
"One-handed weapons look cooler," The Rogue shrugged as he

helped Lone back to his feet.
"Hey, Dimitri!!!" Edge shouted, "You Flame-taken son of a b*tch!!!

All this?! For an Archbishop's dirty underwear?!"
Chapter 543 Feeling Pain
arza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark stepped away from a

B
suspicious-looking mound of earth. A moment later, it burst open
and began to wheeze bursts of noxious green smoke.
Zombie-Dimitri slammed the end of his halberd into the ground.

The night lamps illuminating the streets dimmed... and several
more holes opened in the ground surrounding the Rogue-Ranger
team.
"Hey, Edge," Lone frowned.
"Yah?"
"In the Holy Country... can uh... making holes in the roads get you
executed?"
Edge grimaced as he surveyed the area, "M...aybe. But I think the

uh... Necromancy's a more executable offense."
"Oh. Right," Lone nodded, "Necromancy's illegal here..."
"[You...]" Dimitri growled, deep and echoey... "[Once My Order

Claims the Essence of an Archbishop, Master Dunzis Will
Cleanse This Realm of Your Holy Country... Nay... of ALL THE
LIVING!!!!]"
"Makes sense," Edge scratched his head... "if a little... confusing.

Doesn't... blood make more sense as a magical reagent?"
"He's got the spirit, though..." Lone tilted his head up, grimacing,
"I'm just glad we got an answer to why exactly that guy needed
panties."
"High-Low?" Edge whispered.

"I'll take the high..." Lone nodded.
"[SUBMIT!!!!]" Dimitri roared, "[OR!!! DIIIIIE!!!!]"
The open earth began to geyser concentrated streams of green

flame, crackling and roaring like vomiting bears. Spectral
humanoid shapes began to crawl out of them, adding pained wails
and shrieking. The cries of the dead were loud, annoying, and
made it hard to think.
Fear tugged at Lone's heart-- but that wasn't anything new. He

rated it a... three out of ten, where he'd shite himself at about
seven or eight.
Chuckling to himself, he stepped forward, twirling his wolf-hammer

by the handle, "Excuse me, Necromancer-guy! I'll take the THIRD
option!!!"
"By the Flame," Edge raised an eyebrow. "Really, Lone?"
"Come on, Edge. We always do this," Lone insisted.
"Yeah, I know-- but considering the circumstances..." The Rogue

shook his head, "No. You're right. Go ahead."
"Thank you," Lone groaned.
Dimitri pointed his halberd forward, standing tall and domineering,

"[And. What... Option. Is. That??]"
Lone showed the Necromancer an offensive gesture, grinning like

a maniac, "YOURRRRRR MOMMMMMM!!"
The armored zombie froze still... stunned... angry... INTIMIDATED

by Lone's arrogance!
"[MY! MOTHERRRR!!]" Dimitri sprinted forward, heedless of

defense, "[IS A NIIIIICE LADYYYY!!!!]"
"Yeahhh," Lone muttered... "Got him."

"Not so fast, heretic!" Edge dropped his body, swinging the
Shatterspike low.
"[USELESS!!!]" Dimitri slammed the haft of his magical halberd

down, blocking the strike.
"And take this!!" Lone raised his wolf-hammer overhead, ready to

smash it down.
"[I Will Not Allow It!! ]" Dimitri quickly swiped his halberd
horizontally.
The blade smashed into Lone's side, cutting into his gambeson...
but thankfully not sinking in too deeply. It hurt like hells and the
magic burned cold against his skin... but he ignored the pain and
hooked the halberd haft with his right arm.
He was definitely going to need a healing potion... and hopefully,

he'd be able to do so before his adrenaline wore off-- or before he
died, anyroad.
Zombie-Dimitri tilted his head, "[Your... Weapon?]"
"Oh?" Lone grinned. Still holding the Necromancer's halberd tight,

he showed off his empty palms, "So you've figured out my genius
plan?"
The growls of a Dark Iron wolf made Dimitri turn his head, but it
was too late to react. Tres Leches bit into the back of the zombie's
right heel.
"[Aa-aarrgh!!]"
That was Lone's chance. He leapt up with both feet, planting a

double-drop kick into Dimitri's armored chest. The zombie lost grip
of his halberd, flying onto his back with a noisy crash of metal
plates.
Edge immediately fell upon him, drawing his dagger and lifting up
Dimitri's visor. He placed two quick stabs in both eyes, then twice
in the throat.
"Quick!" He shouted, "The Necromancer is controlling this thing
from a distance! We have to destroy the body before he recovers!"
"Right! Get the balls, Tres Leches!" Lone commanded.
"GrrrRAWRR," The loyal wolf savaged the zombie's crotch.
Lone stood back up, willfully ignoring the burning pain in his arm,
his leg, and the right side... and started hacking the halberd into
Dimitri's right elbow.
"[WHYYYYYYYYYY THE BALLLLLSSS?!?!?]" Dimitri wailed.
"He can feel pain!" Edge shouted, "Don't stop!!!"
...
⟬ The Basilica, following morning. ⟭
Tycondrius found the High Oracle's ritual hall to be... unorthodox.

It turned out to be the large, high-ceiling room he had found the
previous sun.
It was well lit by way of the tall, stained-glass windows and the
colonnades seemed to be enchanted with a touch of radiant
magic. The statues were moved, relocated to its edges, and most
interestingly, a large wooden stage had been erected at the far
end.
"I... don't really understand," Tycon admitted.
"The High Oracle works in mysterious ways," Archbishop Crucis

rolled her eyes.
That... that meant absolutely nothing.
When Tycon previously worked with large-scale rituals, he was

used to expensive candles mixed with mana dust. The hall had
none.
He was also used to elaborate drawn formations... and smaller

redundancies of those formations-- those were not present or...
were hidden.
Most of all, ritual rooms were typically quiet spaces, far isolated
from passersby.
Despite that, hundreds, if not thousands of chairs and benches

had been moved into the hall. The once empty area was full of
Champions, Acolytes, Priests, and the like-- all devout members
of the Church of the Eternal Flame.
As the number of open seats dwindled, more visitors elected to

stand... and soon, the place was packed tighter than cargo in a
ship hold.
So... many... people were impossible to keep even remotely quiet.

A hero summoning was a supremely powerful ritual... If any of the
assisting casters suffered a lapse in concentration, they risked a
catastrophic spell failure that could easily wipe out 90% of the
room, living and not.
Tycon was absolutely baffled that the lead caster, the High Oracle
herself, could undertake such great risk.
"What kind of... ritual is this?" He asked Natalya, his voice

incredulous, "What are its components? Synchronized chanting?
...Life essence?"
Natalya groaned, "Tyrion rituals are several cuts above the

backwater spells of your nonbelievers in the Beast Kingdoms."
Tycon rolled his eyes. The Free Nation was sometimes

derogatorily called the Beast Kingdoms. It was a gross
exaggeration, as humans still claimed the highest population.
"You can't tell me that these thousands of people are necessary

for it?"
Chapter 544 Hero Summoning
" Of course not," Natalya glared as if Tycondrius was the idiot.

"The faithful are here to bear witness to the Eternal Flame's
greatness. The High Oracle doesn't perform rituals for just
*anyone.* The last time she did was resurrecting the Hero of
Passage."
Tycon grimaced... "You told me you can't resurrect worshippers of

the Eternal Flame."
"Special circumstances," The woman pressed her finger against

Tycon's cheek, turning him away. "And that person was trapped in
the City of Iron."
"Very well..." Tycon rolled his eyes.
Natalya was referring to one of the seven hells... It made sense,

but he remained unhappy about it.
Crossing his arms, Tycon watched the happenings on-stage.

There were a number of Metal-Ranked Priestesses and Acolytes
assisting the High Oracle with preparations. It was the largest
collection of Iron-Rank casters he'd ever seen... and there were
even two Gold-Ranks.
There was a section of musical instruments and what appeared to

be a full orchestra... and their conductor was even an Iron-Rank
Pianist. They were setting up in a curved corner of the room,
designed to naturally project sound.
Since Natalya was being an inadequate source of information,

Tycon turned his attention to the whisperings of the crowd. After
several minutes, he identified the most trending topic.
An extraordinarily handsome, unknown Decanus was sitting
beside Archbishop Natalya Crucis.
Tycon leaned over, cupping his hand over his female companion's
ear...
"Natalya~" He whispered.
She sat up as if jolted by electricity, before turning towards him

with a furious expression, "W-what is it?"
He blew softly onto Natalya's neck, "Do you not often speak so
intimately to male members of your Church?"
Natalya's eye twitched with annoyance, "By the Flame, no! I would
never be so unprofessional."
"Well..." Tycon's lips curved upward into a sly smile, "Are you
aware of the implications of acting so close with me?"
Natalya's eyes lit up with realization... then anger. She grabbed

the edges of her chair and hopped a few ilms away...
"Y-you'll pay for this, Decanus," She growled.
Tycon chuckled to himself, basking in his social dominance.
The Archbishop couldn't touch him, so long as he remained

favored by the Holy Country's High Oracle.
...
Troia took the stage, dressed in light makeup, colorful ribbons in

her hair, and a flowing 'ceremonial' half-robe.
Her attire was aesthetically pleasing, accentuating the young

Oracle's age and femininity, while still being conservative.
Tycon thought it was... nice.
If he had to venture a guess, the outfit was designed by a...

teenage girl. If Troia did so herself, she was very talented.
The High Oracle's appearance was met with a round of
thunderous applause. Tycon stood with the crowd, joining in,
clapping hard enough to make his hands sore.
If participation was part of the ritual, he would clap just as hard as

everyone present. He very much wanted to survive.
One of the Gold-Rank Priestesses announced the ritual name...

'Head in the Clouds.'
That... didn't sound like the name of a ritual. It sounded more like
the name of a bardic song.
Ritual casters were an odd bunch. Perhaps they were the Holy
Country's version of 'Mad Wizards' from other nations.
Then the music began.
On stage, Troia and her entourage began... to dance.
Tycon was impressed... "This is... actually very nice."
"See?" Natalya sneered, "Now you understand."
The choreography was excellent. The High Oracle and her

Priestesses were in near perfect synchronization... actively
moving and moderately acrobatic. If he and Sol Invictus were to
emulate their physically demanding movements, it would take
several bells of practice and would be greatly fatiguing.
The High Oracle began to sing, as well. Her voice sounded like
the ringing of a glass bell, just as he expected. She sang in
Celestial, the language of angels and gods. He had his System
translate the lyrics' meaning, but it was mostly nonsense.
They... also sounded like they were written by a teenage girl.
Radiant mana flowed throughout the room, swelling as the

performance continued. Bursts of light, as if from fireworks
sparkled in the air above them. Troia was glowing-- literally... and
upon the ritual's conclusion, she bowed deeply, eliciting cheers
and a round of deafening applause.
Tycon clapped just as loud. He couldn't shake the fear that his life
depended on it.
The Fourth Circle ritual required incredibly exact coordination of

physical and magical skill... and it was performed to perfection.
The melody was... simple, yet aesthetically pleasing. Whoever

had arranged the score masterfully expressed the minutiae in the
various instruments-- playful and courageous, soft and
melancholic at times. The band was a perfect accompaniment to
Troia's performance.
...Tycon expected the tune to haunt him for the next several suns,
if not longer.
The collective crowd gasped as a glowing sphere of light began to

descend from the ceiling.
Tycon had never bore witness to the summoning of a Hero... the

powerful, confident, and somewhat... gentle mana swirling in the
air undoubtedly belonged to one.
At first, the light was no larger than the size of a fist... then grew
as large as a person... then as the magical haze lifted, that
person's features grew clear.
One of the Gold-Rank Priestesses on the stage announced the

obvious result, "High Oracle Troia has successfully summoned the
Hero!"
Tycon narrowed his eyes... and let out a deep sigh.
"Why did you stop clapping?" Natalya scowled. "Are you not
entertained?"
Tycon shook his head, "Ah... it's of no consequence."
That person's majestic battle-garb glowed a divine white.
Long, sandy blonde hair rested upon the frame of a handsome,

young male.
In his right hand, he carried a powerful, enchanted... crimson...
spear.
"Your face is really pissing me off, Tycondrius," The woman

glared.
...How was that his problem?
He grimaced, "This is the way I look, Natalya."
"The High Oracle is summoning a hero to help YOU on YOUR

quest," She growled, emphatically pointing up at the levitating
Hero. "You should be a LITTLE more thankful, don't you think?!
Especially if you're to convince him to help you!"
"My quest is honorable and righteous," Tycon groaned as he

glanced up again... "Your 'Hero' will surely assist me in my cause."
⟬ Pale, Gold-Rank Half-Elven Spear Hero. ⟭

Chapter 545 Star-Fury
atalya turned her nose up, "You really should be taking this all
N
more seriously!"
Tycondrius gave her a sidelong glance, "Do you realize that you're
nagging me as if we're wed?"
Natalya was the last person that should be scolding him. Tycon
was only in the Holy Country as a favor to her.
However... he decided to allow it. It was amusing to see the

woman scrunch up her face as she did.
"Ohhh, I get it. You're upset!" She crossed her arms. "Now that we
have a proper Hero, I no longer have to suffer an arrogant
philanderer from a forgotten adventurer's guild. That's you, by the
way."
"Hm, very well," Tycon gestured dismissively.
"What~?" The woman squinted her eyes and leaned forward with
a smug smile, "Nothing witty to say in response?"
Tycon sighed internally. Natalya had an unquenchable need for

getting the last word in an argument. When he previously relied on
her favor, he gave in to her whims. Thankfully, she no longer had
that luxury.
"Natalya, you wound me," Tycon feigned offense, "You used

different words to describe me, last we were alone~"
His words caused a surge of murmuring from the nearby acolytes

and soldiers. As expected, Archbishop Natalya Crucis' face turned
as red as her robes.
Tycon found that particular expression to be... endearing.
As the latent magic from the summoning ritual began to diminish,

the glow around the floating Pale began to fade. His radiant armor
shell cracked... and burst harmlessly, spreading glittering sparkles
wondrously across the room.
The young boy was wearing a handsome, pristine military coat

and trousers-- but without any markings of his rank. Such was
done, in order to publicly act without direct affiliation to the
Alizeaun military.
His attire was curious. It was as if he knew he was going to be

teleported against his will to a foreign country.
"Ohhh, he looks like a young Prince!" A female acolyte whispered.
"I ship him with the High Oracle," Another said.
That would be dangerous. Tycon made a mental note to warn

Pale to keep a respectful distance away from reasonably
attractive women that wielded the power of an entire nation.
He'd... explain such to the young man in... simpler terms, once
he'd thought of them.
Still levitating, the boy moved his legs and found himself unable to
walk normally.
That was normal. Tycon initially hypothesized that the young man
was not in control of his flight capabilities.
But as usual, the boy confounded his expectations. After a few

moments of testing, he began to fly about, performing a few
acrobatic flips and soaring high above. The assembly applauded.
...Ever the exhibitionist, that boy. Though the thought was

troubling, his father was the same way.
It was fine. The more attention that Pale garnered, the easier it
was for Tycon to remain inconspicuous... That was even more
important, considering he was the only gentleman who dared to
sexually harass the Archbishop.
High Oracle Troia began to form a series of hand signals and the
Priestess beside her translated: "Young Hero from faraway lands!
You have been summoned to save our world from dire peril!"
"Oh!" Pale grinned in embarrassment, "A-alright. I'm coming

down, now."
The young man began his slow descent towards the High Oracle.
However, his timing was... unfortunate.
Pale's summoning was a Fourth-Circle ritual. Any accompanying

spell effects, such as flight, would be logically weaker than the
base spell. A flight spell, if cast only at Third-Circle, only lasted
minutes.
Several had passed.
As Tycon expected, the flight enchantment's duration expired.

Pale plummeted down towards the stage.
Tycon glanced towards the closest exit.
The last time he tried to escape a crowded event was at the

Caeruleum coliseum. There, he failed to evade capture by
Natalya.
This time, his chances were excellent. He was wearing a set of

Decanus armor-- and there were plenty of Decani in the hall. He
could also wear his helmet to hide his uncommon hair color.
Pale, in true Sol Invictus fashion, crashed down on top of the High
Oracle.
"Th-th-th-the HIGH ORACLE'S FIRST KISS?!?!?" A certain Gold-

Rank Priestess screamed.
This prompted roars of indignation from the crowd.

Tycon took a deep breath as he circulated his mana. He was
preparing to run for his pitiful life.
"HHHWHAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTT?!?!?!" Natalya Crucis

screamed. With mana instilled into her voice, everyone in her
immediate vicinity was knocked aside.
Tycon leapt aside, emulating the effect on the lower-Ranked

ladies and gentlemen-- though he was a quarter-second slow.
Wiggling his body like the snake he actually was, he burrowed into
the pile of bodies, trying to blend in.
Tyrion steel was drawn from their sheaths. Tyrions were openly
weeping. There was screaming and... gnashing of teeth. Several
powerful persons were channeling mana, making animalistic
noises.
Tycon ignored it, the best he could, quickly and methodically low-
crawling away.
A pulse of mana, more domineering than the others, blew Tycon's

helmet off. He grabbed it before it could roll away, though. It was
expensive.
"I will not STAND FOR THIS!!!" Natalya screamed, "I don't care
whether or not you're a HERO!! No one, I mean NO ONE!
TOUCHES! THE! HIGH! ORACLLLLLLE!!!""
The band started playing again... which was a nice touch. Either
such madness was frequent in the Basilica or the professionalism
of those musicians was outstanding.
"The HEAVENS SCREAM FOR VENGEANCE!!" Natalya went on.

Her mana was almost going berserk and she was emitting a
swirling red-pink light. The tiles beneath her were cracking apart
from the pressure, and bits of debris were beginning to levitate.
That was a bit overdramatic. All this for a simple mistake? Pale's
fall was obviously an accident-- to Tycon, anyroad.
Also, the boy was younger than the High Oracle. He didn't
understand why everyone was so offended.
Religion was strange.
Natalya raised her arms and screamed to the heavens,

"⌈STAAAAR-FURYYYYY!!!!!⌋"
Tycon narrowed his eyes. That sounded like a skill... a very

powerful skill. He paused... and turned back to look.
A sixty-fulm tall, crimson-red suit of armor had coalesced into the

hall, reaching nearly halfway up to the ceiling.
That was probably Star-Fury.
It seemed that Pale was going to be killed.
...which was a shame.

Chapter 546 Dawnbringer
he Tyrions in attendance were running towards the exits in a

T
crazed panic.
Hidden in the chaos, Tycondrius got to his hands and knees,

greatly increasing his crawling speed.
There was no proper way to fight an armored suit over ten times
one's height.
'Requiescat in pace, young friend,' Tycon whispered in his heart. 'I

don't plan on seeking to avenge you, but we'll say some nice
things about you, tonight over dinner.'
Pale's certain death was a sore loss. Training a replacement

would be a necessity.
Lone was a possible candidate, though his development was...

rather mundane. He would be useless if he didn't have an
excellent work ethic and high degree of loyalty to offset his lack of
talent. However, the Ranger still needed time to grow.
He recalled that Invictus member Kimura Taree had some

potential. If she survived her training in the Free Nation with
Dragan, she'd be a half-decent replacement. With her talent, she
should be a Peak-Iron or Gold-Rank Fire Martialist... unless
Dragan developed her in a different path.
Tycon could also... recruit someone new into Sol Invictus.
A decent healer would be good-- as Tycon's own abilities were

limited at healing higher-level injury. An Armored Class would be
useful, as well, for when he didn't have access to either Dragan or
Korr.
❬❰ I Will Allow No Harm to Befall My Hero. ❱❭
A voice resounded in Tycon's head, reminiscent of a ringing glass

bell. It was Troia's voice... *speaking* through magic.
"[You Would Wield the ⌈Dawnbringer⌋, the Greatest Weapon of

Our Holy Country, Against Me?]" Natalya responded, her voice
amplified and echoed by whatever strange giant-armor-suit
magics she was using.
❬❰ Yes. What Threatens Our Realm is Greater Than Even Us,

Dear Sister. ❱❭
...Though he did not want to, Tycon again turned his head to look
back. There was a second gargantuan suit of armor in the hall-- a
few fulms shorter and colored in whites and golds.
That was probably the Dawnbringer.
He didn't see where Pale or Troia had gone off to.
He had... the most terrible suspicion that they were both inside the
second mana-construct.
"[I Will Not Allow My Innocent and Cute Little Sister to be Tainted
by an OUTSIDER!!]"
❬❰ The Hero Will Save This World. Stand Down, Sister Natalya. ❱❭
"[I Would Rather the World BURN Than Surrender to THAT

CHILD!!!!]"
"[Um...]" Pale's shy voice echoed from the white suit of armor, "
[Can we... not? fight? Please?]"
Two blazing red swords appeared in the Star-Fury armor's hands.

Erratic mana, very dangerous, high chance to explode, "[I'LL KILL
HIM!! THEN I'LL KILL THAT PRINCE!! THEN I'LL KILL
MYSELLLLLLLFFFFFFFF!!!!!!!!]"
Tycon got to his feet and began to run in earnest.

...
After making his way half-way across the Basilica grounds, Tycon
finally felt safe enough to stop running. As no one in that particular
area was panicking, he judged the giant armor duel he'd left
behind had been... contained. It may have even concluded.
He decided to wait for a few bells before asking for Pale. If Tycon
chanced into Natalya, he feared she would try to inflict physical
harm upon him, heedless of the High Oracle's protection.
He followed a small trail of signs carved into the stones... and was
led to a small, out-of-place library. The Basilica had an entire
structure devoted to housing books, only a fifteen-minute walk
away. Thus, the classroom-sized library was a curious existence.
He allowed himself in and openly announced his presence, "Good

afternoon."
There was no immediate response... and there was no

bookkeeper in attendance.
That was a shame. Tycon wanted to ask if lightning claws were

standard-equipment for Tyrion Librarians... among other things.
He shut the door behind him and began to observe his

surroundings.
It seemed that the library was vacated only recently. There were a
few books stacked up on a table. One was open, its pages
detailing a Second-Circle spell formation. Besides that were
several used pieces of parchment.
The author had penned excellent notes, especially for such a

difficult ritual. Their core understanding was good... but there
issues with the modifiers' notation.
The organization of the transcript was... lacking. The runes were

mashed into a single spell circle-- it was functional, but
troubleshooting any errors would be a pain.
...Also, their handwriting was atrocious.
Tycon took a graphite stick and circled two particular points of

interest in the book. That was his good deed for the sun.
As he'd just lost a member of Sol Invictus, he was in the market

for another recruit. If the formation mage was nearby, he'd
strongly consider recruiting them... if they proved agreeable,
anyroad.
That person's effects were still present: a bag to hold their books,
writing utensils, a scroll tube...
There was a strong bow that was well cared for... and a quiver full
of decently-crafted arrows...
...and there was an open leather wrapping that contained venison

jerky.
The spices were uniquely familiar.
...It was something he'd made.
Tycon narrowed his eyes... breathed in deeply and kept his

senses vigilant.
He didn't sense any mana fluctuations... and the scent from the
jerky clouded his immediate sense of smell. But he sensed... a
very... very slight tinge of movement.
It was as if someone was watching him... and fearing discovery,

they twitched in panic.
« System, inquiry: Who is in the room with me? »
⟬ System response: One result. Sasarame. ⟭
His... daughter was in the library?
He sighed and shook his head. Why was she hiding?
...She should very well know that hiding was useless against him?
He strode past the few bookcases... looked underneath a potted
plant... looked beneath the tables.
It took him a few minutes, but he finally found a young white-robed

acolyte curled up underneath the front desk.
It was his daughter, Sasarame, in her humanoid form. Her stark

white hair peeked out from underneath her hood, draped gently
over her sleeping face.
Why had she dozed off in such a peculiar place?
Was she not getting enough rest? ...Was she being bullied? He
was determined to speak to Natalya about his daughter's learning
conditions! Star-Fury or not, he would have answers!
",
Chapter 547 Ashes & Broken
Dreams
" Come. This is no place to sleep," Tycondrius knelt down and

picked Sasha up from underneath the table.
The library had a wooden bench with some pillows. That would be
at least slightly more comfortable than the floor.
Her stark white hair had fallen out of her white hood, revealing her
dark Elven ears. He quietly pulled her hood down to cover them.
This was the way Tycon chose to live.
He hid his true nature. He never revealed the extent of his

abilities.
He eschewed glory for the safety of being underestimated. Those

were the lessons he'd impart to his daughter.
She shot awake. She fussed and struggled. The young lady more
or less slithered out of his arms.
...It left Tycon slightly disheartened. Less than two years prior, his
daughter was small enough to carry around in his cloak.
"Sasha, I--"
Before he could finish, she dashed off, leaping and sliding over a
table... and she hid behind a bookcase.
Tycon was left standing with a hand awkwardly outstretched.
...What was that about?

The chocolate elf peeked out from her hiding spot-- then
immediately hid again.
Did... did she not know him?
She'd been studying at the Academy in Cersei's Rest for moons.

The indoctrination... had it altered her mind?
Natalya!
Had Natalya and the Church of the Eternal Flame

BRAINWASHED his beloved daughter?!
Take her memories, will they?! He would take THEIR LIVES!!

EVERYTHING and EVERYONE they have EVER LOVED!!! He
would raise their BROKEN bodies as UNDEAD and REND their
ETERNAL SOULS with CHAOS MAGIC!!!
The Basilica would be reduced to naught but ASHES and

BROKEN DREAMS!! STAR-FURY OR NOT!!!!!
The chocolate elf again peeked out from the bookcase.
"S-sasha?" Tycon gulped.
She waved her hand-- then returned to hiding.
Tycon pursed his lips...
What in the seven hells was going on?
"Young lady... is everything... quite alright?"
Sasha peeked out again... and nodded her head, 'yes.' Then she
shook it, 'no.'
...Which was it, then?
Tycon crossed his arms, "Young lady, I can't know your troubles
unless you use... words."
Sasha trudged out into full view, sighing heavily... "I'm... I'm not
done yet."
The dark-skinned girl pointed sadly at her books on the table.
It seemed she was lamenting over her after-class studies.
"...Would you like some help?" Tycon offered.
The girl gasped, bobbing her head up and down energetically.
Tycon shook his head, chuckling derisively, "If you would like my
help, you need only ask."
He moved to the table, pulled out a seat, and gestured for his
lovely daughter to sit, "Shall we?"
The young lady pattered over swiftly and obediently, a subtle

smile on her face.
...
It took less than a bell to complete Sasha's work. She'd avoided

eye contact with Tycon all the while but listened to his instruction
without complaint.
"Th... thank you, Master," She muttered quietly, closing her book.
Tycon very much wanted to ruffle the young lady's hair, but he
wouldn't risk removing her hood anywhere in the Basilica. Even
speaking Parseltongue was something he'd avoid.
"How is your life in the Academy?" Tycon inquired, "Is anyone

bullying you?"
"N...no," She shook her head... "Everyone is... nice to m-- to

Sasha."
Tycon narrowed his eyes, glancing around the library, "Have you
made any friends? I notice this place is suspiciously empty."
The chocolate elf nodded quietly... "I come to this place... to hide.
No one comes here... so I-- err... so Sasha made it her own."
Tycon sighed, shaking his head... "You may speak normally,

young lady. I know you missed me."
The little young teenage girl pouted, turning her head in the
opposite direction.
"I didn't say I missed you," She whispered.
Tycon took her hand in his... and she gripped it subconsciously--

before snatching it away and crossing her arms.
Interesting...
"Well, I suppose I could leave you to your devices, then," He stood

up and took a few steps towards the door.
After pausing dramatically, he turned back.
As he'd guessed, Sasha was holding hand outstretched towards

him.
Then she realized she'd been tricked. The young lady raised her
hands to her chest in a panic, babbling "um's" and "ah's," trying to
find an excuse.
Tycon was more amused by her contrary actions than he was

insulted.
A certain amount of rebelliousness was permissible for children.
"Y...you cannot leave," Sasha pouted. "Master... only just arrived."
Tycon felt his heart soften as he allowed himself to be dragged

back to the table.
"Very well, young lady. I'll keep you company for awhile." He
gestured to her wooden bow, "But first, let me inspect your gear
and your grade sheet."
...
Sasha had done well in the several moons she'd been going to
school.
Her ranking was comfortably within the middle of her class. She
performed surprisingly well at language studies. She excelled at
magical practice, while performing below average at magical
theory.
...That was likely Tycon's fault. The Holy Country taught magic in
a very particular way. While Sasha could obtain results, it wouldn't
be in the way the Church dictated.
Sasha had joined the archery club and was lauded by her
upperclassmen for her skills.
Tycon asked if there were any boys that were interested in her.
The young lady then revealed that her archery club was only open
to female students. That fact provided Tycon some relief-- though
he couldn't quite understand why.
"Do you have a place to stay, Master?" The young lady asked,
tilting her head.
"We do," Tycon nodded. "Did you want to stay with us for the
evening? I suppose we'll need to apply for permission for you to
leave the Basilica grounds."
"Oh. Okay," Sasha nodded quietly, "Is it just... Master and Lone?"
"And the young Pale, I'd imagine," Tycon mused.
Sasha's lips curved into a small pout, "I'll stay here."
Tycon hesitated... furrowing his brows, "Young lady?"
"...Sasha will stay."
"Ah," Tycon bared his teeth, "No-- I didn't have an issue with your
diction. Is there something wrong with Pale?"
Chapter 548 In His Father’s
Footsteps
Sasha frowned, as if upset... "N-nothing is wrong with Pale."
Tycondrius felt his eye twitch, "Did you two... have a

disagreement?"
The young lady shook her head.
Tycon pursed his lips... "You dislike him."
"Not... exactly?"
How mysterious. Tycon poked at his daughter's cheek, "What is it,

then?"
"He is... a flirt."
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "He's a what?"
Instead of answering, Sasha hid her face behind a thick book.
Tycon let out a deep sigh. That his daughter was becoming more
willful was not a problem he could fix. That Pale was a flirt like his
father, Quay, was not surprising, but was something he'd need to
watch out for.
He did find it peculiar that he hadn't noticed it... but he trusted

Sasha's opinion over his own. She was exceptionally sensitive to
people and their natures.
Anyroad, it was fine that she stayed away from boys.

"Well, come along, young lady," Tycon stood up and began neatly
packing Sasha's school materials. "You'll accompany me to
dinner, won't you?"
Sasha offered her book, which Tycon took and put into her bag.
"Is... is Pale coming?" She asked.
"Yes," Tycon rolled his eyes. "Pale will be present."
"...Th... that depends on where we are going?"
Tycon sighed... then lightly tapped his daughter on the nose, "You
can choose."
...
Reasonably, Sasha could use one of her powerful Oracle abilities

to search for their Ranger, the Lone Shadowdark.
She used a minor one.
She cryptically stated that Mister Lone was fighting against a great
evil... therefore would not make it to dinner.
He probably could use their assistance... but Tycon considered a

proper meal a greater priority.
As the two were leaving the Basilica, Pale emerged from the
greenery. He'd been hiding from the High Oracle, the Archbishop,
and entire teams of Church enforcers for the past several bells.
...It seemed Natalya's scryers weren't as good as she thought.
Pale politely requested to be smuggled out of the Basilica. Tycon

arranged a path for the young man to follow, to do just that.
Dinner was wonderful.
Seafood was cheaper than land fare, as was to be expected for

an island territory. However, as it was a meal celebrating their
reunification, spending a bit of extra coin was appropriate.
Tycon ordered on the Archbishop's tab. Natalya would
understand.
...
⟬ The following sun. ⟭
"G-good morning, Hero!" "Good morning!" "Notice me, Hero!"
A massive gaggle of mostly young female students stood at the

entrance of the Basilica... and they greeted Pale as he and Tycon
approached.
Pale waved shyly, "Um, hello."
They showered Pale with gifts: letters, small bags of sweets, and
crafted trinkets among other things...
Tycon was nothing but impressed by their devotion... though he

did wonder how long exactly they had been waiting around.
It took several minutes of the Hero taking part in awkward

conversation before a group of instructors came to herd the
students back to their classrooms.
"S-sorry about that, Sir," Pale bowed his head.
"In theory, I am used to such things," Tycon shook his head. "I'd
imagine your father received a similar reception."
He wasn't 100% certain. Memory loss.
"Hmm..." Pale twisted his lips to the side as they walked, "Boss,
do you think I'm strong enough? To find my dad, at least?"
Tycon looked up in thought. Searching for a man long dead?

Gold-Rank was a minimum prerequisite for such a dangerous
quest.
Pale had attained a high-tier Class... and Hero was one of the
strongest known to the Realm. Admittedly, his chances were
decent if he were to set out on his own.
However... what he wanted was stupid.
Tycon would have Pale assist him in taking Caeruleum, not

searching for a fool who didn't deserve to be found.
Pale averted his gaze, seeming to have taken Tycon's silence as

his response... "I knew it... I'm not strong enough, then."
Tycon patted his young companion's back, "You're almost there.

We'll train for a moon or three, we'll run a campaign of genocide--
just one. Then from there, I'm certain you'll have gained enough
power to strike off on your own."
The boy's breakthrough was recent-- within the past few moons.
He needed training to solidify his power. Sasha could help with
that.
"What's genocide?" Pale asked.
Tycon pursed his lips, ignoring the question... "For your personal
quest, you'll probably need your own adventuring party..."
The boy's expression brightened immediately, "I can get Taree!"
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Yes, yes. You can get the whelpling."
Kimura Taree was a Martialist, only a year or two older than Pale.
She'd been training with the Titanblood Swordmage Dragan in the
Free Nation.
She was certain to grow strong... but Tycon hoped that Dragan's
delinquent personality wouldn't influence her too negatively...
Those hopes were not high.
Pale bit his lower lip, hesitant... "Maybe... I can ask Sasha to be
our healer?"
Tycon chuckled to himself, "You can try."
The young man's first two choices of party members were young
women. As Tycon was aware of Pale's true nature as a 'flirt',
evidence of it became laughably easy to identify.
The two made their way through the Basilica, quietly and
nonchalantly dodging the patrols assigned to capturing Pale.
Tycon's ⌈Shadowfang⌋ movement skill had proved
indispensable. Also, Pale's ⌈Misty Step⌋ had improved greatly
since last they met.
Upon reaching Sasha's library, she and a few students (Pale's

admirers, it seemed) had pushed aside the tables and chairs,
allowing the floor to be used as a ritual surface. Chalk lines and
holy objects were spread about the room, forming an intricate web
of twenty vertices.
Tycon hastily inspected the work. It was... functional.
He gave his daughter, Sasha, a proud smile, "You've worked hard

on it, young lady."
"...Had to fix it... after the instructor left," She quietly muttered.
Pale stepped into the formation first... which surprised Tycon

slightly. The young man knew exactly how to enter it and where
he was meant to stand.
"Have you been studying ritual circles, Mister Pale?"
"No, Sir," Pale bared his teeth in embarrassment, "But um...

Sasha's rituals are easier to read than yours."
Tycon narrowed his eyes for a brief moment... but such a thing
was not something to be angry about, "Well done, Sasha."
"P... pale is stupid," She whispered.
"I... I can hear you," Pale frowned.
"Pale is stupid," She repeated.
Tycon pursed his lips. He was absolutely not going to interfere in

whatever was going on.
Chapter 549 New Challengers
ycondrius stepped into the ritual formation, allowing the

T
concentrated mana to wash over him.
The mana flow was good-- in particular, the pressure of the

stream. The purification circles were working perfectly, it felt good
breathing it and against his bare skin. Where Sasha's rune work
was admittedly average, she excelled at precisely measuring the
requisite amount of mana for the formation to function, and
maximizing its purity.
Tycon instilled mana down his arm, to the very tip of his finger...
and drew a sigil in the air. In completing the inner seal, the mana
lines began to light up, shrouding the room in a dim, golden glow.
"Young lady, if you would," He nodded to his daughter.
"Aye aye," She knelt down, placing her hands into the activation
circle. "Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus."
...
It was dark... but there were torches enough for Pale to see.
The boy had inherited Elven eyes from his father. Where a human
could peer into the far distance with a focused lantern, Pale
needed but a single candle.
Tycon could see just as well-- even without.
They were underground, in a narrow passageway surrounded by

stone walls, cold and damp. It stank of blood, sweat... and shite.
It was unpleasant... but familiar.

He nudged the boy at his side, "We're here."
Pale blinked, rubbing at his eyes, "Huh... are we in... a Dungeon?"
Tycon smirked, "Something like that."
"So this is where we're going to be training..." Pale pouted and

shifted his weight.
Suddenly, he tensed up, grabbing himself in confusion, "H-hold

on?! Where's my armor? M-my spear?!"
The young man was without his personal effects, wearing a mere
simple tunic. Tycon was the same.
He recalled being in a near-identical similar situation only recently.

Much to his embarrassment, a young admirer of his named Suka
bore witness to his distress at not having his luxuries: his spatial
ring, in particular.
Spatial items were damned difficult to find.
"They won't be necessary," Tycon shook his head. "I'll have you
armed decently when we arrive at our assigned room."
"At our... assigned room?" Pale dipped his head, deep in thought.
It seemed he was having trouble making sense of his situation.
...Admittedly, it was a bit ridiculous.
"Why are you two here?" Tycon asked the gentlemen behind Pale.
A massive orc with a tight-fitting shirt stood behind the boy, barely
able to fit in the narrow hall. In front of that fellow was a
transparent shadow in a comparatively baggy tunic.
The shadow shrugged with open palms, not betraying any

particular emotion.
Garock smiled with chagrin, "Your Reality Marble is an extension

of your memories... It seems that the two of us can take form,
here."
The orc was a Gold-Rank weapon spirit that inhabited one of
Tycon's swords. The shadow was a summoned spirit of his that
always acted with sentience. It wasn't supposed to be sentient,
but Tycon had stopped trying to make sense of its actions, long
ago.
"Hm. Granted. Garock, Shadow, go entertain yourselves," Tycon

waved dismissively.
"Very well," The orc inclined his head. "Do well in your training,
young elf."
The shadow gave the boy a thumbs-up gesture.
"Um. Thanks?" Pale smiled politely.
"Pale, with me." Tycon turned and began down the torchlit
corridor. The young man's light footsteps soon followed close
behind...
Tycon had visited below the arenas at Caeruleum several moons

prior. At that time, there were plenty of painted arrows on the walls
and floor.
But even without such guidance... Tycon found that he already

knew where to go. He walked confidently, stepping around uneven
flooring and even pointing out the location of amusing works of
graffiti.
Conversely, the nervous boy at his back was... troubled. Despite

his excellent eyesight, he stepped into questionable puddles. He
flinched as the crowd aboveground roared as a whole, pounding
their feet as they cheered and booed for their gladiators. The boy
even lost his balance and skinned his elbow on a wall-- surprised
as a wild direbeast's death cry reverberated throughout the
labyrinth.
"Sir Tycon?" The boy yelped, "You still haven't told me what kind
of training this is?"
"Have patience, young friend," Tycon gently chided. "I don't want
to spoil the surprise."
He stopped in front of one particular door, "⌈Lock Tap.⌋"
The door crashed in under the strength of Tycon's kick, its locking
mechanism irreparably broken.
"Wh-what?! Who?!" A handsome voice inside shouted.
Pale turned to him with incredulous eyes, "B-boss? That voice

is...?"
Without answering, Tycon entered the room... where he found a

young male taking inventory of weapons and armor, "Good
morning."
That fellow was a very attractive individual... though his face was
marked by a number of piercings on his nose and brows that
detracted from his professionalism.
"Oh... it's you," The young man pursed his lips and took in a slow
breath... He had a sword held out in a neutral stance. It was
reasonable, considering the circumstances, "Identifier, please."
"Qui audet adipiscitur," Tycon answered, speaking in the Holy

Country's old language.
"Qui audet vincet," The man shook his head, sheathing his sword.
"You're the one person I never expected to have to challenge."
"Tss," Tycon scoffed. "I find that doubtful. It was you who
developed our system of code words, after all."
"Wha-wha-what's going on, Sir?!" Pale asked, "Why are there two
of you!?"
Other-Tycon reared his head back in disgust, glaring at the boy,

"And who in the seven hells is this... whelpling?"
"Quay's kid," Tycon shrugged. "And believe it or not, he's stronger

than you are."
"Tss... is he now?" Other-Tycon rolled his eyes, sweeping back his
luxurious green hair. "Granted. Then the question is: who's the
mom?"
"No idea. And neither does Quay," Tycon shook his head. "Give
me your armor. The boy and I are looking to participate in the duo
match."
"Grr... That's the next one. Ugh, the Titanblood's gonna be

pissed." Other-Tycon growled as he started taking off his
armor. "You gonna help me out with these straps, or what?"
Tycon made a mental note to compliment his daughter. The ritual

she crafted had excellent accuracy, in regard to its timing.
",
Chapter 550 Performance
Anxiety
he Tycon with the pierced face raised an eyebrow... "Are you two
T
uh... from the future? Somethin' happen that you had to break the
Laws? Or 'sit something else?"
"BOSS??!?" Pale placed his hands on his cheeks, yelling in a

panic, "We're in the PAST??"
"Less questions, more listening, young man," Tycondrius scolded

before again addressing his other-self, "We're in a Reality Marble,
a recreation of past memories-- a simulation, if you will. As no
timelines can be changed, I can sate your curiosities, if you wish."
"Makes sense," Other-Tycon tilted his head up. "First time in the
sim, then? Since you don't look like you're sick of me, just yet."
"Yes, it is. And no, I've grown beyond all forms of mundane
pettiness."
"In the future..." Other-Tycon furrowed his brows, continuing in

Parseltongue, "(can I believe my little sister can be this cute?)"
"Your question is stupid. Ask a different one."
"Aha, just... just testing," The handsome, if slightly-less-

knowledgeable gentleman averted his gaze, "It looks like piercings
have gone out of style?"
"Correct," Tycon nodded solemnly. "You look like an arse."
Other-Tycon scoffed, "Can't change the past, Ty."

Tycon frowned... "Hm. For whatever reason, I don't like being
called that, anymore."
"Huh. Weird," Other-Tycon shrugged. "But things change, I guess.

At least I'm still a handsome motherf*cker."
"Indeed," Tycon nodded. "But change isn't always a negative

outcome."
"Catch," Other-Tycon tossed him a modified Decanus helmet-- the

eye-visor was composed of green, enchanted glass. It felt good in
his hands... as if he'd reunited with a long-lost friend.
"Appreciated," Tycon nodded. "Pale, you may speak your

thoughts, now."
Pale gulped... "We're... we're in the past... back when Sol Invictus
reigned supreme in the Ezyrian arenas."
"Nice," Other-Tycon nodded. "Actually, we were supposed to fight

against--"
Tycon raised his palm.
Other-Tycon's lips curved upward into a scheming smirk,

"Actually... it'll be best as a surprise."
"Aww," Pale pouted.
"Ahaha! Don't worry about it, whelpling! --Pail, was it? It'll be a
good one!" Other-Tycon grinned... "Honestly, I wasn't sure we was
gonna win."
"I did," Tycon pursed his lips. "We did, rather... We do."
"Hah, right. Obviously," Other-Tycon rolled his eyes, "Anyroad...

did that dummy Quay really name his kid Bucket?"
Tycon scoffed, deciding not to answer. He had no idea of the

specifics, "I'll ask you to inform the other members of Sol Invictus.
It's too early for Pale to meet with Quay and I daresay Mister
Dragan has to be... properly mollified."
Pale looked up, clearly unhappy... "I have to do really good to see
my dad, huh?"
Tycon shrugged, "I suppose I'll allow it if you perform well

enough."
He didn't see any value in having the boy meet a dead man... but
if that was his motivation, that was fine.
"What... the... hells?" Other-Tycon furrowed his handsome brows,

"He lets you call him Dragan?"
Tycon didn't answer. That question was also stupid. Instead, he

gently pushed Pale forward, "Armor up. Your training begins
soon."
...
"Sir Tycon! What weapon should I use?!"
Pale was fretting, staring at the weapon racks. Many members of

Sol Invictus were skilled with different weaponry... and would
change their weapon tactics based on the scale of combat or if
there were any unique rules in certain matches.
The two of them were set to participate in a two-on-two match--

standard ruleset.
Nothing heretical. 'Honor' was preferred, but not necessary.
Such a thing was impossible to enforce. Nowhere in the Realm

was such a term defined by law-- even in the heart of the Holy
Country of Tyrion.
"Young man, I believe you would be best with... a spear," Tycon

patted the young man on the shoulder.
His class was... Spear Hero. Unless there were dire...

extraordinary circumstances, the boy should... always default to a
spear.
"Well... Y-yeah," Pale pouted. "But... but I can use a sword-- or... a
polearm? Are we fighting really tall opponents? Or like... short
ones? Do they use magic? Or...?"
Tycon smiled politely as he grabbed a spear off the rack and

thrust it (not-so-politely) into the boy's hands, "What are you most
confident in using?"
"...A spear, Sir." Pale hugged the haft close. It wasn't enchanted,
but it was made of a sturdy and weighty darkwood... a bit more
refined than something a beginner would opt for.
"Turn around," Tycon gestured. "I'll double-check your straps."
Pale sighed as he turned, slouching and relaxing his shoulders,

"Boss... I'm just... Ahh... I don't know."
The straps were fine. Tycon patted the boy on the shoulder to
signal everything was in good order, "Are you nervous?"
"Y-yeah... It's... I dunno, Boss," Pale turned, looking up with a

worried expression.
"Are you afraid of taking injury?" Tycon offered.
"No, that's not it... It's just... dad will be watching, right?"
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Is that different from me watching? Or

Mister Dragan or Mister Wroe?"
"Well..." Pale gulped, "No? But it... it *feels* different. Should I...
be trying to use my strongest Skills? Or should I try to be extra
flashy, since we're going to be fighting in the arena?"
"What? No," Tycon shook his head. "You should be trying to win."
"What would... what would my dad do?" Pale pouted.
"Something foolish, I'm sure," Tycon shrugged.
"R-really?" Pale furrowed his eyebrows, "That doesn't sound

right? My dad is super strong, though?"
"He is," Tycon chuckled. "In the arenas, he would enjoy himself to
the fullest, performing whatever gaudy Skill or spin-move that fit
his whims."
"So... what should I do, then?"
"Do what you'd like. Nothing exists, spoken or written, dictating

that you have to copy your father."
"Well... I know that, but... what should I do to... make him proud, I
guess?" Pale frowned.
The young man was full of a great deal of doubt... and more than
Tycon thought appropriate. However, it was... permissible. The
boy's worries were... normal, considering his young age.
Tycon pursed his lips in thought. The proper answer to such a

question was... complex. He'd oversimplify it for the young man's
benefit.
"If I know that fellow... he'd be proud, as long as you try your best.
Quay never gave less than his all."
Chapter 551 Elevator
Thoughts (Part One)
"That..." Pale frowned.
Tycondrius took a deep breath, shaking his head. The boy wasn't
content with his previous answer... as true as it was.
The former leader of Sol Invictus was an Elven Pathfinder Ranger

named Quies.
Such a name was far too magnificent for the likes of that fellow...
He and the rest of the guild merely called him Quay.
The elf was a simple and generally carefree fellow. He didn't

particularly care for the negative opinions of others.
He was competitive. He craved attention. He was prone to

whining about insignificant things... often.
No matter the task, Quay performed it to the best of his ability... be

it training, fighting... playing children's card games.
He was incapable of doing otherwise.
To speak well of him, he was optimistic and unfaltering, as well as

clever when it came to combat and swordplay.
To speak more plainly, Quay was the most effective idiot he knew.
As for his son... Pale wanted to prove himself worthy of his

father's recognition.
The difficulty of the task was laughably low. Quay was impressed
by cicadas molting and slugs being able to climb vertically.
Conversely, Pale was an existence of awe-inspiring anomalies--
each proving him far more capable than a mundane insect or
gastropod.
The boy had at least a Peak-Iron level of martial skill. He had a

large repertoire of powerful skills: offensive, movement-type, and
even healing-- all trained to Middle Completion. He had a high-tier
Class and his reflexes and reaction speed were incredibly high.
Quay would be impressed by anything the boy did.
...He would also see his son as his greatest rival.
Tycon sighed... "That fellow told me... he'd be waiting."
"He... he said that?" Pale bit his upper lip, "Waiting... for me?"
Tycon furrowed his brows, glancing around the room. The two of
them were its only inhabitants... "Yes."
Pale nodded solemnly... "Then... I have to get stronger."
"I advise you to win," Tycon smiled politely.
Winning the favor of a dead man was an honorable idealization.

Attaining victory in a match was far more distinct of a goal. Tycon
would guide his young companion towards smaller achievements.
His overall growth would be inevitable.
The two of them turned just as the door at the end of the room
swung open. A certain green-haired gentleman swaggered in,
favoring his left leg and with one eye swollen shut.
"It'sh avout time," Other-Tycon slurred.
"Wh... what happened?" Pale asked, wide-eyed... "Uh... Sir?"
Other-Tycon narrowed the brow over his good eye, "Prince

Droghan bent me over a table... and 'e tried ta f*ck me. Now're
you two gonna move, or what?"
...
Tycon fell into quiet contemplation, waiting for the lift to rise to the
arena floor.
He was worried... but not about the upcoming match. He was

worried about the boy.
Pale stood by his side, hugging his spear and keeping to his own
thoughts.
Whether he realized it or not, much was expected of him.
He had recently gained a new Class: Spear Hero.
As powerful as it was... it placed him in a troublesome position.
Hero-type Classes were the rarest in the Realm. They were

created by fate... if that was to be believed. Or perhaps the gods
made them-- as if the gods gave a shite about the livelihood of
mortals.
Regardless of who or what was at fault, the creation of a Hero

Class correlated with the birth of a threat capable of destroying
the world.
When the threat appeared, the Hero was destined to sacrifice

everything in order to... defeat it or... seal it-- something
fantastical, for sure.
It was-- or would be a thankless endeavor.
Tycon wanted no part of it.
He hoped to train the boy for a bit and utilize him in subjugating
Caeruleum. Then, he would dismiss him in time to do 'hero things'
as he pleased.
However, as of late, Tycon was encountering... troublesome

situations with alarming regularity.
In the Kingdom, he had uncovered an invasion plot by the Plane

of Fire. When he punched the snake god in the face, he became
privy to unrest amongst the divine pantheon. When he shared
information with Ananta the Endless, he discovered that giant
lizards were planning on existing, within his lifetime.
Each threat could feasibly destabilize and destroy the Realm.
A Hero would be appropriate to deal with any and all of them.
Tycon could reasonably assist that Hero... or... group of Heroes.
He didn't want to. It would be pointless.
Pale's training had been excellent. He learned and developed

strength at unprecedented speed. He was honest and
honorable... but was capable of ruthlessness, when necessary. He
was agreeable and polite-- probably his most important traits.
The boy was, for all intents and purposes, an excellent Hero-in-
training... but not yet a Hero proper.
Pale had been adventuring for less than two years. Regardless of
his level of power and martial skill, he hadn't undergone enough
hardships in that short amount of time.
He was an Officer in the Alizeaun military, leading troops into

battle... but for not long enough.
He had killed great beasts, grown men, veterans of combat... but

the numbers only ran in the dozens-- maybe hundreds.
He was still a boy. If they'd never met, he'd be a squire to some

Knight or... performing low-rank quests for an Adventurer's Guild.
Tycon needed his power... so he treated him as an adult

mercenary. The boy was shown how to arm and armor himself
once, then left to his own designs. If he failed or spoke out of line,
he would be punished. His training was adjusted for his size and
strength... but was no easier than that of his adult peers.
It wasn't fair to him... to be forced to grow up so quickly.
The boy was untrained when Sol Invictus recovered him in the city
of Nice. Perhaps Quay never intended for the boy to follow in his
footsteps... instead, to get a basic education or enter a trade...
With that, he could support Sol Invictus, through profit and

paperwork. Sorina Capulet and her ability to balance the guild's
coffers was easily more effective at growing their brand than
Tycon was, leading them into battle.
But in following the path of the mercenary... Pale became a Hero.
It left a sour taste in Tycon's mouth.
The unfortunate truth about Heroes... was that their success was
not guaranteed.
No world lasted forever.
In theory, Tycon shouldn't have to care.
If the Realm was destroyed, he would die along with most

everyone else. The heavens would fall. The hells would be torn...
even more asunder. The particulars were unimportant. It would be
unpleasant.
However... Tycon had a direct hand in the boy's growth.
That fact alone meant he carried some responsibility in whether or

not the Realm would burn.
...Ultimately, nothing changed.
Hero or not, he would train the boy to the best of his ability.
Son of his good friend or not... the boy was accountable for his
own actions.
It was just... that tiny errant thought existed in the back of Tycon's
mind...
If his young friend challenged that which made the gods tremble in
fear... and he faltered...
...would his final thought be... 'Tycon failed me'?

...
Pale wiped his sweaty palms on his skirt before gripping the haft
of his wooden spear.
He'd gotten used to wearing trousers, so wearing a Holy Country

battle-skirt felt weird. It was hot and sweaty in the underground
corridors, though. Maybe that's why all the gladiators liked to wear
skirts?
Why did they call it a battle-skirt? It was... still a skirt?
Were they different?
...If they were, he needed to request a set of battle-armor-- oh,

and a battle-spear, too.
The elevator was slowly rising to the arena floor, slowly clanking
away... but not nearly fast enough. Pale's heart was beating way
faster, for sure.
Sir Tycon was wearing a mysterious-looking green-visored

helmet, staring at the doors. Once it reached the top, they would
open up... and Pale would have to fight the most important match
in his life.
Boss didn't look nervous at all...
He was really strong! Invincible, for sure!
And besides that, they were in Sir Tycon's past-- he'd already
lived through it, risking his life sun after sun in the arena. That's
what all of Sol Invictus did...
It made Pale wish that he'd been a bit older, so he could have
experienced it, too. But then again, he was experiencing it
currently? Time travel was weird.
"Boss?"
"Mhm?"
"What... what would you do if Other-You didn't want to help?"
"I'd have killed him," Sir Tycon responded casually.
...That made sense. Pale felt dumb for asking. For whatever
reason, he always forgot that murder was usually a very good way
to solve problems.
It wasn't... usually a good answer? But then again, he couldn't

think of an example where it wouldn't make everything easier.
Pale played with his cheeks, making popping noises... He was

uncomfortable in the cramped elevator. Boss could probably tell
how nervous he was. He wished he had a helmet that covered his
eyes, too... The one he wore just covered his pointy ears.
Finally, the lift reached a halt. Pale held his breath... but the doors
didn't open.
"Boss...?"
"Go ahead."
"Why didn't the doors open?"
Sir Tycon twisted his lips, "The previous match hasn't ended yet.
We're in place to enter the arena immediately, so the crowd
doesn't have to wait."
"Oh..." Pale fidgeted... "H...hey... Boss."
Tycon crossed his arms... "Is there an issue?"
"I... I have to pee."

Chapter 552 Elevator
Thoughts (Part Two)
Pale gave Boss Tycon the best smile he could.
It was embarrassing, but he was in trouble.
The Sir glared down at him. His green visor made him look a little
more intimidating than usual... but his mouth was twisted in the
same expression he usually wore.
"I told you to go before we boarded the lift."
"I did! Haa~" Pale laughed uneasily, "I just... I have to go again?"
"Go on the wall," Tycon commanded.
"I... what? I can't!" Pale shook his head, "This is a public area?!"
He didn't want to... not that he had any real options, since they
were crammed together in a small room.
"Relax," Tycon shook his head. "Hundreds, if not thousands of

gladiators before you have urinated on these walls."
The way Boss said that made it sound like it was something to be
proud of? It was still peeing on a wall. That really didn't sound
right...
Pale stared at the packed earth on the platform they were

standing on. He thought it was squishy because of... blood. When
thinking about gladiators, he first thought of flashy skills and a
loud crowd and-- and spilled blood! But because of what Boss
said...
...It probably wasn't blood in the dirt.
"Did... my dad also pee here?" Pale gulped, "Like when he was
fighting alongside you, Sir?"
"...Probably," Tycon frowned. Beneath his visor, he was probably

furrowing his eyebrows, too. He always did that, "Cease your
staring, young man. Be quick about your business..."
Pale went to a wall... circulated his mana... and willed himself to

pee...
"Boss."
"What?"
"It's not coming out."
Pale wanted to cry. This had never happened before! He forgot

how to pee!
"That..." Tycon paused to take a breath... "is a problem that only

you can solve, young man."
"Bosssss~" Pale rested his helmet on the wall, "Don't you have...
a skill for this?"
"Stars and stones, boy, my Class is Warlord, not... Urination-

Assistant."
"Boss, come on!" Pale turned his head, pouting, "Can't you--
y'know... snap your fingers and make me pee?"
"You can't be serious," Tycon tilted his head up, (probably rolling
his eyes.) "Even If I use my ⌈Commander's Strike⌋ skill on you
*successfully*, then you'll PISS yourself every time I do so in the
future! Is that what you want?"
"N... no," Pale sighed.
"Now stop complaining and... go."

Boss sounded really upset. It made Pale feel a little guilty.
He was right... He always was? 'I'm never wrong, don't question

me again' was one of Boss' favorite sayings.
Pale took in a deep breath and he tried to focus. Some things, he

just couldn't ask anyone to do for him. Peeing was one of them.
"...Did you finish, young man?" Tycon asked.
Pale adjusted himself while staring at his feet and the mucky pee
dirt... "I don't have to go anymore..."
...
Theo stretched his back, leaning to the left... then to the right...
then rotated at the waist with his elbows flared, "Yo, Maximus, you
gonna warm up?"
The dragonblood didn't react-- as if he hadn't heard him at all. He

stared up at the ceiling of the elevator shaft...
The ascent to the arena floor was painfully slow.
Maximus was the perfect, ever-professional gladiator. According

to the rumors, his muscles were carved out of stone by the Eternal
Flame, herself.
...As rude as the guy was, Theo was inclined to believe the tales.
The Sanctum Parmularius stood a head above most men, could

tear apart leather armor with his bare hands, and was so well
versed with lightning-magic that he could probably shite it out his
other end.
The man always kept his silver cuirass in pristine condition-- and
nearly had a literal glow because of it. His shield was thick, half-a-
man's weight, and his spear was custom-made by the finest
craftsmen in Tyrion.
What was unnerving about him was... he rarely spoke. He...

acted.
Theo and the rest of their guild, Noctis Umbra, had to find
everything about Maximus through trial-and-error.
Training with him was fine-- though he mostly trained alone.
He drank and ate like a normal man-- he didn't care for the
particulars.
He quietly played card games when requested. He bet

conservatively and... wasn't particularly good or bad.
He didn't go whoring. Whores came to him... and they probably

paid for the service.
There was... one thing they learned, though.
Maximus was not to be provoked, not even in jest.
The old leader of Noctis Umbra-- the one that was around before
Theo took over... he said something about Maximus' sister once.
Theo didn't remember the exact phrasing, but by the end of the
night, there were over twenty gladiators with injuries that required
magical healing. For the gladiatorial careers of eight men and
women, magical healing wasn't enough.
As for Maximus? He hadn't taken a Flamescarred scratch... not to

his person, not to his reputation... not during the ordeal-- nor after.
No one was stupid enough to give him any trouble, the Church
included.
A dragonblood-- a non-f*cking-human injured Tyrion citizens. He

literally broke them with knees and fists. The hypocritical bastards
came by to check the structural damages... they carried the
charred bodies out of that place, honored to be doing the work of
the Eternal Flame. Then, they asked Maximus if there was anyone
else they needed to arrest.
They would have licked his criminal arsehole if he told them to.
Maximus was the best Flamescarred thing to ever happen to
Ezyria. Those men and women of the Church... they were Ezyrian
too.
The old guild leader said he was the one at fault... and the man
couldn't walk two steps without soiling himself. Maybe he realized
the error of his ways-- that no one should disrespect the man and
his child-sister. Maybe he didn't want Maximus to finish him off.
After that, Theo was placed in charge of Noctis Umbra.
What he really wanted... was to remove Maximus from their

roster... or dissolve the guild and reform without him-- maybe
move to Rixus.
In returning to their roots, all they had to do was win in the arenas.
For a normal guild, winning meant profit. Profit meant they could
maintain their equipment. It meant everyone could sleep under a
roof...
But they had Maximus. And he was damn good at what he did.
Fighting in the arena, he'd do anything to win. He didn't give a

shite. He'd throw sand. He'd go for the testicles. One of the guys,
a Warrior Class --he swore he got *bit* during a wrestling match.
He got bit. By Maximus' Flamescarred teeth. It was like he wasn't

a Tyrion-- he was more like... a savage from the Beast Kingdom.
It wasn't a popular fact... that the greatest gladiator in Ezyria was

also its filthiest fighter.
But more than undefeatable... that Maximus was considered a

Tyrion hero. He was just that good at winning-- especially against
fighters from the other nations.
With him in their guild, winning meant... riches. Riches meant

being invited to drug-filled parties with the wealthy elite, with high-
ranked bishops and members of the senate. It meant that
everyone in Noctis Umbra could live a life of hedonistic luxuries.
If Theo tried to kick Maximus out... his 'friends' would band
together and hang him off the tallest tree they could find. They'd
even laugh at it, trying to get in the criminal's good graces.
...When the lift reached the top, he and Maximus were set to fight
the fastest rising gladiator guild in Tyrion.
They also hailed from Ezyria. They were called Sol Invictus.
It was funny-- night and sun. The posters around Caeruleum

advertising the match played on the clashing names well.
Theo shifted around uneasily. He checked the straps on his shield

and he tightened the buckle on his helmet... "You nervous,
Maximus?"
As nervous as he was?
"Shut the f*ck up," The dragonblood muttered, his gaze never
straying from the lift's doors.
Theo grimaced. With that reaction, he probably was.
"We should make a plan," He said aloud. Even if Maximus didn't

want to talk, they needed at least a basic strategy, "Invictus'
roster's got a lot of threats. Ranger Quies is probably gonna be
something to watch out for... and the criers have been saying
they'll probably send out their own Sanctified Psyker for you--
Zuko, I think his name was..."
"Wrong."
...Maximus' reply was short and direct.
Theo inhaled the stink of the cramped lift in, trying and failing to
reign in his annoyance... "Who do *you* think they're sending,
then?"
"Invictus' only chance of winning against me is using the

Berserker and the Tactician."
...Theo slowly grimaced over the dragonblood's choice of words.
He made it sound like he was fighting alone.
"Flame take that," Theo spat, "The Berserker? You mean Dragan?
I've seen some of his matches. The fat criminal's all show-- he's
just a big, barrel-chested fool with an oversized sword."
Maximus said nothing... which Theo took as permission to go on,

"And the Tactician? That guy's probably the weakest gladiator in
Sol Invictus! I don't even know his name! Do you?"
Chapter 553 Start Of The
Match
Maximus lightly shook his head, "It's Tycondrius."
"Huh?" Theo furrowed his brows.
"The Tactician's name... It's Tycon."
Theo opened his mouth to argue... but the words stuck in his
throat. He wasn't familiar with any current or former gladiators
named 'Tychon'... but there was something in Maximus'
seriousness that gave him pause.
"That man," Maximus turned to him with a grave expression... "is

worth more than your entire f*cking guild combined."
"You... you're... joking, right?" Theo forced a strained laugh.
The dragonblood did not respond, once more returning his gaze to
the doors.
...Maybe it was a joke. Theo hoped it was a joke.
Ha ha.
It wasn't very funny, though...
The doors opened abruptly, the scraping of metal-on-metal nearly

making Theo piss himself. Two attendants from within the arena
grunted noisily, straining to push the heavy doors open.
"We're here," Maximus muttered through clenched teeth.

Theo could swear the man emitted a low, bestial growl as he
spoke.
By the Flame...
He swore to himself he'd never partner with Maximus, again...

provided he survived the next bout.
The audience chanted as they walked onto the sands.
"Maximus," they said. "Maximus. Maximus."
The voices of tens of thousands of people... screamed his name.
The dragonblood arrogantly strode forward, raising his warspear

skyward.
The crowd... went... wild. They lusted for blood... and for the
sanctified magic wielded by the strongest gladiator in Ezyria.
They wanted the wafting of burnt meat. They wanted to red flesh
torn, bones wrench, break, and shatter. They wanted the screams
of dying men as their crying wives covered the eyes of their
children.
With the magical sound amplification in the arena, they'd get their
wish.
Theo gulped hard... "This is a Flamescarred madhouse."
"Ignore them," Maximus said as he flourished his warspear.

"They're not here for you."
Then... the overseer announced Sol Invictus.
The crowd rose in a frenzy, stomping their feet, cheering at the top
of their lungs, booing and screaming epithets... They demanded
that their favored champions win them their wagers. They
demanded blood... and all the other things with it.
The first of their two opponents strode forward. On his head was a
peculiar helmet with a green-colored visor that hid his eyes. Glass
reinforced with magic, perhaps?
His armor design was flat, mundane-- though it did have a strange
bluish gleam. His arms were uncovered, wiry and muscly...
smaller than those of Theo and Maximus, both.
On his waist was a single sword... in hand, a single pilum. He

carried no shield. Nothing about the Tactician was intimidating.
Invictus' last match was an even 5-on-5... against challengers

from a small Kasydonian guild. Their strategy was in eliminating
the Tactician. They must have figured that the green-visored
fellow was their weak point.
The Tactician defended himself with sword and shield, all while
hurling taunts and retreating like a coward.
To their critics, it was the biggest mockery ever seen in Ezyria. To

their admirers, it was a fantastical display of finesse and
showmanship. To Caeruleum, it was the most talked-about match
in recent history.
The guild from Kasydon was destroyed on that very sun. Every
single gladiator was either killed or took a career-ending injury.
To fight against Sol Invictus... it wasn't possible to ignore their

front line: Berserker Dragan and Ranger Quies. Their back-line
was criminal. They had not one, but two Sanctified Psykers, Zuko
and Lulu.
Each and every member of Sol Invictus was a superhuman

monster-- why would Tychon be any different?
Theo didn't want to believe that Maximus was telling the truth. The
truth did not bode well for the two of them.
The second Invictus gladiator... he followed close behind the

Tactician, as if he was hiding his presence.
It was... just a boy.

He was young... too young to join the army, even. His helmet
looked almost too big for him... and it was the same for the
strange bluish armor he wore.
Theo had heard of a short-statured Sharpshooter named

Koskae... but a Ranged Class would be wielding a crossbow. The
boy... he carried a spear-- a beginner's weapon. He had no shield,
like the Tactician... but he didn't have a sidearm.
"Tell me that's a f*cking joke..." Theo narrowed his eyes.
The Caeruleum arena was no place for a child.
Maximus ignored him, walking forward.
...and he was gnashing his teeth in rage.
...
Pale spun in a circle, awestruck by the chaos of the crowd all

around him, "Whoaaa..."
Tycondrius smirked, seeing the wonder in his young companion's

eyes, "Look alive, young man. The dovahkiin appears to be
upset."
Pale stuck out his lips in a pout, "Y... yeah. He does... and
Maximus is a lot bigger than we are!"
"Size is a non-factor," Tycon chuckled, tapping the side of the

boy's helmet, "Are you confident that the spear of a Hero can
compete against that of Sanctum Parmularius Maximus?"
"Wh... wha?" Pale furrowed his brows, "Wait! This? THIS is the
training, Sir?! A 2-on-2 match? But... but one of them's Mister
Maximus?!"
"Not.. quiiiite..." Tycon mused.
He twirled about his pilum and hefted it up... to the adoration of

the screaming crowd.
"Sir?" Pale bit his upper lip, "They haven't announced the start of
the match yet?"
"Indeed," Tycon grinned. "I shall do the honors, then."
"...With a throwing spear?"
"Correct."
Admittedly, it was a bit rude to most-everyone involved... but

Tycon had no obligation to follow the rules. What would
Caeruleum do? Fine him?
He took a few comfortable steps forward... then broke into a

sudden sprint, "⌈Shadowfang.⌋"
Mana coursed through his meridians and his movement blurred,

steadying himself while skidding on the sands, he activated a
second-skill, "⌈Eviscerate.⌋"
Tycon's mana-empowered throw sent his pilum spiraling towards

Maximus.
The dark-haired dovahkiin reflexively lifted his circular shield... but

quickly realizing the danger, he dove out of the way.
There was a substantial amount of Gold-Rank mana channeled

into the attack-- he'd combined two skills to get the effect, after all.
It wasn't something a mundane piece of metal could block-- even
one made of Tyrion steel.
Maximus was a Warmage, a hybrid Martial-Caster-- and one that

focused on offense. A ⌈Mana Ward⌋ to defend himself would be
highly taxing... and might not even be wholly successful.
Avoidance was his best option.
Avoidance was what Tycon expected.

Chapter 554 Can You
Continue?
he pilum sped past Maximus... and cleanly pierced the

T
dovahkiin's arena partner's abdomen. The human flew off of his
feet, and the bloody end stuck deep into the sands.
Tycondrius grinned. That person was finished. ⌈Eviscerate⌋ was

not a normal Skill.
The crowd roared. They jeered, they booed. Whatever it was,

Tycon decided to take it as a compliment. He waved politely to his
many admirers, whipping them into an even greater frenzy.
"Boss...?" Pale grimaced, "Wh... what happens now?"
Tycon scoffed, "Tss. Young man... I believe you already know the
answer. This is *your* training, not mine."
"Boss..." Pale sniffed like he was about to cry, "You... you want me
to fight Maximus by myself, don't you?"
"Very astute, Spear Hero," Tycon sneered. "Now, go. Show me

the pride of Sol Invictus."
...
"FFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUCKKK!!!!" Theo tried to hold it in, but he

loosed a scream of agony.
He held on to the bloody pilum in his stomach... His mouth tasted

of iron, sweat poured down his face like heavy rain. His body
shook and spasmed as pain wracked his body.
It didn't make sense! There was so... so much pain. He'd been a
gladiator for YEARS! He'd been burned, cut, and stabbed
DOZENS of times before...
But those wounds... the pain was never so quick! It felt like... he'd
been stuck, his insides twisted around a cold fork, left to rot and
fester for bells! Nothing in his life had ever hurt so much!
He needed to unpin himself, to cut the ends off... to stand and

KEEP FIGHTING! But all he could do was vomit blood and bile,
sending aftershocks of pain up and down his spine.
He was a GLADIATOR! He was an entertainer and a Flame-taken

good Fighter! AND he was a thrice-damned IRON-RANK! If he fell
to a single strike, his reputation would be ruined!
It wasn't possible. Why did it hurt? WHY? Was the speartip

poisoned? Was it enchanted?! Did the Tactician pay the
inspectors to overlook his weaponry?!?
Maximus stood over him, glowering with unfeeling eyes.
"GGGgghhhhh!!" Theo groaned. He coughed at the taller man's

feet, spitting a gob of blood, "Don't just stand there! I'm dying, you
Flamescarred lizard!"
"Don't bother getting up," Maximus spat. His eyes glowed an

electric blue as he turned to face the two members of Sol Invictus.
"I'm your... guhh... Flame-taken guild leader!!" Theo roared,

wincing from the pain, "Listen to me!! MAXIMUS!!!"
It was no use. He couldn't move. He couldn't feel the tips of his

feet, but he could feel that he'd pissed and soiled himself.
"You underestimated the Tactician," Maximus glowered over him,

"That was the price."
He turned and began walking away, "Now... stay the f*ck down."
"You... you can't be serious," Theo called out after him. His entire
body shook-- and with another painful heave, he added to the pool
of fresh blood beside him, "Y... you can't fight both of them alone."
Maximus stopped... and half-turned his head. He wasn't angry. He

wasn't disappointed. Those glowing eyes held nothing but disdain.
"I expected to fight alone, ever since our opponents were

decided."
Theo's eyes widened in realization.
Maximus... he knew.
The Caeruleum Coliseum was the gladiatorial holyland.
It was full of monsters: giants that could tear men's arms from
their torsos, iron-skinned maniacs that could take twenty bolts to
the chest and laugh, sadistic murderers that took glee in carving a
thousand cuts onto their victims as the crowds cheered them on.
It was not a place for the men and women of Noctis Umbra.
They were a shite guild.
They were fakes.
Maximus carried their guild into glory on his armored back.
Theo shut his eyes... blinking away his tears and praying to the
Flame that he would either survive... or die faster.
The pounding of sandals on sand quickly approached him... a

team of arena medics.
"Can you continue, gladiator?" Their leader asked.
Theo forced his eyes open... He stared at Maximus, who stood

ten paces away from two men from Ezyria's actual strongest guild.
And his heart swelled with shame.
"...I submit."
...
Tycon smirked, observing Maximus from the short distance away.
The man was younger... angrier and more vigorous than he

remembered. When he met him in the Kingdom, Maximus had a
melancholy and fatigued look about him. His current face better
behooved his reputation.
⟬ Maximus, Gold-Rank Dovahkiin Stormwalker ⟭
He was obscenely strong... and had a high-tier class. However,

the Warmage was far different from the other Gold-Ranks he'd
met... Samurai Garock and Hallowed Summoner Natalya, in
particular.
His actual level was similar to... Pale's.
According to the timeline, the current Maximus had only recently

reached Gold-Rank. Neither he nor the boy had abilities
developed enough to be true monsters. It was good enough to
dominate the Ezyrian arena scene... but nearly every combat
member of Sol Invictus was more-or-less his equal.
Of course, Tycon's previous self would be trounced if facing him

alone... but he was not that person.
After the dovahkiin's defeat, he would go off and work for the
Church... becoming one of their Avengers. There, he would
solidify his Metal-Rank. He would become the proper hero his
people celebrated. He would throw his honor away... and soon
after, he would join Sol Invictus only to die far from his home,
without a burial.
But that was a different Maximus. The current one was merely a
construct in a magical simulation...
He was nothing more than training fodder.
"I am Maximus of Umbra Noctis!" The dovahkiin roared, clanging

his spear against his shield.
"Good afternoon," Tycon waved.
Maximus' face crumpled into disappointment... then his eyes

sparked blue with anger, "Name yourselves!! You who would fight
me in honorable battle!!!"
"Ah, right," Tycon reached behind him and grabbed Pale's wrist.
He pulled the boy to in-front of him. "Go ahead, young man."
"G-good afternoon," Pale saluted obediently... "My name is Pale...

of Sol Invictus."
Maximus pointed the tip of his spear at Tycon, "And you? Draw
your weapon and tell me *your* name."
Tycon shrugged, "I'm not going to bother, Maximus of *Umbra

Noctis.*"
The dovahkiin's entire body, from his blue-scaled arms to his

muscular legs, shook in what Tycon judged to be barely-contained
fury.
Though he wasn't initially planning on agitating the fellow, his

reaction was... amusing.
How far he could push Maximus off the edge? --For training
purposes, of course.
Chapter 555 Lord Vanzano
aximus raised his arms high, jutting out his chest, "You... *dare*
M
disrespect me, Tactician?"
"Not quite," Tycondrius held his chin in thought. "You're a decent

enough fellow. It's just that your guild is useless-- I'm sure you
know this."
The tall dovahkiin paused, slowly raising an eyebrow... "We

gladiators fight under our guild's name."
Tycon nodded in understanding. Solo gladiators did not achieve

the same level of fame as organized teams. The practice likely
had something to do with the way various organizations invested
in them. Gladiatorial guilds were living, breathing, advertisements.
However, to anyone with basic gladiator knowledge... there was

no Noctis Umbra. There was only Maximus.
"Tss... Technically correct," Tycon scoffed, pacing around him

dramatically. "But that is not where your loyalties lie. Isn't that
right... Lord Vanzano?"
Maximus narrowed his eyes to hateful slits, "What. in. the seven
hells. are you trying to say?"
Hmmm. So the Vanzano was trying to play the part of the fool? A
noble could not avoid association with their House... regardless of
how shite his parents were.
Tycon decided to press the issue-- to see where it went.
"Ohh?" Tycon crossed his arms, "Are you ashamed, then? Of

championing your younger sister?"
The crowd had gone deathly quiet. Insulting one's close-family
was typical gladiator fare--and often considered low. However, it
always elicited a response. The dovahkiin could not resist the
pressure of fifty thousand sets of eyes.
Maximus was stunned into silence, gnashing his teeth, circulating

his mana, and trying his best to look very intimidating.
It seemed to work on Pale. Tycon couldn't see the expression of

the boy at his side... but the hands grasping his spear were
turning white.
"I'm warning you..." Maximus muttered... "You'd best watch your

Flamescarred mouth."
"Maximus of House Vanzano~" Tycon shook his head... then

adopted a slow, mocking grin... "You're a worthless f*cking human
being... for making Athena cry."
A feeling of vindictive satisfaction washed over him.
Those were words he'd always wanted to say-- even if they were
to a man long dead.
...
Theo couldn't believe his Flame-taken ears. Tactician Tychon had

crossed Maximus' bottom line.
There were two rules in Noctis Umbra... and both rules were
'Don't talk about Maximus' sister.'
The attack was instantaneous. Theo couldn't follow it.
He was only human.
A blue bolt of divine lightning had surged out of Maximus'

outstretched hand.
And... the impossible happened.

The boy... the Flamescarred boy had leapt in front of the Tactician.
With a swing of his spear... he deflected the attack.
Deflected. The bolt of Flame-f*cking lightning.
The arc shot skyward, spiraling and crackling out of control... until
it hit the magical shield at the opposite end of the arena. The
glass-like barrier flashed white, then the glow slowly dulled. A
white, smoldering mark remained hanging in the air, attesting to
Maximus' power.
The crowd gasped... and grew silent... then all at once, roared,
drowning out Theo's pained thoughts.
"SILEEEENNNCE!" Maximus roared, "Shut your Flame-taken

mouth and DRAW YOUR WEAPON!!!!"
"Ah, my sword~ You mean this?" Tychon grabbed the Tyrion blade
off of his belt... sheath and all. Then... he tossed it
unceremoniously onto the sands.
The crowd began to shout and scream at the audacity.
Tychon faced the raging crowd with his arms outstretched, "I
submit! This will be a one-on-one fight! Maximus of HOUSE
VANZANO against PALE, the youngest member of SOL
INVICTUS!!"
Theo's eyes were bulging out of his head. The Tactician had
surrendered his Flame-taken WEAPON?! He left the BOY to fight
the greatest gladiator of all time?!?
The visored man then turned to sneer at the dragonblood, "And

when you lose here, I will be Athena's champion-- not you."
One of the medics kneeled down beside Theo, "We need to

evacuate you back into the pits, gladiator."
Theo bared his teeth in an embarrassed grin, "I uh... how about
we watch from here?"
...
Tycon took a step back, feeling rather smug. One of his
commandments to Pale was to intercept any projectiles meant for
him. He was glad the boy remembered.
It was not the first time he was struck by lightning magic, and the
last instance of it was rather unpleasant.
...Also, it was the boy's fault.
Glancing to his young companion, Tycon's assured smirk fell to a

disappointed grimace.
"Pale."
"...Boss?" Pale responded with a high-pitched voice. Tears were

streaming down his face-- too small for the crowd to see, but
pathetic all the same.
"Why are you crying?"
"Boss, I think I'm gonna die," He frowned. "Mister Maximus is

emitting so much mana..."
"Nonsense, this is training." Tycon explained matter-of-factly,

"During training you're immortal. Did you forget?"
"Bosssss~"
"Engage with the enemy," Tycon waved him off. "Go on."
"But BosSS?~~"
"Nowwww!" Tycon groaned.
Pale nodded obediently, wiping at his eyes...
He lowered his stance... and sprinted towards the enraged

dovahkiin.
The boy's speed was good, surprising Maximus and forcing the
adult gladiator to block and deflect the tearful barrage of spear
strikes.
Unfortunately for Pale, his opponent took him seriously. Maximus
kept a solid shield defense, jabbing out with his own weapon to
disrupt Pale's rhythm.
The balance changed when Maximus abruptly deflected one of

Pale's heavier strikes away, compromising the boy's balance.
The dovahkiin surged forward... and his offensive began.
Maximus' spear crackled with lightning energy, loud, dangerous,

and oppressive. The boy expertly slipped, dodged, and parried.
"You're not my enemy," He spat. "Stand down!"
"I can't!" Pale cried. "I have to win too!"
"I have to prove my conviction to your Tactician... to Ezyria... to

ALL of TYRION!" Maximus shouted, a burst of offensive energy
flowing outward.
The impact launched Pale back... and he hit the sand, rolling for a
few fulms, but back to his feet.
The boy brushed sand off of his face and looked back to Tycon
with uncertainty.
Tycon glared at him and made the hand signal for [Engage].
Why was he looking for guidance? The fool boy was in a fight.
Hesitation did not behoove the future leader of Sol Invictus...
",
Chapter 556 Signature Spell
" Ahhhhh!" Pale scrambled back towards Maximus with an

acceptably loud warcry.
Tycondrius gave him full marks for the effort.
The boy used a variety of attacks-- all with a pathetic face. He

even hopped backward, utilizing his ⌈Misty Step⌋ movement skill,
trying to be clever.
The point of his spear sparked against Maximus' shield, "I have
something to prove too!"
Keeping calm, Maximus countered with a flurry of stabs, "I doubt

your Tactician gives a shite about you, boy."
...That was a rather unfair assumption.
"Well, besides that," Pale bit his lip. "I have to win to make my dad
proud!"
"Then you'll have to do better than THAT!"
Exhaling loudly, Maximus slammed his shield into Pale's

abdomen.
"Hrk," The boy staggered back from the shock-- his armor was
made of Arcanite, so the impact should have been greatly
diminished.
He still had his reflexes about him, so he rolled to the side,

narrowly avoiding a cut to the neck.
Pale rebounded upward, spinning his spear and smashing the haft
solidly into Maximus' thigh.
The dovahkiin buckled, grunting in pain-- but he swiped his shield-
arm at the boy's face.
Pale managed to block, but the force again launched him across
the arena sands.
Tycon was disappointed. The boy consistently fought threats that

were larger than him --and Maximus was only a head or two taller
than most humans. Why was he being bullied?
The boy tumbled until plopping onto his back, only a few fulms
away from Tycon. He spent a dazed moment blinking his eyes
before flipping back onto his feet.
"What are you doing, young man?" Tycon frowned.
"Losing..." Pale whimpered.
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Right. I'll be more specific: why aren't you
using your offensive Skills?"
"Wait, what?" Pale looked back with wide eyes. "Am I allowed to?"
"You already used a movement technique. Maximus threw a

thrice-damned lightning bolt at me," Tycon groaned. "Yes! Yes,
you can use your Skills!"
Pale tensed up, pointing his spear offensively towards his

opponent, "Got it!!! I'll use them!"
Tycon crossed his arms... "You don't... need to inform me of the

fact. Just-- just go."
Pale hesitated... and slowly turned to face him again, "I um... I
don't have any Skills to get past his shield."
"Yes, you do."
"I do?" Pale blinked, "OH! I do!!"
"GO!" Tycon commanded, quite annoyed.

There was something... off about how the boy had been fighting.
If it was due to the pressure, that did not bode well for him. Fifty
thousand coliseum goers watched him fight... but none of them
were real. How would he fare when the fate of the Realm was at
stake?
Pale straightened his back and dashed off, leaving a cone-shaped

depression in the sand.
...
Training.
This was just training.
Pale didn't need to be scared.
Maximus was really scary-- but not during training? He shouldn't

be?
Pale put mana into his legs and leapt up high into the sky,
"⌈Legionbreaker!!!⌋"
He focused more mana into the tip of his spear, forming a glowing
white, extra-sharp tip! His arms felt strong and powerful-- and he
jammed his weapon forward. It went into Maximus' shield with a
loud crack... and the metal split open!
He did it! He defeated Maximus' shield!
Pale landed onto the sand, drawing his spear back.
"You broke my shield," Maximus sighed, unstrapping it and

tossing it away.
"I did!" Pale grinned, "You can't defend yourself now!"
Maximus twirled his spear, spinning it from hand to hand.
And then... Pale realized that it was... a full-length spear. It was

even longer than his... and was topped with a scarier blade. Boss
Tycon would classify it as a warspear...
He glanced back to his boss... but he was crossing his arms and
frowning.
...That meant... no more advice.
Pale puffed out his chest, trying to fake his bravery, "S-so you can
still defend yourself."
"I can," Maximus nodded.
He cracked his neck to the left and right before again flourishing
his spear to the cheers of the crowd.
Pale felt cold sweat drip down his helmeted forehead and down
his back...
"But... I'm... I'm better at spear techniques than you!" He yelped.

"My name is Pale! Spear Warrior of Sol Invictus!!"
This was the pride of his guild! Each and every one of their
members was the best at what they did!
He wasn't 100% certain if he was a better spear-user than

Maximus... but it would make sense if he did! His class was Spear
Hero! And it came from Spear Warrior! It had 'spear' in the name!
It meant he was automatically better at spear-ing!
"And my name..." Maximus retracted a fist... and it began to spark

with bluish energy, "is ⌈Maximus⌋."
Oh... Pale felt very stupid for forgetting what Mister Maximus was
best at.
When he thrust his open palm forward, a crazy-strong bolt of

lightning came out of it.
Pale quickly sheathed his weapon with mana and spiraled his
spear in front of him, dissipating the energy, then redirecting it to
shoot into the sky. He lost feeling in his hands and his arms had a
weird... tingle. He couldn't let go of his spear-- but that was good.
He'd be beaten if he dropped it.
Maximus hadn't put his hand down, though...
Pale didn't like that... he didn't like that at all, "Can... can we... just
fight with weapons, please? Sir?"
Mister Maximus' face didn't change.
"⌈Maximus!⌋"
Pale hopped to the side, dodging the electric arc. The sand where
it struck turned into weird white rocks. It was really interesting and
he wanted to take a look, but--
"⌈Maximus!!!⌋"
Pale spun his spear, deflecting another bolt away.
"⌈MAXIMUS!!!!!!⌋"
"Staaaaahhhhpp!!!" Pale cried, hopping away and rolling. Hopping

away and rolling...
He couldn't dodge forever! he had to force Mister Maximus back

into close-combat. He turned quickly-- it hurt his ankle a little bit,
but he chose to ignore it.
Mana circulated through his body, focused on his legs. He couldn't

refine it well, so the execution was really bad, but the speed was
what he needed.
He ran... he ran so fast that-- not just his legs, but his entire body
hurt.
Screaming at the top of his lungs, he reared his spear back, ready
to thrust it forward, "Shadowfang Str--"
Chapter 557 Flawed Judgment
ycondrius took a deep breath, taking in the scents of the sun-

T
warmed sand. He was growing bored, watching his young
companion so thoroughly trounced in front of fifty-thousand-odd
people.
Maximus of Ezyria was a grown man, twice the boy's age and
near twice his size. In terms of combat, Tycon had initially deemed
their abilities to be about equal.
The longer he watched them fight, the more he realized how

flawed his judgment was.
Pale needed more training.
Tycon still had plenty he could teach the boy. Even accounting for
the difference in mass, their force output was similar. However, he
could win by comparing technical skill.
Lone was the boy's usual training partner. The Ranger had greater
physical strength but lagged slightly in reflexes and moderately in
mana control. Both would improve from sparring matches,
especially with Tycon to observe and advise.
Pale displayed a high completion rating with several Skills-- far

more than any mundane gladiator would bother with. However, his
Skill activations were... extravagant, both visually and concerning
energy expenditure.
The boy was... far too much like his father.
Rather than a monstrous mana pool, though, Quay had practiced

the Blade Dance and effortlessly weaving Skills with striking for
over a hundred years.
According to legend, Heroes often adopted complex fighting
styles, bastardizing and elevating them beyond commonly
understood limits. Pale had a long road ahead of him, to get to
that level. Admittedly, following his father's footsteps was a decent
enough goal to start with.
...But was too much expected of him? Especially considering that

he was only a fraction of Quay's age.
The boy undoubtedly had the potential. The considerable mana

reserves of a Spear Hero allowed him to activate consecutive
skills with ease. With his innate combat genius, he mastered a
wide variety of Skills... and at an alarming rate.
Tycon had nothing more to teach the boy about the spear. Pale's
proficiency had vastly exceeded his own. He could teach him the
basics of the Blade Dance-- but that would be a future lesson.
The greatest critique he could provide... concerned the boy's Skill

usage.
Pale's mana formation of ⌈Legionbreaker⌋ was clean, perfectly

executed... though the efficiency was sorely lacking. The Skill was
designed to pierce rather than to overpower.
His ⌈Misty Step⌋ was agile and effortless. He was likely as

competent with it as Mister Wroe, from whom he'd learned the
movement technique.
Pale's timing for ⌈Shadowfang Strike⌋ was... appropriate.

Unfortunately, it was rushed due to his circumstances.
The failure cost him an electrified uppercut to the abdominal area,

several kicks to the side, and a spear stab to his unarmored thigh.
To top it off, Maximus effortlessly picked the boy up and hurled
him several fulms away.
Pale landed relatively near Tycon... probably to prove a point.
It was exceedingly polite, considering the plausible lethality in

gladiatorial bouts. Maximus may have had a soft spot for children.
Tycon walked over to the defeated Hero and nudged him with his
foot, "Pale. Do you submit?"
The boy got to his hands and knees, coughed violently, then rolled
on his elbow to pomf onto his back. A bit of blood marked the
sand beside him. Moderate to severe internal injuries.
A lesser gladiator would have surrendered long before reaching

that point.
"Um... BosSs?" Pale sputtered, his voice as weak and pathetic as

he looked, "Aren't you gonna ask me... ah... if this is the best I can
do?"
"I wasn't planning to," Tycon rolled his eyes underneath his visor.
"I think the answer, quite obvious."
"This... this isn't the best I can do!" Pale shouted, struggling but
failing to sit up.
Tycon frowned, sensing his System's offer to heal the boy. It

was... quite strange. In theory, his System should only respond to
his own verbal or mental commands.
« Negative. »
The boy would be on his own until the fight concluded.
Tycon certainly preferred the boy not be killed... but the match
was just too strange. The boy was certainly capable before he
Class-changed to Spear Hero.
In his current match against Maximus, something was missing.

Conviction... combat creativity... daring and bravado, Tycon had
seen none of it. He was activating Skills one after the other with
little thought or planning.
Pale plopped back onto the ground, billowing a light cloud of sand,
"It's no use... I took... too much damage, Boss..."
"Indeed," Tycon nodded. "I advise magical healing."
"Boss... can... can I get a heal?"
"What?" Tycon furrowed his brows, "No..."
"But... it really hurts."
"If you can whine about it, then you're not in dire straits, just yet."
"Bossssss~!"
Tycon crossed his arms and glared down. He did not like
repeating himself.
Pale blinked several times, his gaze focusing slightly... "Should...

should I just heal myself?"
"Yes. You should."
Pale looked to his side... gathered up a clump of sand... then

poured it over his thigh injury, his bruised ankle, and even inside
his chest plate... "⌈Healing Sands...⌋"
Tycon nodded, seeing the effects of the boy's rare ability. It

seemed to tax him greatly, but his open wound sealed just as well
as if he'd used his own ⌈Inspirational Surge⌋.
It baffled him that the boy had to be reminded to heal himself.
Also, that he put sand underneath his armor. It was going to

chafe.
"Can you continue?" He asked.
Pale slowly got to his feet...
He said nothing.
Tycon felt his eye twitch as he uncrossed his arms, "Young man..."
The boy wiped at his eyes before looking up to him.

He was supposed to be a Hero. Tycon saw nothing but a hurt and
crying child.
Grimacing and taking a deep breath, Tycon placed his hand on

the boy's shoulder... "I once told you... how Sol Invictus operates.
Do you remember?"
"Y-yes, Sir," The boy sniffed, "It was when Miss Seldin kidnapped
me... I can't... give up. I haven't kicked... or struggled... or even
tried to bite Mister Maximus yet."
So he did remember.
"I need you to fight... to the best of your ability. I will not ask for
more... and I hope to accept no less. Your words... I believe them,
as well. This... is not the best you can do."
⟬ ⌈Inspirational Surge⌋ conditions-- ⟭
« --not now. »
"If you feel overwhelmed..." Tycon continued, "there is no shame

in admitting it."
"Has... my father ever given up?" Pale asked with trembling lips.
Going on about that fool, again? Tycon bared his teeth, "I think
you know the answer."
Pale gulped hard, nodding slowly... "I want to continue."
"Very well," Tycon wiped the tears from the boy's eyes-- it was
more efficient than him rubbing more sand into them. "Move
quickly. Act with intelligence. Strike to kill. The training concludes
after one more exchange."
"...Y... yes, Sir."
"Your volume," Tycon groaned. "--It's lacking."
"Yes, Sir!"
Chapter 558 Heroes Never
Lose
ale stood a dozen paces from Maximus. The pain had gone
P
away somewhat... but it was going to get worse later. He needed
to sleep it off... or maybe ask Troia to heal him.
She was a healer... even if she was a little... huggy? She liked to
hug people. He didn't mind it too much? But she was supposed to
be really important-- and it made Lady Natalya really mad?
Maximus twirled his spear to the sides and above his head, then
locked it pointing forward, "You really should have stayed down,
kid!"
The greatest gladiator of Ezyria began to walk towards him...
His steps were really slow... and he was watching closely... being
really careful...
Was he tired? He didn't look tired. He didn't look hurt, at all,

actually.
Pale was very tired... his body was telling him that it needed to
rest. He was hurt too... a lot-- physically.
It didn't feel good fighting someone so strong after getting used to

winning all the time.
He was so excited after training with the Sea Wolves. He'd dueled
and beaten all the other Officer recruits... and all the enlisted in his
squad... And together, they'd won engagement after
engagement...
Because of them, Pale had become so much stronger!

But... all of his friends had the same goal. They were all training,
too... just as hard as he was.
He... hadn't taken the training as seriously as he should have.
He played around too much. It was fun to win against the bad
guys. He felt warm when he helped out the Sea Wolves in his
squad. He fought hard, because he was praised for killing so
many pirates or being brave or saving lives... He liked to laugh at
their dirty jokes and to play spades and... and argue over who had
to scuzz the decks.
He forgot that his number one reason for becoming a Lieutenant...

was to grow strong... to earn the right to become the next guild
leader of Sol Invictus... to follow the path his dad took.
Boss Tycon was just as strong as Pale had remembered. It felt

like he'd never catch up.
He'd heard that Lone had gone up in both Rank and Class. Boss
said that Taree was training with Mister Dragan. And Sasha had
learned to do high-level formations...
Pale had done a lot with Captain Lang Hai... and he'd even
sparred with him a few times-- the other Officers, too. No one was
as strong as anyone in Sol Invictus. No one was as strong as
Maximus...
It wasn't fair... but it was.
Troia said he was a Hero. It meant a lot of responsibilities... but

only because the Hero Class was the most powerful Class in the
Realm.
Boss was watching. His dad was in the crowd somewhere...

watching him fail.
"I can't give up, Mister Maximus," Pale inclined his head.
"Tch... because the Tactician ordered you to?"

Pale gripped his spear and tried not to let his voice shake...
"Because I have to. You wouldn't get it."
He began side-stepping to the right... and Maximus copied him,

circling in the other direction.
"You said you're fighting for pride," Maximus said, wearing a

serious expression. "My pride... is no less than yours."
"Yeah... I know..."
Mister Maximus was fighting for his sister. Pale had never met her,
but she seemed nice. He was fighting for Ezyria... and for his own
guild. He was fighting not just to be strong... but the strongest.
Pale was tired, he was hurt... but he was confident. He'd practiced
his spear for so many bells... every sun, every week. He practiced
his Skills until he puked... until Captain Lang Hai threatened to
keelhaul him-- whatever that meant.
He could have practiced more...
But... he'd practiced enough. It had to be enough!!
Troia said... that Heroes are born to be the saviors of their worlds.
That meant... he couldn't fail. Heroes don't lose. They can't.
Pale took in a deep breath... tilted his head back... and he

screamed. It was just like he'd practiced... words he'd yelled a
hundred times before, with his voice and his heart.
It was his battlecry.
"DEATH!!!! To The Enemies!!! OF SOL INVICTUUUUSS!!!"
He ran forward, his body burning hot. His mana flowed through
every single part of his body like a hundred-thousand-fulm
waterfall! He stabbed, he swiped, he slashed... he used ⌈Misty
Step⌋ and ⌈Shadowfang Strike⌋ hoping-- praying Maximus would
be a half-second too slow.
Maximus went on the defensive. It wasn't panicked... it wasn't
weak... but he couldn't find a window to fight back! He wasn't as
fast as he was before! Maybe that was why Maximus didn't attack
him when he was down. He needed time to recover, too!
Something... something just felt right. He had the advantage! Pale

swung his spear low, then stabbed the blade into the ground and
swung on it for a double-kick. The mana surging through his legs
made them feel heavier than a thousand ponze of steel!
BAM!!
It hit Maximus' arm! He staggered to the side.
Pale smacked his spear haft into Mister Maximus' chest, then he
stabbed at his leg.
Maximus barely deflected it, but that let Pale batter him twice
more in the chest with the other side of his spear.
Bam! Bam! Maximus countered with a wide diagonal swing-- Pale

ducked under it.
That was it! He could finish the fight with a single move!!
"⌈BlaaaastBAAACK!!!⌋" He concentrated mana into his spear, then

swung it like a club.
BOOOOOMMMMM! The explosion from the impact rang in his

ears, but Maximus flew up into the sky.
Yes! He did it! He successfully injured his opponent!
And his opponent... stretched big blue scaly wings out, and
started hovering in the air.
AWWWWW!!! AAHHHRRGH!!!
Awwww... BUTT!!
"⌈Maximus⌋!" More magic attacks rained down from the sky.

Pale ran, dodging and spinning and deflecting lightning bolts.
They weren't as many of them-- and there was a longer duration
between bolts. But... Maximus was in the air? Unless he ran out of
mana, he could stay up there forever.
"Your pride is NOT ENOUGH!!" Maximus shouted.
"I know it's not!" Pale yelled back.
His flying opponent tucked in his wings, plummeting down, his

spear sparking and crackling as bright as the sun, "Then SHOW
ME your CONVICTION!!!"
Pale steadied his stance. There was no point in meeting him in

the air-- Boss said so. If he had both feet on the ground, his
attacks would be stronger.
He braced his spear... waiting for that moment.
Maximus was getting close. There was a lot of mana...
It scared him.
If it hit him, he was going to get really, really hurt... or maybe even
get really close to dying.
"I just-- I JUST!!!" Pale cried, "I don't wanna be LEFT BEHIND!!!"
He'd made so many friends... Sorina and Miss Korr and Mister
Dragan and Mister Wroe... Sasha... Troia...
...Taree.
Lone...
Boss...
He didn't want them to leave... like his dad did.

Chapter 559 Teenage Girl
It was done.
Tycondrius shut his eyes and focused on a single thought.
« SASARAME!!!!!! »
Crossing between worlds applied a strange pressure inside his

ears-- like he was dunked into water or lifted high in the air.
Tycon shot his eyes open-- they had returned to Sasha's library. A
horizontal swipe of his hand dispelled the sigil sealing him and
Pale in.
The residual impact from Maximus' strike propelled the boy across
the room, through the air.
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, caught the boy-- and the two
of them slammed into a nearby bookcase. The explosion of
wooden debris was... not small.
Tycon felt his mouth twitch. Glass-like mana shards twinkled down
all around him. Dust and wood chips and splinters rained all
throughout. And... two more bookcases toppled over, the aged
wood bending and cracking.
In theory... it was safer for Pale to collide with a body and a

bookcase than against a merciless mana-constructed wall.
As for the damages to the library... Tycon would ask Natalya to

cover it.
The dozen or so academy students were in an uproar, bleating

like concerned sheep.
"Oh, no!" "What happened in the Ritual Circle?!" "This is terrible!!"
"The Hero! Is he dead?!"
Tycon was worried about... so he walked over to her, "Are you

alright, Sasha?"
The young lady nodded shyly.
Tycon took her small hand in his and checked her pulse, to better
examine her mana. Her condition was stable... and he detected
no signs of mana fatigue.
Sustaining a Reality Marble was heavily taxing even for a Gold-

Rank caster Class. Sasha had many spell-formations and mana-
filled focuses to ease the ritual's burden... but she was still only a
Bronze-Rank Oracle.
That the young lady seemed untroubled was a testament to her

skill with formations... and perhaps a bit of talent that surpassed
the limits of her Rank.
Still... it would be better to have her rest.
"How long has it been?" He asked.
The young lady tugged at her hand, "H... half a bell, Master."
Only?
Tycon tilted his head up in thought... "The time conversion is

acceptable."
He turned to the entangled bodies covered in books and

bookshelf debris, "Mister Lone, glad you could join us. Status of
the boy?"
Lone stood up, Pale in his arms. The boy was spasming,
coughing blood onto his chest. Lone had a nasty splinter in his
neck, but he hadn't seemed to notice.
"He's breathing, Boss?" Lone replied with uncertainty.

"That will do," Tycon nodded. "Administer a healing potion and
let's get him to an infirmary."
"Boss..." The half-dead child muttered, reaching out a trembling

hand... "Wait..."
"Quickly, Mister Lone," Tycon insisted.
The Ranger nodded and began to fumble with the flaps of his belt
pouches.
"Boss!!" Pale cried out with a sense of urgency.
"Seven hells, boy, what is it?!"
"Boss..." Pale's voice grew quiet... and he began to sniffle and

whimper.
The Tyrion students emitted another round of harsh whispers...
"Decanus Tychon must be the Hero's teacher..." "He's heartless!"

"Doesn't he kinda remind you of Instructor Severus?"
Tycon strode forward, grabbed the boy's jaw, and force-fed him a
magical potion summoned from his spatial ring.
The boy choked it down, rivulets of pain streaming from his eyes.
"Now what is so important, young man--" Tycon fumed, "That

you'd delay treatment of your injuries?"
"Boss?" Lone grimaced, "Maybe you should... calm down a little?"
"You, I'll deal with shortly," Tycon glared at the taller man until he
looked away.
"Boss..." Pale whispered... "I... I don't want to be kicked out of Sol

Invictus..."
Tycon furrowed his brows. The boy was speaking nonsense. He

was in shock.
"I'm... I'm sorry I failed..." The boy sobbed, "Please don't kick me
out."
...
⟬ High Oracle's Living Quarters. A few bells after. ⟭
Tycon knocked on the door to the High Oracle's room.
Lone was looking around fearfully, "Boss? We... we shouldn't be

doing this."
"(If we die, we die,)" Tres Leches offered. The wolf lazily twisted
his head back, checking their flank.
"Oh, shut up," Tycon groaned. "The both of you."
An Acolyte opened the door-- one of Troia's attendants, and

Tycon explained why they'd arrived. They were let in graciously
and led to the High Oracle's bed where Pale was resting.
With respectable timing, a glass window on the opposite end of

the room was opened... and a certain High Oracle hopped in. She
was holding what appeared to be a baker's tray.
Tycon glanced past Lady Troia, confirming that her personal

summon, the 60-fulm tall Dawnbringer, was outside. It seemed
she had used it for transport from one of the first-floor kitchens to
her third-floor quarters.
It was yet another flippant use of magic in a nation that, as a

whole, shunned its general usage.
Troia placed the tray on the bedside table and began to gesture
excitedly, [Welcome, Prince and everyone! I made (delicious)!]
She emphasized the tastiness of her baked... items by rubbing her

belly.
Even with the window fully open, the scent of smoke lingered in
the air.
Tycon glanced over at the tray, which carried black and teal(?)
clumps of slightly varied shapes and grossly varied sizes.
[It's (health food) for Pale!] Lady Troia happily signed.
"Ah, very well." Tycon smiled politely, "Young lady... we were

hoping for a moment with your Hero? Would that be permissible?"
Troia gasped, then bared her teeth in embarrassment, [I

understand. Take as long as you need.]
After a few more exchanges of niceties, Troia and her attendant

left... allowing Lone and Tres Leches to breathe relieved sighs.
Lone whistled, "Boss, I dunno how you can just speak to the High
Oracle like that."
"(She smells very strong,)" Tres Leches added, "(like... death,

incarnate.)"
"Troia is a teenage girl," Tycon raised an eyebrow, "just as Sasha

is. I don't see a need to treat either of them particularly different."
"But Boss?" Lone tilted his head, "Is that really how that works?"
"...Well, I haven't been crucified just yet," Tycon shrugged.
Lone frowned... "That's fair."
"Pale, get up," Tycon urged. "It's quite obvious you're awake."
Chapter 560 Assassination
Attempt
ale opened an eye, looking around, before sitting up in his bed

P
and exhaling deeply. He sounded exhausted, "Whew."
Tycondrius rolled his eyes, "How long were you planning on

pretending to sleep?"
"Ehehe..." Pale grinned and looked down at his hands, "Until Troia
left? And uh... why does it smell like... burning?"
Lone glanced at the small table near the bed, "I think your
girlfriend baked you cookies."
"She's... not my girlfriend?" Pale tilted his head.
"Can I have one, then?"
"Sure?"
Suddenly, a sharp sense of unease washed over Tycon.
He glanced over at the tray that Troia had brought in.
« System, analysis: Tray of... items? »
He couldn't rightfully call them biscuits... or even consumables.
⟬ System response: Tray of Dry Bricks. Mundane projectile

weapon. If consumed, inflicts nausea, vomiting, diarrhea. Low
probability to inflict death-effect. ⟭
Tycon held his hand out, just in time to stop Lone from killing
himself, "Hold."
Lone furrowed his brows, his eyes immediately alert, "Boss, is
there danger?"
"They're poisoned," Tycon explained. "Someone has made an

attempt on the High Oracle's life. I'll inform the kitchens,
afterward."
"(Fangs and claws do not have eyes,)" Tres Leches softly

growled. "(The killer does not care who his victims are.)"
"...Scary," Lone grimaced, crossing his arms. "It must be hard

being a High Oracle."
"Mister Pale," Tycon decided to change the topic. "You were in a

troublesome state, earlier, young man."
Pale dipped his head, ashamed, "I'm sorry, Sir... I just... I dunno if I
wanna talk about it."
"What's wrong, man?" Lone nudged his young friend.
Tres Leches put his paws up on the bed with a wisdomous gaze, "
(You stared death in the face... and you lived.)"
Pale chuckled softly to himself, "I don't know. It bothers me, I

guess? I really like being in Sol Invictus."
"You're on contract," Tycon crossed his arms. "You will remain

guilded until your resignation or your violent and probably-
completely-avoidable demise."
"Boss..." Pale's eyes grew wide and he stuck out a quivering lip,
"You... you won't leave me behind?"
...Was that what this was about?
"Of course, I'd leave you behind," Tycon groaned. "Granted, I'd
need a very good reason to do so."
Lone cleared his throat, "Boss... I think he means, y'know... in

general."
Tycon pursed his lips. Why were his companions being so
difficult?
"In that case... no. In fact, I am willing to expend a great amount of

resources to ensure you are *not* left behind."
Pale nodded, wiping at his tears... "I guess that makes sense."
"Anyroad..." Tycon tapped his foot impatiently. "Even if a forceful

separation were to occur, you are obligated to find a way to rejoin
the main force."
"But... that's not the same?" Pale whined.
Tycon furrowed his brows, "Why not?"
The boy blinked in confusion, "...Uh. Isn't it?"
"It's the same," Tycon insisted.
"Don't worry about it, bro," Lone grinned. "I'm in the same boat!"
"We are nowhere near a boat," Tycon argued.
"A figurative boat, Boss."
Tycon took a deep breath and sighed... "Very well. As you were,
then."
Lone nodded, "I mean... I got separated from Boss when I got
sent to prison. And then I got pulled away for a heist!"
Pale's eyes opened wide in shock, "A prison?"
Tycon eyes narrowed sharply in disappointment, "A heist, Mister

Lone?"
Lone's inclined his head, "It's... complicated. I'll tell you guys about
it after evening training."
"Is that... so?" Tycon tilted his chin up. "You must think the
physical training I've planned, akin to a relaxing stroll on the
beach. Very. Well."
"Boss!" Lone cried out, "Wait! That's... that's not what I..."
"Do not fret, Mister Lone!" Tycon exclaimed, "The difficulty will be
adjusted accordingly."
"S-seven hells," Lone cursed.
"Aww, butt," Pale winced.
"(Pain is what makes us feel alive,)" Tres Leches barked.
"You're coming too, wolf."
"(F*ck.)"
...
⟬ Flashback: Cersei's Rest, Northern Docks. The morning of that

sun. ⟭
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark took in a deep breath of salty

fog.
He was sitting on a hefty rock, a rowboat tied to it. There, he

waited. There, he watched.
The waves lapped against the wooden pier. The gulls squawked
away, living their lives as they pleased. He wished he could be like
those majestic creatures... but he had a job to do.
No one else was around-- it was just him and old man Simonides.
The ugly old man in the uglier yellow hood sat in his rowboat,
smoking a pipe. He was the one who suggested this spot... an
unused dock, fallen into disrepair.
He didn't have to worry about Outsiders seeing anything they

shouldn't.
Even amongst the ambient noise, Lone could hear Edge

approach. The man was a Rogue-- a good one, too. But it didn't
matter how quiet he was.
Lone was a Ranger.
He knew those steps... knew what to listen for. He could identify

the pads of a field mouse in a mouse field. Tracking another
human was as easy as melting butter in a pan.
"You made it," He waved, not bothering to look.
"Lone..." The blonde, spiky-haired Rogue approached from the

side. "I got your message, man... So yeah. I'm here."
He had his arms crossed defensively... and he kept looking

around. Edge had a good sense of preservation. It's what had
kept him alive all this time.
They were a lot alike. That meant he probably knew what was
coming.
"Yeah..." Lone nodded.
He took in another deep breath, taking in all the little things. He

wanted to remember it all... burn the moment into his memory.
He could smell the sweat from his own filthy clothing. Fish had
washed up by the tide, dying or dead, trapped in the rocks below.
Cersei's Rest was supposed to be a bastion of humanity, a big

white-rock Basilica in the middle, the home of the holiest of the
holy. To him, it was just another beach that stank of fish rot.
Lone was a Ranger. He could take a single whiff of bear shite,

figure out where she lived, track it down, murder her, and eat all of
her babies-- all within half a bell.
Chapter 561 You Were My
Brother
" Hey, what's the deal, Lone?" Edge whispered, "You in trouble?
We were s'pposed to split after last night?"
"Yeah," Lone dropped off of his rock and straightened his back,
"There's trouble..."
His hand itched... and his heart pounded in his chest. Everything
he was about to do was dangerous... and he hated being forced to
do it.
"Talk to me, Lone," There was a tinge of panic in Edge's voice,

"And who's that old man? This is weird, even for you, guy!"
Lone gulped hard, leaving a lump stuck in his throat, "Simon's

here to row your body out to sea."
He drew his blade... the Shatterspike longsword.
Edge's eyes widened, his pupils shrinking to tiny black balls...

"What the hells do you think you're doin', Lone? This isn't funny."
"It's you... or both of us," Lone grimaced. "I'm sorry."
Edge clenched his teeth... "Is that you, Lone? Did you lose
control?"
"I haven't," Lone shook his head... "This is my choice."
"I see..." The Rogue grew silent... even his hair seemed to droop,
maybe ruined by the sea breeze... "The Church put you up to this,
didn't they?"
"You can't escape the hand of the Church, Edge... Neither of us
can."
"You think I don't know that?" Edge scowled. "Those bastards put
me away in Turrim Orientem-- just like they did you! I would've
died in those Flame-taken tunnels... if you weren't there to save
me, Lone."
"Yeah..." Lone took in a slow, deep breath, "We've always had

each other's backs."
"We ate together... we slept together, we shat together in a single

brass pot, Lone!" Edge shouted, "You were my BROTHER!!!"
"Yeah. And we're still brothers..." Lone gripped the handle of his
sword tight, holding the blade low, "That's why it's gotta be me--
not the dogs of the Church."
"...I won't go without a fight, you know," The Rogue began to

reach for his dagger.
"--Don't," Lone commanded.
Edge might have had a chance with his rapier, but that was long
gone. He had a deadly disadvantage, dagger versus longsword...
"You know you can't win against me," Lone warned... "Not unless
you rely on *that.*"
"I... I have to try," Edge shut his eyes and lowered his shoulders...
His gloved hand-- his cursed hand was shaking uncontrollably,
"You can't just kill me like this."
There was one thing the Rogue could fall back on... but the price
was too steep. He could allow his curse to take over. He could
sacrifice his humanity and maybe... just maybe escape this foul
place.
Lone wouldn't let him.
He swung his blade upwards, quick and clean.

Blood sprayed up and into the air.
Edge's body fell backward... thumping into old man Simonides'

boat.
Lone turned his head and glared towards one of the distant
rooftops. Two Church representatives waited there, watching
through a glass tool.
They were far... but he could see them, see their faces of grim
satisfaction.
Lone was a Ranger. Nothing escaped his eyes.
They knew he was watching... and the two nodded in turn.
The job was done.
...
⟬ Black-Tailed Gull Restaurant & Inn, Private Room. After evening

training, present time. ⟭
"Wait-wait-wait," Pale held out both his palms, "Did you... did you
KILL him?"
"Edge... Huh..." Tycon muttered. The name sounded familiar. He

inquired his System to where he'd heard it, "Ah, your arena
partner?"
"Lone!" Pale shouted indignantly.
"Shh!" Lone hushed him, "Not so loud, Pale. No, I didn't kill him. I
had to cut my arm to fake the blood. Used a potion to heal it,
too..."
"Oh..." The boy breathed a sigh of relief, "That's good."
Tycon rolled his eyes, "Why didn't you have a potion to use for
Pale? You had two when we disembarked the Golden Eagle."
"Ugh..." Lone averted his gaze, "We fought a Necromancer."

"Just one?" Tycon scowled.
"We... we got caught by surprise, alright?" Lone bowed his head,

"Sorry. I'll do better next time."
"You'd better," Tycon groaned before taking a pull from his cup of
wine. "You and Dragan are the best equipped to fight undead, you
know."
"Blunt weapons!" Pale added cheerfully.
"Ah, Boss..." Lone not-so-subtly directed Tycon's attention

towards Sasha.
His daughter was pouting. She held her palms over her lap,
playing with a glowing ball of radiant energy.
"Don't sulk, young lady." Tycon patted her on her hooded head,
"You are the most effective *caster* against undead. The other
two are effective as martial Classes."
"I'm fine, Master," Sasha looked appeased-- but shot an angry

look at the Ranger, "Stop being gross, Lone."
"Huh?" Lone winced, "What I do?"
"Girls are hard to understand," Pale whispered... a sentiment that

Sasha did not take kindly to. The boy stuck his head under the
dining table to avoid her displeased glare.
"They're not so bad," Lone straightened his back. "By the way,
Pale-- I have a girlfriend now!"
"Whaaaat?" Pale's eyes lit up... then immediately dimmed, "Is that
something to be proud of?"
"It is!" Lone insisted, banging on the table, "She's really hot, too!"
"Well... alright," Pale smiled. "Congratulations!"
Lone bowed his head, "Thanks! I'm really proud of it."

"Where is she?" Pale asked, "Can I meet her?"
"Ah... that," Lone's gaze faltered and he looked away. "She's in...
uh... the Eastern States."
"She is? Um... where in the Eastern States, then?"
"I'm... not really sure."
Pale laughed quietly, "That's... that's cool, Lone."
"She's... she's real," Lone muttered-- as if he wasn't entirely

certain.
"I... um..." Pale looked away, "If you say so."
"PAAALE!" Lone was on the verge of tears, "You have to believe

me!"
"It's not that I don't believe you, Lone," Pale bared his teeth in
chagrin, "It's just... kinda... unbelievable?"
Lone fell forward, his forehead clinking on the table and jostling
everyone's after-dinner drinks, "That's the same thing as not
believing in me! Tell 'em, Tres Leches!"
"(She exists,)" The Dark-Iron wolf answered curtly... "(But love is a

fleeting emotion.)"
"I... I see," Pale pursed his lips.
"See? SEE?!" Lone raised his voice, "Tres Leches will always
support me! One HUNDRED percent!!"
"(I don't think he can understand me,)" The wolf yawned.
"Oh, haha," Pale giggled. "Got it~"

Chapter 562 Another Chance
Tycondrius chuckled, listening to Lone's and Pale's conversation.
It was likely that the Tyrion wine made him more agreeable.
He was glad for their company... and for their loyalty. They brought
with them the spirit of Sol Invictus in friendly banter and
camaraderie. Even Sasha seemed to be enjoying herself, as she
was smiling more than she ever had in the past.
"Lady and gentlemen," Tycon called the table to silence,

"Tomorrow, we shall train again... and we'll continue to do so until
we hear word from either Sorina or House Vanzano."
"We're not leaving immediately, Boss?" Lone asked.
"Master has to stay..." Sasha pouted.
Pale tilted his head up, his gaze far away, "I... was sorta hoping
we could get away from Troia. The sooner, the better."
"Cersei's Rest has excellent training facilities... and even a few

Gold-Ranks we might borrow, to test your mettle," Tycon
explained. "And you, Pale, can still very well benefit from training
in Sasha's Reality Marble."
Pale's eyes lit up, "Y-you mean I get another chance?!"
"Well, yes," Tycon furrowed his brows. "Did you think the
comprehensive spell formation we crafted was single-use?"
"Pale is stupid," Sasha added with a mischievous smirk.
"Keep your spirits high," Tycon raised his winecup for a toast, "for
during training, Sol Invictus, and even beyond... I need you to be
immortal."
"To Invictus!" Pale grinned.
"Death to our enemies!" Lone cheered.
"Yiss," Sasha quietly raised her small cup.
"Gararrrrr!" Tres Leches whined, carrying his water bowl in his

mouth.
...
With Sasha's safety and wellbeing in mind, Tycon only allowed her
to activate her Reality Marble once per sun.
The ritual took place each morning, and created an interpretation

of the Caeruleum coliseum, on that one particular sun, many
years prior.
Tycon was the ritual's main focus. His System, with its ability to
flawlessly access his memories, ensured the Reality Marble's
accurate detail.
Usually Pale would fight against Maximus... and afterward, they

would hijack other gladiators' matches.
They'd sometimes fight dozens of gladiators at a time. At other

times, they'd battle to subdue starved wild beasts-- or to murder
their captors, depending on their whims. They even dabbled in
recreated military engagements for a change of pace, exposing
Pale and Lone to Tyrion shield walls, mock naval battles, even a
bit of mounted combat.
Lone was especially skilled at defeating shield-bearers. He used a

combination of his Dark-Iron wolfhammer while coordinating with
his summoned companion, Tres Leches.
Pale was surprisingly poor at mounted combat. It wasn't quite a

weakness, though. He performed just as well fighting side-by-side
with whatever horse or quadruped he befriended.
The Gold-Rank weapon spirit, Garock, was a welcome boon. If
Pale and Lone went off on their own, Tycon could spar with the
orc fairly evenly. Sometimes the Orcish Samurai would lead some
or all of them into gladiatorial combat. It allowed Tycon to act as
support as he preferred, rather than focus on holding the front
line.
Both Pale and Lone were instructed on fighting larger and

stronger humanoids, with the orc as a very effective opponent.
With so much muscle mass and weight, Garock's natural ability to
bully, shove, and push made dealing with him a troublesome
challenge. The two young men grew far more versed in ground-
fighting, as well as armed and empty-handed grappling.
Eventually, Pale defeated Maximus on his own... with no small

help from techniques he'd practiced while sparring with Garock. In
less than a week after that, the boy proved able to win against the
dovahkiin consistently.
As an unfortunate discovery, the other members of Sol Invictus

were not present in the Reality Marble. Tycon hypothesized that
the Reality Marble could not support so many Gold-Ranks
present, at once.
When the ritual was crafted, it was designed as a training

environment to combat Maximus of Ezyria. As Sasha was only
Bronze-Rank, Tycon urged Pale to be thankful that a single Gold-
Rank could be emulated, at all.
While Pale's greatest recent training achievement was besting

Maximus, Lone achieved measured success-- but in a surprising
category.
When Tycon imparted the basics of the Elven Blade Dance... it

was the Ranger, not Pale, who took to the movements naturally.
Of course, the boy, being his father's son, spent no small amount
of effort in challenging Lone. They both grew exponentially faster
from blade-sparring combined with Tycon's instruction than
without guidance. .
To Garock's dismay, neither of the whelps wished to learn his
curved blade techniques-- neither were they suited for it. On the
suns he was free, he and Shadow left the coliseum and visited
Caeruleum's public houses.
Over time, Tycon found he could no longer best Pale in martial

combat without the use of Skills. He could fight him to a draw,
utilizing Garock's unique blade techniques... but that fleeting
advantage would surely wane over the next few moons.
A substantial amount of Pale's and Lone's motivation came from

trying to defeat stronger opponents, himself in particular. With the
speed of their development, they would surpass him... and Pale
sooner than the other one.
When that happened... he'd need to motivate them some other

way.
Concerning that...Tycon had no idea where to start. He decided to

ignore it and worry about it at a later date.
Besides the two whelps, Sasha had improved her abilities as an

Oracle. With her daily ritual casting, her mana reserves had grown
substantially, and she was nearing ever closer to a breakthrough
to Iron-Rank. Her physical abilities had improved, as well-- easily
able to best Sorina Capulet in both strength and endurance.
Tycon deemed her archery combat-ready. She had grown

accustomed to a new longbow with a draw weight of 100-ponze.
She did have to use a small amount of mana to operate it, but the
shot's speed and lethality were easily worth the trade-off. She was
accurate and precise at 200 yalms, even under pressure... but she
still had issues with shooting several arrows in succession.
Most importantly, she did very well in her classes, finishing the
school year at third in her year. This was in addition to her two-a-
sun training sessions with her guild.
Interestingly, Sasha became a bit more outspoken. At times, she

was somewhat possessive of his attention.
Ultimately, that was more than acceptable.
Children were allowed to be a little selfish.
Tycon was proud of all of them for meeting and exceeding his
expectations.
Chapter 563 First
In other news, Pale and Troia had been getting along nicely.
Tycon liked the Oracle well enough-- though he had the suspicion
that Invictus member Kimura Taree might be displeased to learn
of the young man's interactions with her.
Natalya had often come to visit Tycon or vice versa. Most of their
conversation was her venting about her coworkers or
subordinates. Sasha seemed to not like that... but Tycon assumed
there was a deeper meaning behind it-- likely that she was a
rather strict instructor.
Lone continued mail correspondence with his romantic interest,

Coraline Heartsong. She found a job in the city of Archangel as a
researcher for a prestigious Mage Order. Tycon looked forward to
visiting and discussing her published papers-- all interesting, if a
bit esoteric to magical community in the Eastern States.
Tycon lamented not being able to send word to his own pursuit,
Medousa of Silva. The Snake Cult undoubtedly tracked his
movements in the Holy Country... as too did enemies from his
muddled past. He would not risk his more vulnerable associates
being targeted by kidnappers-- if only to assuage his loneliness.
After a few moons... a missive came via the Courier's Guild,

marked for Sol Invictus.
It was from Athena Vanzano. She and her... boyfriend(?) Tanamar

succeeded in earning the trust of the Frozen Cairn sect and were
undergoing Martialist training. She suggested meeting after the
coming winter.
Tycon responded with a confirmation... and sent out a series of his

own summons to various factions.
After the winter, they would fight the Snake Cult.
The city of Caeruleum would fall.
...
⟬ The personal office of Archbishop Natalya Crucis. ⟭
"--and can you believe it? This FISH shows up without a fresh
haircut and shave!" Natalya fanned herself, she was so angry.
"Two of his Decani were there, looking twenty shades of pathetic!
His Centurion was there, red in the face! His PILUS PRIOR was
there!! And he LAUGHED!!!"
Tycon uncrossed and recrossed his legs, repositioning the plate of

take-out food on his lap, "Mhm? Any upcoming crucifixions, then?"
"By the Eternal Flame, I... WISH!!" Natalya pomf'd back down into
her seat, leaning back with her hands on her face, "Back when I
was a Decanus, before all the reformations, the whole LOT of
them would have been crucified!!"
"And where are they now?" Tycon munched on a piece of fatty

chicken. After so many times of ordering food from Olea Garden,
he knew what he liked.
"The Munifex is in the stockades," Natalya explained. "The

Centurion and the Decani are probably still running on the beach."
"The Pilus Prior?"
"In the hospital," Natalya shrugged, "wearing a Flame-taken

diaper, from what I'm told."
Tycon tapped his teeth, "There's... a mint leaf, it looks like."
The woman rolled her eyes and took a cloth to her mouth... "Mm.
Thank you."
With a heavy sigh, she picked at her own plate-- some sort of
salad... "You said you had something to discuss with me?"
"Two things, actually," Tycon nodded. "First, I wanted to know the
color of your undergarments."
"Sod off, Decanus," Natalya rolled her eyes.
Tycon furrowed his eyebrows, "Could it be... that you aren't

wearing any?"
The Archbishop laughed so loud she snorted, "Flame take it,

Tycondrius. You are the most insubordinate man I have ever met."
"Tss," Tycon shook his head, grinning. "I must have

misunderstood when I heard I'd be working 'under' you."
The woman threw her fork-- powered with a bit of mana. Tycon
shifted so the metal prongs stuck into the back of his wooden
chair, "Natalya-- I'm sure you know this, but I much prefer *I* do
the--"
"--Yes, Ivory Prince! I've heard!" Natalya snickered, "You have a

penis and you're not afraid to use it!"
Tycon took a sheet of parchment from a tube on his belt and

placed it on Natalya's desk, "I'd like to discuss our final
arrangements, concerning... that place."
Natalya looked over the writing and nodded, "Most everything's

been discussed... Though I must remind you that, should you fail,
the Church will brand you as rogues acting without orders."
"Granted," Tycon took no offense. That was how any business

operated, always prepared to cut their losses in the event of
disaster.
He placed his hand under his chin, tapping on his cheek, "You
mentioned a moon prior that you could supply me with
reinforcements?"
"Indeed," Natalya gestured to her planning table, "I've spread

word to two different centuries, urging them to finish their
campaigns in Sterngate and the Sleeping Country's Chaos Scar,
respectively..."
"Hm... and for the other urge?"
"I'm sorry?" Natalya raised her eyebrows, "What was that?"
"Rather than spreading word, Lady Crucis, I was wondering when

you'd spread your legs for me?"
She threw her half-finished plate.
Tycon carefully caught it... and unsticking her fork, carefully

caught the errant bits of food and greenery in the air. The woman
would throw a tantrum if there was a mess in her office-- even if
she was at fault.
"Is that a no?" Tycon teased.
"Yooooouuu!!" Natalya shouted, tensing her entire body... And

then, she began to laugh. She was overcome by it, clutching at
her stomach and wheezing to catch her breath.
Tycon shared in her mirth, laughing unapologetically over her

absurd actions. Over the past several weeks and moons, the
initially cold Archbishop had warmed to him tremendously.
After calming down, Natalya took in a deep breath... and revealed

a full, gorgeous smile, no less radiant than that of the angel-blood,
Troia.
"The short answer is... I can't promise any reinforcements."
"And the long and passionate answer?" Tycon smirked.
"A more comprehensive answer..." Natalya paused... "we'll

discuss... over dinner. Tomorrow evening. I've made reservations--
I expect you to free your schedule."
Domineering as always. That was fine, though. That was the way
Natalya was and he'd expect at least that much.
"Excellent," Tycon relaxed. "Did you book a seat for my daughter?
And if we're bringing Pale and the High Oracle, I must ask you to
also invite Lone."
Natalya shook her head lightly, "It will be just the two of us. It'll be
at the... the... Masquerade. Very exclusive, you know. Not just
anyone can get in."
Her voice cracked as she spoke. Something was amiss.
Tycon had accompanied Natalya in public before, sometimes in a

group, and sometimes by themselves. The nature of their
relationship was a popular topic in Cersei's Rest.
He'd had heard of the Masquerade. It was exclusive, as Natalya

said... It was expensive and catered only to the highest class of
persons, Tyrion and not.
It was called as such, as all guests were required to wear masks

to hide their identities. The inn and associated dining hall
undertook several steps, both magical and mundane, to ensure
absolute privacy.
On the surface, it was a place where the rich and famous visited
to hold private meetings with their associates.
As far as its reputation... it was where illicit dealings took place

behind closed doors... where strictured men and women could
give in to their hedonistic desires... and where individuals
belonging to high stations could discretely engage in sexual
relations.
...Tycon had made a mistake.
He'd thought of his and Natalya's flirtatious exchanges as

harmless banter.
She... may have thought differently. Her invitation... was an

indirect request that he sleep with her.
"Well?" Natalya glared, "How long are you just going to sit there?
Have you gone impotent?"
"Natalya," Tycon pursed his lips.
"Wipe that stupid look off your face, Tycondrius!" Natalya groaned,
still chuckling. "I'll ensure you get fed! I know how you are."
Tycon grimaced... "Lady Crucis..."
Realization seemed to strike the woman... She sharpened her

gaze... but she swallowed hard, "Wh-what is it?"
"I feel the need to inform you... that I cannot pursue you
romantically."
"What?! Preposterous!!!" Natalya laughed-- obviously forced, "Ah!

Hahaha! That's-- that's not... AND WHY THE F*CK NOT?!"
Tycon nearly flinched. The outburst was unexpected.
Natalya stood, throwing her hands outward, "Is it because of our

stations?! As an Archbishop of the Holy Country of Tyrion, my
status is EQUAL to yours, not below!"
"No," Tycon twisted his lips, "it's... it's not that."
"Is it my age? Because I'm not a ripe, twenty-year-old woman,

fresh out of recruiting!!??"
"What? No!" Tycon shot back, confused.
Natalya slammed her palms on her desk, "What is it then?!?"
Tycon breathed in through his nostrils... "I'm courting a young

woman from Silva."
The woman was stunned... "You... is... is she stronger than I am?"
"She is not."
"Prettier?"
"No."
"WELL!??" Natalya raised her arms, "What makes her BETTER

than I am?!?"
"Nothing," Tycon shook his head.
"Then... why?" Natalya's lips trembled, "Why is it then, that it's her
and not me?"
"She..." Tycon took a deep breath... "I met her first."
"WHHHATTTT???!" Natalya shrieked, "So NOWWWW you

pretend to have honor and loyalty?? I don't believe you,
Tycondrius."
She paced around her desk, screaming and shouting. Her eyes
glowed white as her mana flared. She turned abruptly, pointing at
him, "You! I know who you are! You're the IVORY PRINCE! You're
a LITERAL snake! You've never been LOYAL to anyone or
anything in your LIFE!!"
Tycon inclined his head, "I'm sorry."
"You know what?! It's FINE! Everything is FINE!!" She insisted.
She sat back down in her chair... She crossed her arms... and she
grew deathly quiet.
Tycon stood up, "Natalya..."
"It's fine... I'm used to it..." A single tear fell hot down her cheek...
"I'm never the first."
Tycon stood quietly... nothing coming to mind on what he could

say to mollify her anger... "Natalya, I--"
"Get out," She muttered.
With a heavy heart, Tycon nodded solemnly, "Thank you for

everything, Lady Crucis."
"...Just go."
Chapter 564 Snakes On An
Airship
⟬ Several moons later. ⟭
Tycondrius leaned over the bow of the Endurance. The airship

had recently lifted off from the air docks at Cersei's Rest and they
were en route to Rixus.
Below, the Dawnbringer was stomping across the Basilica

grounds, going from building to building and peering into the
various windows. Tycon could imagine the shrieks of surprise from
the various Tyrion faithful.
The High Oracle was the only person in Tyrion capable of piloting
the 60-fulm tall suit of armor. She was searching for something.
And that something was probably on his airship.
Tycon turned to a conspicuous-looking barrel, "Pale... did you

remember to tell Troia that you were leaving?"
The boy peeked out, the barrel lid resting atop his head, "Um. I...
forgot to?"
Tycon granted his young companion a polite smile, "Are you well
young man? You're not feeling nauseous, are you?"
The boy was visibly... pale-- as if he were sick. While sailing on

the high seas, he had been strongly affected by motion sickness,
and Tycon feared he'd suffer similarly on an aircraft.
"Just a little tired, Boss, that's all," Barrel-Pale sighed. "I'm happy
to be flying. Usually, I just have to run."
Tycon leaned in and examined the boy's eyes, "Light mana
fatigue. Get some rest and I'll wake you for dinner."
"Nn. Aye aye, Sir," Pale withdrew back into his hiding spot, the
barrel lid lodging into place.
After ensuring that the barrel had a breathing hole, Tycon returned
to watching the havoc hundreds of fulms below.
Lone leaned over, close enough to whisper, "Did Sasha cry when
you left, Boss?"
Tycon glared at him, lightly pushing the Ranger back to a

respectable distance, "Don't be absurd."
She did. It almost made Tycon not want to leave.
However, she still had her schooling... and Tycon had plenty to do,
elsewhere.
"Absurd..." A blonde gentleman muttered, sitting cross-legged

atop Pale's barrel and brooding, "What would you know about
being absurd?"
Tycon furrowed his brows. What did that mean? Was that
something he was supposed to respond to?
He looked over to the man on his opposite side... and tried to

remember just where he'd seen him prior. Taking a brief moment
to review his System's notes, he identified him as Lone's former
arena partner.
⟬ Edge, Iron-Rank Human Dark Lurker. ⟭
"Mister Edge. You look... spiky," Tycon smiled.
Besides the roguish gentleman's hair, Tycon struggled to find

something about him to compliment.
"Forgive me, Young Master," Edge dramatically threw his hood on

and pulled it down, "I no longer go by that name."
"Hey, Edge," Lone waved. "Wanna go play spades below deck?"
Edge visibly winced as if he was hurt-- and nearly fell off of his
seat, "I *said*... I don't go by that name, anymore."
"Oh," Lone raised an eyebrow, "Did you decide on a new name

yet?"
"...Nah," The blonde fellow sighed. "You got any ideas, man?"
Tycon rolled his eyes. He had a strong suspicion that Lone's friend
was an idiot, just like he was.
"Sorry. Don't have any," Lone shook his head. "Oh, Edge, this is
my other friend, Pale."
"You're friends with a barrel?" Edge frowned.
"Kinda. And this is my Boss, Sir Tycon."
"Oh, yeah I remember--" Edge fell off the barrel fully, but quickly
got to his feet, "Wait! Y-you're the current leader of Sol Invictus?"
Tycon grimaced, taking in a deep breath. Having just recently left

a tearful and slightly spoiled daughter, his tolerance for disrespect
had fallen dangerously low.
"...I am," He groaned, pursing his lips. "What of it?"
"Can... I join your guild?" Edge wrung his hands nervously.
Oh.
That was fine.
"Mister Lone, will you vouch for this gentleman's character?"
"Yeah," Lone nodded. "He's a good person-- really skilled... he's a

good Rogue but not... a *good* Rogue, though?"
"Thank you for being honest," Tycon scoffed.

The Lone Shadowdark was many things: a Ranger, a fool, and a
known attractant for pubic lice... but he was not a liar.
"Lone..." Edge crossed his arms, "That was kinda criminal of you,
guy."
Tycon turned his back to the railing, using it to rest his elbows, "I
accept."
From what he'd seen of the Rogue fighting the Caeruleum arenas,
he was an average combatant. He wasn't particularly strong, nor
was he grossly incompetent.
Most of their duo team's effectiveness came from the reckless-- if

effective, synergy he had with Lone. That, by itself, would make
Edge a tolerable addition to Guild Letalis' combat line.
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Are you aware of our current mission,

Mister Edge?"
"Wait, what?" Edge's eyes widened in disbelief, "That easy?"
"Should it not be?" Tycon frowned.
Though a bit presumptuous, he doubted that the Rogue could

pass a written evaluation.
"Well..." Edge rubbed the back of his hooded head, "You guys
kinda have a reputation as a... legendary arena guild?"
"Worry not," Tycon chuckled. "I'll assign you a practical test before
sun's end."
"I... alright," The Rogue nodded with shining eyes, "So what's the
deal, Boss-man?"
Tycon steadied his emotions and hardened his gaze, "We're

engineering an attack on a Snake Cult bastion in Ezyria. We have
a few hundred insurgents-- a number of them within the city
proper... and the attack will take place within six moons."
Lone furrowed his brows as if he'd understood something.

"The Snake Cult, huh?" Edge whistled. "It'll feel good fighting for
the good guys, this time around. Fair but without mercy! Just like
the Church teaches, yeah?"
"Don't be mistaken, Mister Edge," Tycon shook his head at the

youth's optimism. "Our reasons are just and honorable-- as the
Church teaches. However, it would be folly to wage a 'fair' war
against a city known for its gladiatorial arenas and populated by
25,000 people."
"Well... alright," Edge nodded hesitantly. "I suppose I can work

with that."
Tycon flicked his wrist and stealthily passed the Rogue three
crossbow bolts.
Edge quietly hid them away in a pouch, the subtle movement

indicative of expert skill.
He kept his voice low, but a novice's uncertainty shone in his

eyes... "These what I think they are?"
"Avoid skin contact with the poison," Tycon warned. "Mister Lone,
have you identified them?"
Lone kept his voice muffled behind his hand, "The bearded guy
with a sword sheath on his right side and the woman wearing
green-- she just walked off, though."
Edge narrowed his gaze, "What're you guys talkin' about?"
Tycon merely smiled and changed the topic. Slowly, the

passengers on the deck left to pursue more interesting sights.
Harder to justify their reason for loitering, the Snake Cultists
hidden among them also withdrew.
Once Tycon was sure it was safe to do so, he continued his

explanation to the Rogue.
"The Snake Cult is everywhere, it seems," He shrugged. "I want

their spies dead, Mister Edge. I advise piercing the neck to hasten
the poison's travel through the bloodstream."
The blonde Rogue grimaced... but nodded, "Boss... you gave me

three?"
"Adult gentleman," Tycon replied. "Brown gambeson, grey cloak."
Lone had carelessly overlooked the third target, as he relied

overmuch on his eyes. The grey-cloaked man was a Bronze-Rank
warrior who radiated hostile intent towards him, which did not
wane until he descended belowdecks. Snake Cultist or not, Tycon
would have that man in agonizing pain, choking to death on his
own blood.
It was very well possible that he was innocent-- merely jealous of

Tycon's handsome face.
He decided not to alert Edge to that fact.
"I'll take care of it," The Rogue nodded. "Still... we only got a few
hundred against a big city like that?"
Tycon patted the young man on the shoulder, "The Snake Cultists
will be reporting to their leadership... that we are a fraction of our
number, that there are a multitude of spies in the city to hunt, and
that they have several moons to prepare."
Edge's eyes widened in realization, "You mean..."
"We're sieging the city as soon as we arrive."
...
⟬ Thousands of malms away, a few weeks later. ⟭
"No, really, Agathe," Ptolema forced herself to smile. It made her

scarred cheeks ache terribly. "I'm happy for you."
"I'm so sorry, Leader," Agathe bowed her head. "I was... I was just
excited. I didn't mean..."
"By the Flame, Agathe," Ptolema rolled her eyes. "I said it was
fine!"
"But Leader..."
"Just stop with the 'Leader'," Ptolema sighed... "Guild Snowy

Village disbanded moons ago."
It was still a sensitive topic for her... having a guild... trying to

make it work for years... then being forced to disband.
For the longest time, guild Snowy Village was part of the Brazen
Guard Collective, a loose confederacy of adventuring companies
that took on A and S-Rank quests.
Then... after a shitestorm of a Dungeon, it turned out that nearly

the entire higher echelon of the Collective was actually part of the
Snake Cult.
Ptolema nearly lost her mind when she found out. She and her
husband had been working with them for so long that it hurt... so,
so much to be betrayed like that.
It also meant... because of the selfish actions of a few, she and

everyone else in the Collective could be labeled guilty of heresy
by association.
She disbanded her guild without a second thought. It was the best
thing she could do to protect herself-- and to protect her allies.
That was in the past. And it would stay in the past.
"Immunes Agathe," Ptolema leaned over her planning table, "You

will refer to me as Scarmother Talon."
Chapter 565 Life After Death
Silence reigned inside of Ptolema's war tent.
She pursed her lips, staring at Agathe as she smiled back

awkwardly.
This girl...
"...Anyroad, don't call me Leader anymore," Ptolema sighed,

shaking her head.
"Right... Sorry," Agathe bowed again. "It's a force of habit. But real
talk? I hate the naming sense. 'Sons' of Qotal.' 'Scarmother.'"
"The reports, woman?" Ptolema tapped her finger against the

planning table.
If she didn't stop her, she'd babble until morning.
"Yes, Scarmother," Agathe smiled with chagrin.
Ptolema glanced through the pieces of parchment. She felt an

oncoming headache, trying to read them. Their scouts were
technically illiterate, so it was a pain to parse the mashed up,
phonetically-spelled words.
Agathe had been her closest friend and greatest support since
she first registered Snowy Village with the Adventurer's Guild.
Even after disbanding it, they joined the Sons of Qotal at about
the same time-- and by sheer luck, were even assigned to the
same century.
That wonderful and infuriating woman... had gotten pregnant.

She and her husband had been trying to conceive for at least half
a year.
Ptolema was happy for her-- she really was.
It wasn't her fault that the news reminded her of how f*cked her
life was.
She'd gone to the healers, a few weeks after coming back from
the Halls of the Dead Serpent. They told her... that with her
symptoms, she was probably barren.
She was hurt-- devastated, really.
It didn't make much sense that it did... It's not like she was
planning on remarrying.
It was like... a crucial part of being a woman was... just gone. It

was like the heavens were saying she no longer had the right to
be a mother.
The feeling... of something important, something taken for

granted, but integral to being a person? Taken away?
She wouldn't wish that on anyone.
It felt like ages ago... when guild Snowy Village went to that
Flame-taken place.
Back then... she was pregnant with her husband's child. They
were planning on saving for a horse.
Then everything started to spiral out of control. She suffered a

miscarriage. Karodin never came back.
She was starting to forget his scent... what his laugh sounded
like... even how he looked like.
The more she thought about him, the worse she felt.
No, she'd never get married again.

Even thinking about romance felt like she was insulting him... like
it would make his ghost cry.
The big baby...
"Here you go, Scarmother."
Ptolema looked up.
Agathe was offering a clean cloth, "Take it, sister. Dry your tears."
"Get the HELLS out!" Ptolema snapped, pointing at the entrance.
The woman ran off-- as ordered. She left her cloth on the table,
but Ptolema ignored it, wiping her eyes with her wrist.
...She'd have to remember to return it later.
"I am the heir of ash and fire," She muttered to herself. "By the
dragon's flames, my sins are purged. By the dragon's flames, I am
born again..."
It didn't seem like much-- just lip service... but repeating the
mantra put her mind at ease.
The Sons and Daughters of Qotal were led by an armored man

they called The Exarch. He was a fanatic, that was for sure... but
he was a good man, crusading for the Eternal Flame... against the
heretics and the xeno's and *especially* the Flamescarred source
of all her problems, the Snake Cult.
After her life fell apart... Ptolema was lost and without purpose.
Without direction, she was forced to remember just how shite her
life was. The guild she led was ruined. Her face was hideous,
scarred beyond recognition. The only man she'd ever loved was
dead. The proof of their marriage, their child-- she never saw the
light of the sun.
The Exarch gave her something to believe in... something that she
could work tirelessly towards.
It was a reason to keep living. It was a reason to work her arse off.
It was a crusade-- one she never knew she needed.
At first, she was terrified of being found out when she joined the
Sons of Qotal. Thankfully, it turned out that The Exarch was a
decent human being. When she confided her past as a guild
leader to him, she wasn't executed on the spot. Instead, she was
offered an officer position.
She took it.
She excelled at it.
In a few short moons, she earned the rank of Centurion-- as well

as a new name and title:
Scarmother Talon.
It wasn't particularly pointed at her-- the other female Centurions

were called Scarmothers too. It was just strange that-- not
ironically, she had the most scars among them, both physical and
otherwise.
Just like in the mantra, taking up the new name was a rebirth of
sorts. It was like a gift from the Flame, herself.
She didn't want to be known as Ptolema anymore. Ptolema was

weak. Ptolema cried every night over her useless, dead husband.
Scarmother Talon was a badass b*tch that didn't take shite from
anyone.
The promotion was a trap, of course.
Being a Centurion meant she was also given a century. All the
waking bells of each sun was spent dealing with the b*tching and
moaning of entitled Decani and their piscine subordinates.
F*ck those criminal bastards.
...
Ptolema awoke to the whistle of the icy wind outside her tent.
...She'd fallen asleep reading reports.
As for how long she was out... the sun had gone down and the
lamp on her table had gone out.
She'd been tired lately... and had mentioned the fact to Agathe. It
was probably her fault that no one came to wake her.
"...At least wake me for lunch," Ptolema muttered as she rubbed

the outsides of her forearms.
She clasped her hands together... and concentrated, 'listening'

carefully for the 'sound' that fire made. She'd heard some of the
other faithful call it 'circulating mana.' Whatever it was, it warmed
her body and fended off the cold.
Gently separating her palms, she looked into the dancing ball of
fire she'd summoned.
It comforted her.
This was the gift The Exarch gave her... a gift granted to all the
Sons and Daughters of Qotal.
The gift of dragonfire.

Chapter 566 Fire Stone
The Exarch had a strange divine relic. He called it the Fire Stone.
It was an incredibly boring name for a guild that called their

centurions 'Scarmothers' and their elite troops, 'The Branded.'
It was a roughly hewn, dull-colored crystal a bit bigger than her

fist. Nothing about it looked particularly impressive. If she squinted
her eyes, she could make out a vague Z-shaped rune inside of it--
but that didn't exactly scream 'holy artifact.'
The following night, Ptolema's life changed.
She had something... that she could only describe as a religious

experience.
She dreamt of the Eternal Flame.
Kind. Warm. Everlasting. It was everything a deity was supposed

to be.
But it was also... more than that.
Inside of the Flame... there was a dragon. It had scales and teeth
and great, majestic wings that shot up into the heavens... It had
gentle eyes that peered into her soul and saw all the hurt and pain
and suffering.
And its voice...
It spoke to her. It offered her rebirth... to shed her old life and to be
born anew. And when Ptolema accepted, the dragon taught her
the words that she engraved in her heart.
'I am the heir of ash and fire.'

She woke from her dream under the starry sky, upon a bed of
smoldering embers. Some time during the night, her bedroll and
tent had gone up in flames.
She suffered almost no injuries... only minor burns. At the time,

she thought it nothing less than a miracle.
...she was told later that it happened all the time.
From that sun onward, Ptolema found she could summon literal
fire from her hands.
Once she got over her initial shock, she also found that she was
shite at it. Agathe once joked that maybe they should change her
title to 'Burnmother.'
That girl...
Ptolema continued to hear the voice of the dragon near every

night.
She didn't learn anything new, as far as doctrine went... Heretics

bad. Humans good.
However, with each passing week, the voice taught her more
about her gift... and her aptitude grew. Eventually, she became
confident of manipulating the dragonfire without worrying she'd
burn the rest of her face off.
...A year prior, she would have dismissed it all as heretical

nonsense.
Talking to religious figures in her sleep? Throwing fireballs at

painted stones in a field? That's not something normal human
beings do. It wasn't something Ptolema ever could have imagined
herself doing.
In her guild, however... it was commonplace. Some of the

strongest mercenaries they had were faithful Priests and
Champions, all who could wield flames. She also recalled having
worked with a Silver Pyromancer trained by the Church.
Fire was a good thing. Why wouldn't it be? They all worshipped a
literal Flame, and no one thought that was weird.
What was weird, though...
The voice in her dreams... it made her believe in dragons. Those

unstoppable beings of destruction that only children believed in?
They were real.
There was a dragon in the Flame. She had seen it.
...and she wasn't alone.
Hundreds of faithful had joined the Sons of Qotal, with dozens

more recruited each week... and all of them were convinced that
dragons exist.
...It gave Ptolema plenty of work, mostly administrative in nature.

She was good at it, so she didn't mind too much.
Releasing the fire orb in her hand, she willed it to levitate above
her. The usefulness of her magic in day-to-day tasks made her
wonder why it was so hated in Tyrion...
Refocusing on her work, she quickly read through the rest of her
reports.
...
A bell later, Scarmother Talon stepped out of her tent, her hot
breaths forming wisps of white in the cool night air.
It wasn't too late yet. She wondered if she had missed dinner, too.
She glanced over to the village on the horizon. Smoke plumed up

into the sky from when their forces raided it. She hoped that none
of her men were hurt-- unless they deserved it.
She approached the noisiest part of the camp, her path lit by
evening braziers. Whispers amongst the Sons and Daughters of
Qotal, her peers and subordinates, heralded her arrival.
"What's this, then?" Talon asked.
There were three captives tightly bound to heavy wooden stakes,

a young woman, a boy, and an older man. They were arranged
atop a large assortment of dried branches and split logs-- all very
flammable.
It seemed her subordinates were fairly convinced they were guilty.

She hoped it wasn't because the first two had the 'sin' of having
pointed ears.
"Scarmother," A Decanus approached her and saluted. "The

village was hiding these three heretics. Praise the Flame they
were discovered."
"Oh?" Talon narrowed her eyes at the youthful fellow. He was a

Church enforcer from Caeruleum, one faithful to their cause. Still,
it didn't feel right that he was so energetic, concerning the topic.
She tore the blindfold off of the closest person-- the woman, then
ripped the gag out of her mouth, "Is what this man says true?"
"Release me, at once!" The villager screamed, "Just because I

have Elven blood doesn't mean I'm a heretic!!"
Talon silenced her with a backhand across the face, "Calm

yourself. If you are innocent, then you should be able to defend
yourself with words-- not just volume."
The xeno slowly turned back with a face of indignation, clenching

her teeth and flaring her nostrils.
Her eyes were still arrogant... as if she had nothing to apologize

for. It was as if she was wholly ignorant to the way things worked
in the Holy Country.
Talon had seen those eyes before... in the Gold-Rank Elven

Priestess, Ariadne. She too had practiced heretical magic. That
Snake Cult whore deserved nothing less than burning in
dragonfire.
"The only thing I am guilty of... is being a half-elf in the Holy
Country," The girl declared.
"Elf or not," Talon grimaced, "I can see through your lies, b*tch."
"What PROOF do you have, you Flamescarred whore?" The

Witch shouted back.
Talon shut her eyes and shook her head. As her own abilities
developed, she was better able to sense magic in other beings.
Being so close to the half-human, the reek of heresy almost made
her sick.
"Let me speak in terms you can understand, then," Talon

hardened her gaze. "*You* are an unsanctioned psyker."
Chapter 567 Old Sage
" Filthy elf-bloods... we should just execute the lot of them," The
Decanus turned his head and spat.
It landed beside Scarmother Talon's feet.
Talon narrowed her eyes, "Don't be so quick to judge. We Tyrions

have a sworn duty to punish the wicked-- not to slaughter the
innocent."
"But Scarmother?" The man frowned, puffing out his chest like a
petulant child, "This one's obviously a Witch!"
"Flame take it, man," Talon shook her head. She pointed at an
Armored Champion, "You there. Take this fish and give him 20
lashes for insubordination."
"Yes, Scarmother!" The gentleman drew his sword and moved

forward. He gripped the first Decanus by the elbow and whispered
some choice phrases into his ear. Finally realizing his disrespect,
the idiot kept his mouth shut as he was escorted away.
For that, Talon was thankful. According to wartime protocols, 20

lashes was the maximum non-lethal punishment she could
assign... and she didn't really want to order him executed.
"Now, then..." She turned back to the Witch, "Where were we?"
"Let us free..." The girl muttered, "We haven't done anything to

hurt anyone."
"Ideas can do more harm than sword and spell," Talon paced in
front of her... "Who taught you how to use magic?"
The Witch held her tongue and averted her gaze.

She was hiding something.
Talon grasped onto the half-human's soot-covered hair and pulled

her head up, "Where are you hiding her? Speak!"
The girl's panicked eyes betrayed her. Shehad glanced to the

side, at the other captives.
Talon raised an eyebrow and pointed in the direction she briefly

looked, "One of these two, then?"
"NO!" The Witch screamed, "My teacher did nothing wrong!

Please! I'm telling the truth!"
"The man with the grey beard," Talon gestured towards the
captive at the far end, "Remove his gag and blindfold."
Invoker Agathe hurried forward, "Aye, Scarmother."
She removed the blindfold of the older man. His grey hair and
beard were marked with streaks of white and sharp lines were cut
deeply on his face. He had dark circles underneath his eyes, as
well as cuts and swells.
He had not gone quite peaceably.
Talon walked to him and met his gaze... the same rebellious eyes
as that of his student.
"What's your story, then, old timer?"
The man pursed his lips... and when spoke, it was with measured
words, "It was I who taught these two half-elves Alizeaun magic. It
is my fault for deceiving them and mine alone."
"Teacher, NO!!" The Witch screamed.
The old man was not a very good liar.
He then inclined his head, wearing a disgustingly fake smile,

"Please, Centurion. I submit to your laws and request execution
for my sins."
"Very well," Talon saluted. "By the Flame, you shall be purged. By
dragonfire, you will be born anew."
Taking a step back, she summoned a cute, energetic ball of the

fire in her hand-- the dragon's gift.
"Wait!" The old man's eyes shot open, horrified. "What-- that's
IMPOSSIBLE!"
"Behold, Tyrion flames," Talon smiled warmly, "It's a step above

anything your nation can produce-- but really shouldn't be *too*
surprising."
"No!!!" He screamed, straining his voice to do so, "Dragons!

DON'T! EXIST!"
"Ohhhh, is that what this is about?" Talon shook her head... then
sneered arrogantly, "I'm pleased to inform you that actually, they
do. And when they return, the Sons and Daughters of Qotal will
march on your so-called 'Magic Kingdom' and burn your capital to
the ground."
"YOU!!" The man shouted, "You're the ones being fooled!! The
dragons must NEVER return to this land!! Not just the Holy
Country, but the entire Realm will burn to ASH!!!"
"Right," Talon shrugged. "And from the ashes, all will be born
anew. Weren't you paying attention?"
With a gentle breath, the ball of fire happily leapt from her palm
and lit the old man's pyre ablaze.
"TEACHERRRRR!!!!" The Witch shrieked, trying but failing to be

louder than the old man's cries of agony.
"C-centurion!! Please!!" She begged, "The flames! My brother's

going to die!!"
It was obvious that her brother, the still-blindfolded captive, was

keenly aware of his chance in circumstances. Sweat poured down
his face, he struggled desperately against his bindings. As the
flames rose, so did the volume of his muffled screams.
"...Yes, I am aware," Talon twisted her lips to the side. "And you
will share in his fate."
Regardless of who was at fault, heresy was punishable by death.

It was a basic command of all Tyrion's citizens.
Talon felt a tinge of guilt that the Witch didn't seem to understand
that. The girl should have known. She had no right to complain.
"Wh-what?" Realization dawned in the Witch's eyes, her earlier

arrogance, entirely absent.
She looked how she should have, sorrowful and repentant.
Talon patted the girl on the cheek, "Don't worry. The cycle
continues neverending. Fire. Ash. Rebirth."
"How... how can you do this? You're... you're a mage too, aren't
you?"
"Not quite. We all serve the Eternal Flame."
"A... all of you?" Realization slowly dawned in the Witch's eyes,

"All of you... are... are Circle Mages? That's... but how?"
Talon took a deep breath... "I know it's hard to understand, girl...
but I've seen the dragon in the Flame. I've heard its voice... we all
have. There's a better life for you and for all of us, whether or not
you choose to believe it."
"You're-- you're just killing innocent people!!" The Witch cried,

"Please... at least my brother... he's still just a boy! You CAN'T DO
THIS!!"
Talon turned her back to the witch, "Gag her. She'll spend her last
few moments in quiet prayer-- and perhaps a bit of dignity."
"Right away, Scarmother," Agathe immediately got to work, tearing

off a strip of cloth from the girl's tunic and tying it tightly around her
mouth.
"Is there anything else?" Talon raised an eyebrow.
"There is," Agathe nodded. "What shall we do about the village?"
"A village that breeds heresy doesn't need to stand," Talon

crossed her arms. "Burn it."
The woman furrowed her brows, "But... the villagers,

Scarmother?"
"What about them?" Talon furrowed her brows, "Oh... We'll bring
them to The Exarch. Those who can hear the dragon's voice will
be inducted to the Sons of Qotal."
"R-right," Agathe breathed a sigh of relief.
"Did you think I was going to order them all killed?" Talon
squeezed her friend's cheek. "You're pregnant, Agathe, not
stupid."
"C-can you not, Scarmother?" Embarrassed, Agathe brushed

Talon's hand away. "My husband doesn't know yet."
"Haha! I apologize, sister," Talon grinned. "But really, you should

let him--"
"Scarmother! Scarmother Talon!!"
The crowd of faithful split, allowing a beleaguered Scout to pass

through, "Scarmother! We've found signs of invaders in the
Caeruleum hills!"
Chapter 568 You’ll Do What?
(Part One)
⟬ Flashback: Kasydon countryside. Six suns prior ⟭
Ariadne looked out the window, careful not to be seen.
More had come.
She gave silent thanks to the gods. Thankfully, the ones that
came didn't look like they were from the Church.
...She didn't want to have to move again.
Adventurers came once or twice a moon... all of them wanting the

same thing, to recruit two Gold-Rank adventurers to their cause.
It didn't matter how much gold they offered or whatever 'honor'

they had on the line. She rejected elves and humans alike, Holy
Invokers and Darkmages, Nemayans and folks from the Eastern
States...
She kept her courtesies, as she was raised as a proper lady.

However, there were more than a few times she had to roll up her
sleeves and reveal just how powerful a Gold-Rank actually was.
All Ariadne wanted to do was to live a mundane life with her

husband... free of war and politics, thanklessness and betrayal.
Free of any of that adventuring bullshite, really.
They had enough coin saved up for it-- at least for just the two of
them. The harvest season was coming quick... and then they'd all
be busy enough, working with the other families in the village.
To do that, all she had to do was outlast the folks who kept calling
for them. As the years went by, she and Bannok would be
forgotten. After enough time... they'd get that life of peace...
She grabbed her broom and headed to the door. She had to
defend that dream any way she could. It wasn't just for her sake--
she had to protect her husband too. The gods knew he'd suffered
enough.
"You goin' somewhere, wife?" Bannok shouted from the bedroom.
"Jus' out for a minute, darlin'." She called back, "Gotta get me a
breath o' fresh air."
"Alright! If yer goin' to the neighbors--"
"Nope!" She yelled back, her impatience rising in her voice, "Ya've
had more'n enough whiskey, ya drunk!"
A series of inaudible grumbles signaled that her husband had

heard but did not agree.
She shook her head. Her dear husband had come into a little bit
of a drinking problem. She'd never let it get too bad if she could
help it, though.
Steadying her heart and putting a practiced scowl on her face,

Ariadne opened the door, "Now lissen up, if y'all're here for--"
Her heart jumped up, sticking in her throat and making it hard to
breathe.
A man in black armor stood at her doorstep. He had a shining

white helmet underneath his arm, a head full of green hair, and
eyes as deceitful and yellow as a snake's.
"Hello, Priestess Ariadne," Tycon hissed.
"Get the f*ck out of my house," Aria scowled.
"Or you'll do what?" Tycon tilted his head, "Hit me with a

broomstick?"
"I'mma stick this where tha sun don't shine, mister, if *you* don't f--
"
"Ari!" Bannok called, "Is someone at the door?"
"No one in partic-uler, hon!" Aria shouted back.
This was bad. The last person her husband needed to see was--
When she turned back, the Tactician had disappeared... "Slicker

than owl sh*t, you--"
She swung her broomstick in an arc behind her. She didn't belong
to a martial class, but any decent strike from a Gold-Rank would
give the fella a nasty lump.
Her weapon stopped.
It was blocked... by the haft of a crimson spear-- and it didn't make

a Flame-taken sound. She didn't feel any magic that blocked the
impact... or enchantment that silenced the noise. The
spearwielder had someone managed to... catch her strike, and
ease it back.
He was good. Real good.
The Tactician was inside her embarrassingly tiny home, looking at

an old painting on the wall... something she whipped up to cover
one of the many big holes in the wood paneling.
Standing beside him was a young boy with sandy blonde hair-- he
couldn't have been older than twelve or thirteen. That boy-- that
impossibly young child was a Gold-Rank... just like she was.
He wore custom-molded armor... bright blue, all of it Tyrion steel.

On his shoulder was the only known sigil of the forbidden holy
spell ⌈Ultima⌋.
Only one class of person could wear that symbol in the Holy
Country... the personal guard of the High Oracle.
But where did he come from? He wasn't there when she opened
the door.
Putting her angry face back on, she kept as quiet as Elvenly
possible, trying to get this snake to leave, "Y'all are *not* welcome
here, I don't care who--"
"We're not here for you," Tycon interrupted her.
Ariadne furrowed her eyebrows, "What in the seven hells and

eleven heavens do ya mean, by that?"
"Stand down. We're here to speak with... 'Mister' Ariadne," Tycon

gestured flippantly. "So to speak."
"You an' what army, bub?" She scoffed.
Tycon nodded towards the boy, "Pale."
Ariadne turned to look and everything... stopped. All the tiny hairs
on her neck and arms, all of them were standing. Her heart had
stopped pumping. Something dreadful was rumbling in her gut
and making her sick. Bells and whistles were going crazy in her
head, like she was staring in the eyes of a direbeast and she was
a thirty-year-old Sapling again.
All she could see... was white... and the boy.
There was... so much mana radiating out of the child... and it

washed over her like a flood. Her knees buckled and she was
about to fall when the Tactician caught her by the arm.
"That's enough," The Tactician whispered.
And all at once... everything was normal again.
The clock on the wall, it was ticking. Her heart was beating. Sweat
dripped out of every pore on her body. Blood was trickling down
her nose... and dripped onto the floor.
"Elves tend to have a very acute perception of mana," Tycon

explained. "Any more and Lady Ariadne was at risk of injury."
"Ohhhh, got it, Boss," Pale nodded and bowed politely, "I'm sorry,
um... Milady."
"Tactician..." Ariadne gulped, "You recruited... a Hero? To Guild

Letalis?"
"Oh, is it that obvious?" Tycon mused.

Chapter 569 You’ll Do What?
(Part Two)
he Tactician was grinning wider than a shite-eating possum,

T
"Now, can we sit and converse peaceably? Do you have some
chairs, or--"
"Won't be necessary, guy."
Bannok trudged out from his room... but even before Tactician
Tycon turned to look at him, his face twisted into a grimace and he
wrinkled his nose.
Ariadne felt her entire face flush hot with shame.
Her husband hadn't shaved or bathed in weeks... and the

unwashed clothing he wore reeked of alcohol. She made sure to
change out the bandages on his severed arm every sun-- she
didn't want it to get infected... but he didn't let her wash anything
else.
"You two's," Bannok slashed his secondhand sword through the

air, a slow and sloppy swing, even for a human, "Get out... I don't
wanna talk to ya's."
"Or you'll do what?" Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Hit me with that

pig iron sword?"
"Boss," The boy, Pale, tugged at the Tactician's arm, "We should
go. We're not welcome here."
Tycon tilted his head up and groaned, "Don't worry about it, young
man. These two are probably casting blame on me for their own
inadequacies."
"Oh. F*ck. You. Ssssnake," Bannok growled.
"Tss..." Tycon scoffed, "Really, Bannok? No matter the species,

wallowing in alcohol and self-pity is just as pathetic."
"Yeahhh?" Bannok reeled back, blinking his his bleary drunken

eyes, "How 'bout you say that to my face, guy?"
The snake stepped forward, unafraid of the bigger man, "I came
looking for a proud former guild leader, his heart filled with
courage and his will made of Tyrion steel."
He grabbed Bannok's shirt and pulled him down, staring into his
eyes, "But all I see is an old drunk who's convinced himself he's a
failure."
Bannok shook the Tactician off but he lost his balance. His
shoulder caught the doorway before he fell... and he leaned on it
while glaring at Tycon's chest, "Yeah... You got that right, guy. I'm
a failure. So what?"
Tycon raised his arms, "How long are you going to mourn, then?
There must be a breaking point! You've fallen to THIS!? You've
hidden away in a literal HOVEL!"
The more the Tactician talked, the more Ariadne felt her heart
wrench. They'd sold near everything of value to help with their
travel expenses, including Bannok's old enchanted battleaxe.
They'd moved twice before, too, to avoid the uncomfortable eyes
of the Church on their witch hunt. That was why two Gold-Rank
adventurers were living in squalor.
If Bannok was even a few years younger... if he still had both

arms... he'd never have even considered running away with his
tail tucked between his legs.
"Bannok..." Tycon's gaze softened, "Tell me truthfully... Is this

acceptable to you?"
"F*CK OFF, Tactician!!" Bannok shouted, "You're the one that got
us into this shite! We never would've gotten into those Flame-
taken Halls if it weren't for you!"
"I may have led you humans into those Halls..." Tycon seethed...
"but I did my gods-damned best to get as many of you out. Don't
you dare blame your weakness on me."
"Flame TAKE YOUUUU!!!" Bannok raised his sword arm.
"Bannok, NO!!!" Ariadne shouted.
The snake may have been rude... and untrustworthy... but she
knew the truth. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. That's
why the whole ordeal was so infuriating.
If it weren't for the Tactician... everyone would have died in those

halls.
Bannok had killed hundreds of people-- it was in the job

description, campaigning for Tyrion, monster subjugation,
Dungeon delving. But... he'd never murdered anyone. And
murdering the Tactician in a drunken rage? It wouldn't be right!
She reached out, rushing forward to stop him... but she was too
late.
Her husband swung his sword... but the Tactician caught it with
his bare hand.
Blood flowed down his palm and dripped down his arm. He
grabbed the blade, wrenched it away, and tossed it to the floor...
like an adult taking a toy away from a spoiled child.
Ariadne couldn't believe it. It had been less than a year's time...
and he was stronger than Bannok?
"Not a f*cking onze of killing intent, Bannok," Tycon sneered. "If

you thought you could kill me with that level of attack-- honestly,
I'm insulted."
Bannok sighed... like all the strength had left his body, "Don't gotta
be so surprised, guy... You's can see it now, yeah? I'm a f*cking
failure..."
"You've merely lost your way, Brother-Bannok," Tycon said quietly.
It was like the words hurt when he said them.
Bannok stood up and straightened his spine... but he couldn't

bring himself to meet the Tactician's gaze anymore, "Say what you
came to say..."
"Look at me, Brother-Bannok."
Grimacing, Bannok slowly looked up.
"You're lost right now," Tycon hesitated... "I am here to offer you
guidance back."
"Come with us, Sir..." The boy offered. "You know Boss Tycon
means the best for you."
...Bannok took a deep breath and shook his head, "No can do... I
ain't half the man I used to be without my shield arm."
He lifted what was left of his arm. It was nothing but a bandaged
stump, ending just underneath the shoulder.
Ariadne had tried her best to heal it-- to at least seal the wound so
it wouldn't fester and ooze. It always felt like there was something
stopping the magic from working fully. It wasn't poison. It didn't
seem to be curse magic.
She had a terrible feeling that the fault lied with her husband. That
maybe... it was his refusal to let go of the past... That because of
his rejection of any form of redemption, that it affected his physical
capacity to heal.
Bannok tilted his head up in a shameless grin, "Besides, the wife'd

kill me if I go."
Ariadne winced at the words. Her husband... had never before

used her as a shield. He was the unyielding shield. He was the
unstoppable force.
She... couldn't let it go on.

She didn't want to say what she had to say. She couldn't get over
her hate of the Tactician... for being who he was. But if he had a
way to cure her husband's heart where she could not...
Chapter 570 Reason To Fight
o matter what happened, Ariadne loved Bannok with all her

N
heart. She'd do anything to get him back... even cooperate with a
snake.
"I think it's a good idea..."
"Say wha?" Her fool husband furrowed his brows.
"You heard me, hon!" Ariadne glared, "You've been in a rut,

there's no denyin' that... An' if the Tactician's got a way ta put you
back on the saddle, I think he's worth a talkin' to."
"Of all the--" Bannok turned away, as he started to curse up a

storm in the old language.
"Caeruleum," Tycon declared.
"Those scum-sucking bastards that assigned us that Flame-taken

quest in the first place..." Bannok spat, "What about 'em?"
"I'm going to burn the city down," The Tactician turned away... and
just like that, he walked out of the door.
Pale looked confused... as if he wasn't sure whether to follow his

leader or not.
"Um... Sir?" He asked.
"Whaddya want, kid?" Bannok grimaced.
"I think Boss means to say... you should come with us... to
Caeruleum."
Bannok grew quiet in contemplation.

The snake was right. Her husband was lost. He wanted revenge...
but he didn't pursue it. Fighting against an entire Tyrion city to get
it was just too much of an undertaking-- even if Ariadne fought at
his side.
The Tactician didn't give a rat's arse about any of that. From the
way he looked, he'd fight against the city all by himself, if he had
to.
The boy cleared his throat, "Sir Tycon said... we have two reasons
to fight. We fight to protect the people we want to protect."
Bannok took a deep breath in and sighed... "Yeah? Well, I don't

got a lot of people I care to protect anymore."
Ariadne leaned down to face the short blonde boy, "An' what'd he
say the other reason was, bub?"
Pale nodded bashfully... "To honor the memories of those that

came before us."
...
"Lone! Edge!" Tycondrius shouted as he approached his traveling

companions.
Lone dropped down from a tree branch where he was doing pull-
ups. He'd accrued a healthy sweat on his brow, "Oh, here he
comes Boss, now."
"Boss, what's the word?" Edge was balancing himself atop a

fence, his arms stretched horizontally to either side. His spiky
golden hair bobbed in the breeze.
"Tie two of our horses to that post, over there," Tycon directed.
"Leave a bag of feed, as well."
"We got feed, Tactician," Ariadne's voice called from behind.

"Horses, too. We don't need your charity."
Tycon felt his eye twitch. The conversation was over. Why did the
dark elf chase after him?
"Edge, Lone... Grant us a moment, if you would."
"Got it, Boss." "Aye, Boss."
After they walked a distance away, Tycon inclined his head,

"Thank you for your assistance, Lady Priestess."
"I ain't doin' this for you, Snake," Ariadne scoffed. "I'm doin' this for
mah husband."
The woman still had blood smeared on her nose, having suffered
a mental shock from Pale releasing his Gold-Rank mana in full.
Even after that, she marched out of her house-- probably leaving
her husband to dwell on his thoughts. Tycon couldn't believe the
lengths this woman had taken in order to get the last word.
"I feel a lot of misplaced anger here, Ariadne," He frowned. "The

choice to accompany me belongs to both you and Brother-
Bannok... But as you implied, your husband needs this chance."
"Just this last job," Ariadne swiped her hand to the side, "Just this,
an' no more. I never want you botherin' us again, Snake."
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "I don't think you understand."
"Yeah? About what?"
Tycon pursed his lips, "I don't need you... nor do I need him."
Ariadne's eyes shot wide open-- in shock, in realization... in horror

and shame. Her face kept twisting, as if she didn't know how to
feel.
"I don't even care that you're Gold-Rank," Tycon continued. "This
is Bannok's chance for vengeance-- and as a man I once
respected, he deserves at least the offer. And just now... I've
communicated my *gratitude* to you in good faith.
"What is your goal, coming out here?" Tycon raised his arms,
incredulous, "What do you have to gain from antagonizing me?"
The woman's eyes dropped to the ground. In that moment, she
was no longer a proud dark elf... nor a powerful Gold-Rank
adventurer. She was a sapling being guilted by the scolding of a
rational adult.
"I'm... I'm sorry," She muttered, "I just--"
"We're in a hurry," Tycon shook his head, "Take care of my

horses, Aria."
...
⟬ The Caeruleum countryside. Six suns later, present time. ⟭
"I am the heir of ash and fire," Alea whispered to herself. "I am
chosen by the Flame to enact her will... and enact her will, I shall."
She turned, whipping the end of her braided red ponytail, "What
say you, Son of Qotal?"
One of her faithful, a hooded Scout, had emerged from the brush.
He approached warily, but rendered a strong salute.
"Scarmother Alea, we've identified several cookfires-- and from

their locations, we think we know where the invaders' main camp
is."
Alea pointed at a path into the hills, drawing a line upwards, "My
intuition tells me that it's that way. Does that match your reports?"
The man took down his hood, rubbing at his fluffy dark hair, "It
does, Scarmother. By chance... did someone come by, before
me?"
"I know these things," Alea smirked, "I hear the dragon's voice a
bit more clearly than most-- or did you think I was babbling
religious nonsense?"
"Well, uh... no, Scarmother," The Scout inclined his head. "I meant
no disrespect."
"You must be new," Alea chuckled. "Your name?"

"Yes, Scarmother," He admitted. "My name is Iaison... and It's my
first week since... the dreams, I guess."
"Immunes Jason, then?" Alea smiled, "We, the Sons and

Daughters of Qotal are gifted. You can agree on at least that
much, yes?"
"Y-yes, Scarmother. It's just..." Scout Jason hesitated, "It still

doesn't feel real... having so much power."
",
Chapter 571 Reaper
" I understand," Scarmother Alea nodded. "Think of it this way:

how did you feel when you were first issued your sword and
armor?"
Jason mulled the thought over... "I felt invincible."
Invincible. Alea had to cover her mouth as she burst into high-
pitched laughter... "Wow. Really..."
The Scout looked away, scratching the back of his head.
Ah, to be young~
Alea allowed herself a reassuring smile.
"Anyroad, it's the same thing. We have been gifted by the dragon
in the Flame. And like any issued piece of gear, we still have to
train with it-- to respect its power...
"Incidentally," She smirked, "that is also why I asked if my intuition

matched your reports. I'm human. Humans err."
"But..." Jason was still hesitant, "The voice we hear... it's... it's a
dragon? Since Tyrion's inception, we've always had a High Oracle
to interpret the will of the Flame... Why has a dragon suddenly
appeared... thousands of years later?"
"Have faith, Son of Qotal," Alea drew her sword and rested it on
her shoulder. "The dragon commands no less than is commanded
to all of Tyrion. Defend humankind. Destroy its enemies. Doesn't it
make your blood run hot?"
Jason nodded... "Yes, Scarmother..."

Alea gave the young Immunes a wink, "We just use a bit more
dragonfire, right, sweetie?"
Jason's spine straightened immediately, "Y-YES, Scarmother!!"
A flush of red stained his cheeks, perhaps from the cold-- or

maybe from Alea's teasing.
That would do.
"Sons and daughters of Qotal!" Alea shouted.
She raised her sword and turned to her century of nearly a

hundred faithful mercenaries. "We're moving out!!"
They raised their fists and weapons to the sky, shouting in

affirmation.
"""We hear you, Scarmother!!!"""
...
Alea rubbed at the warpaint on her face. It provided a bit of

protection from the cold winds, but her lips were painfully dry. A
few moons prior, she would have been miserable... but with the
dragon's gift, she kept warm even throughout the recent winter.
Steadily trekking up the rocky hills, she followed her intuition to

lead her century. Though the path winded slightly and was
treacherous at certain points, they made good progress.
Then... her forward team reported a suspicious individual blocking

the path.
Just one.
She first assumed it was a hermit living in the mountains... an

eccentric retired adventurer, perhaps. However, they were in
Tyrion. If the old man found out about heretics settling on his
mountain, he'd probably offer to assist any way he could.
He might even be able to teach her Scouts a lesson or two.

Ascending a ridge several men wide, Alea came across that
person.
...and he was nothing like she was hoping for.
He was tall-- nearing seven feet... and underneath his thick cloak
were heavy plates of blackened steel armor. Hateful spikes jutted
out of his shoulders and he wore a dark helmet. The way his
eyeholes were cut, it looked like he was judging her-- and she
could swear the eyes hidden underneath glowed with danger.
Most worrisome were his plate gauntlets. Each had three long
claws of Tyrion steel. From the distance, Alea thought they looked
like an uncommon weapon issued to Church Centurions... but she
couldn't be certain.
The armored figure spoke with an echoey male voice, "[You are
not welcome here.]"
Alea stepped forward and cleared her throat. If it were a few

moons prior, she would have been terrified... but she was the heir
of ash and fire. She was an honorable and just Daughter of Qotal.
She had nothing to fear.
"Honored Sir, I am Centurion Alea from the guild, Sons of Qotal. If

you'd allow me to explain--"
"[How many are you?]" The man interrupted her, "[I expected
more.]"
Alea took a deep breath, trying not to lose her patience. She was
the heir of ash and fire. She was above losing her temper just
because of the rudeness of a single mortal man, "I have with me a
full century. Please allow us to pass, so we may investigate the--"
"[You. Shall. Not. Pass,]" The man said with finality.
"I... see..." Alea turned back to her Scouts... and to the rest of her
company. They had been marching for less than a bell, so
everyone was still in good spirits. And those spirits were quickly
turning to indignant frustration.
They could reasonably find another path... and Alea's intuition was
telling her that it was probably better to...
She had a choice to make.
She could avoid the armored man, directing her company to do

the same... but she'd lose a bit of face with her subordinates in the
process.
Or... she could challenge the man.
If he didn't comply, they could subdue him and tie him up. They'd
explain the situation by presenting a few severed heretic heads...
or apologize profusely if they didn't find anything. As long as they
set him free before he froze or starved to death, it wouldn't weigh
heavily on her conscience.
"We need to ascend these hills," Alea declared. "And we were

planning on going this way--"
She furrowed her brows in sudden realization, "unless there's a

better path?"
There was a tiny hope in Alea's heart, believing in the goodness of

all humans. Maybe the armored man was advising them out of
good will?
"[This...]" The armored man's deep voice shunted Alea back to

reality, "[Is the only path... that humans can safely ascend.]"
"Thank you," Alea nodded with a heavy heart, "Then we will be

going through here.
"Step aside, honorable sir..." She inclined her head deeply, "I don't
want to have to hurt you."
The armored man moved... walking slowly, his heavy boots

clomping on the cold, hard-packed dirt.
Alea tensed up, watching... wary of an attack... her Scouts all

drew swords and arrows, as well.
The man passed by without a word... just walking away.
Alea looked up to the sky and breathed a sigh of relief, thanking

the dragon in her heart.
"GRARRRGHHH!!!"
Her eyes shot open, hearing the shout of immense pain.
Turning her body, she saw that six claw blades of Tyrion steel
pierced through Jason's back.
Chapter 572 Reaper (Part Two)
carmother Alea watched with horror as Immunes Jason's body

S
fell limp.
"[Oops,]" The armored figure shrugged his spiked shoulders.
He picked up the Scout and without so much as a grunt, flung his

body off the rocky hillside, "[Was that one of yours? Alea?]"
Alea felt her heart break... and her entire body shake with rage.
"HHHHERETICCCCCCC!!!!" She screamed, drawing her

longsword.
At once, her faithful drew their weapons and fell upon the armored
man.
They struck with spears and blade. They screamed. They used
dragonfire.
All were useless. All attacks bounced harmlessly off either the
man's claws or his full plate.
"M-metal rank!!" A Munifex shouted-- just as the tri-blade of Tyrion

steel cleaved into his skull.
"I-Iron faithful!" Alea yelled, "To the front! Everyone else, stay
back!!"
Her command only bade the armored man wade deeper into her
allies. Each effortless swing of his metal-covered arms rent limbs
and body parts of her allies.
More of her faithful flooded forward to fill the gaps. They fought
without fear...
But their loyalty cut off Alea's path.
"Die, heretic!!" They screamed.
"You won't touch the Scarmother!"
"Protect Alea!!"
"No, you daft fools! Stop!!" Alea begged, "You can't fight him!!!! Let
me through!"
"[This is the power of faith,]" The armored man mocked, "[Sending

good men to their deaths as all who watch pray for salvation.]"
Finally, six of Alea's Iron-Ranks surrounded the heretic, shields up

and ready. She wasn't sure where the rest of them went, but it
meant she had a chance to end the fight.
"Focus on your defenses!" Alea roared, "I'll strike him down when-
-"
The armored man swiped an open palm to the side... and five of
her six were pushed by an invisible force. They screamed as they
plummeted down the hillside, breaking their bones against the
rocks.
"[I'm done with faith,]" The man clenched a shaking fist. "[I'm tired
of the empty promises. I'm tired of praying for the strength to
endure... when the POWER has ALWAYS been MINE TO
CONTROL!!!!"]
He thrust his palm forward.
Alea could swear she heard the dragon's voice.
'Flee,' it said, 'or all will be naught.'
She stretched her arms to the sky and screamed its warnings at
the top of her lungs, "STOP HIM!!!"
Lightning. Dark. Evil. As red as blood.

The heretic's spell radiated a power Alea had never before seen
or felt. It was... pure... weaponized... hate.
It flowed out of the man's palm. It arced to one of her troops... it

was Agathe... then in a flash, thrice more behind her... and more...
and more. With unerring accuracy, the magic struck the hearts of
her faithful.
And they died.
In a single attack, over half of Alea's century lay dead on the cold
ground.
"[Heresy... must be met with hatred,]" The man tilted his head up...
and his cold words echoed in Alea's mind... "[Witch.]"
He raised his hand once more... and lightning again flowed

through, cutting down another score.
Alea snapped out of her reverie. Her inaction resulted in

tremendous casualties-- all loyal men and women, all Sons and
Daughters of Qotal, all faithful to the dragon and the Flame!!!
"I!! am the HEIR of ASH and FIIIIRE!!" She shouted, tears

brimming from her eyes. Flames sheathed her Centurion armor
and surged through her white-hot sword.
She leapt forward, heedless of the danger, and swung her sword
down empowered by her faith-- empowered by DRAGONFIRE!!
"⌈Flame Dragon BLAAAADE!!!⌋"
The man turned, blocking her strongest attack with crossed-claws.
That was impossible! Even the other Scarmothers couldn't block

her attack so easily!
Undeterred, she pulled her sword back and cut at his side,
"⌈Rising Flames!!⌋"
"[Pathetic,]" The armored man deflected her sword, a wave of

magical flames washing harmlessly over his armor. He casually
moved his arms, blocking another two blows, "[This... this is the
extent of your faith.]"
He waved his hand again.
Expecting the worst, Alea knelt, jamming her sword into the dirt
and tightly holding on. In the next instant, she was buffeted by a
gust of wind, pushing her several feet back-- her sword cutting a
deep line through the cold, hard earth.
"[Faith without strength. Words without conviction,]" He waved his

hand to the side once more.
Lightning.
More of Alea's faithful died without even being able to scream.

Their bodies violently convulsed, they fell, and lied still... their
corpses charred and steaming.
Alea exhaled sharply... then took a slow breath in.
The heretic was trying to enrage her... He was a deceiver, his

hurtful words designed to make her doubt.
"My name is Alea." She growled. Drawing her sword from the
ground, she pointed it forward, lowering her stance, "Iron-Rank
Sentinel of the Sons of Qotal."
The armored warrior stretched his arms low to his sides, "[Zenon.
Iron-Rank Librarian of the Church of the Eternal Flame.]"
A sanctioned psyker? Of the Church? Alea's knees buckled as her

heart shook.
This didn't make any sense! This Librarian was guarding the-- No!
But the invading force? Was the Church behind the attack on
Caeruleum?
She needed to leave. She needed to report back to Scarmother

Talon-- to The Exarch, even! This was all just a misunderstanding!
"GRARRGHHHHHH!!!" She shrieked in pain as a crimson arc
surged through her body.
It struck her heart.
Alea fell to her hands and knees as she struggled to breathe...
She couldn't feel her fingers. She was blinded by tears.
...and she could no longer hear the dragon's voice.
'No!' She wanted to say.
'This is a mistake!' She wanted to plead.
She gasped for air but found none. The muscles in her throat
were convulsing.
Zenon's heavy metal boots approached her... even as she

struggled to move... to at least have her eyes meet his.
Then... she felt an unnatural pressure, all around her. It squeezed

all the parts of her body painfully, like jagged nails piercing all of
her flesh. She felt herself rising... her longsword slipping out of the
grip she couldn't control.
She looked down to the Librarian below her, the magic in his
empty palm holding her aloft.
He spoke in the same cold, unfeeling tone he had amidst

slaughtering nearly a hundred men.
"[Practicing witchcraft in the Holy Country of Tyrion... is punishable

by death.]"
Chapter 573 Blood & Feathers
iren Virgilia landed adjacent to a pool of guts and gore. Librarian

S
Zenon's strange Tyrion magic cracked one of the enemy
commanders open like a heated egg, spilling out the tasty insides.
She twisted her head around, looking over the carnage. All the
humans in the immediate area had been killed... roasted from the
insides, their throats crushed, limbs twisted.
It was a shame.
Virgilia held a small hope that she'd find an injured, but still-living
man or two she could take back. Her flight was running low on
humanoid breeding stock. Harpies needed them to lay eggs...
Thankfully, with the plans set in motion, she and her sisters would
have plenty of male slaves to choose from, soon enough...
Making no effort to mask her presence, Virgilia stretched out her

wings as she cooed gently, "Well done, human."
Zenon spun on his heel, walking towards her. He stopped within

clawing and biting distance... not that Virgilia was capable of
hurting him with her bare claws or teeth.
His size and body language was somewhat worrisome... and

Virgilia subconsciously pulled her feathers closer together. The
human was one of the Ivory Prince's closest confidants... but his
temper was worse than that of the late Manticore.
"[It's you...]" Zenon's eyes glowed inside the metal cage on his
face, "[Report.]"
"Good evening, L-librarian," Virgilia tittered... "The Krakhammers

have sent teams down the hills. They'll be picking off stragglers."
"[They... what?]" Zenon's voice shook with rage.
Virgilia nodded... and she began to preen her wings out of

nervousness, "No survivors. That's what I was told."
"[I. Let. Them. Go...]" The human took a mana-empowered step

forward, cracks forming in the ground beneath him, "[I SPARED
their pathetic lives.]"
Virgilia hopped backward out of reflex. It was useless, though...

The Librarian raised his palm, and his wind magic spun around
her, sending her surging towards him.
A metal fist grasped onto one of her wings, causing her to wince
in pain... A little bit more force and it would be broken. Just
another ponze of force and she'd no longer be fit to be the
matriarch of her flight.
"Librarian..." As uneasy as she was, Virgilia forced herself to

smile, "You're hurting me."
"[Whose orders?]" Zenon demanded, "[Speak. Now!]"
"Th-the Ivory Prince," Virgilia responded with a brave face. "He--

he gave the order."
"[Tycon has returned?]"
"That's right," Virgilia squawked, "Librarian Zenon... I'd like to be

released, please."
He dropped her. She caught herself before she fell, favoring her
hurt wing.
"[Very well...]" The human's voice echoed in his helmet, "[I

suppose he knows better than me.]"
Virgilia quickly composed herself, stretching her arms. Thankfully,

she was still confident in flying. She wanted to be well away from
the male before he could change his mind.
She hopped to the edge of the cliff and spun her head around, "I'll
be going ahead, Librarian."
Before Zenon had a chance to respond, she leapt off. Catching

the wind beneath her wings, she began to fly back to the camp.
Virgilia's Darkfeather Flight acted as Prince Tycon's eyes and thus

claimed some strategic importance. Still, she had no wish to
inconvenience the Ivory Prince with her needless death... nor risk
complaining about being mistreated.
A situation where the Prince had to choose between her and any
of his allies would not benefit her. If she were to press the case, it
was more than possible that both her and Zenon would be strung
up on trees, poisoned daggers sticking out of their throats.
The Librarian's temper was ultimately a mere annoyance.
Prince Tycondrius was unpredictable, his wrath immediate and

without mercy.
He had hundreds of soldiers to fight his war-- maybe thousands.

Even as the eldest harpy in her flight, she could be replaced. Her
sisters would be forced to accept it, smiles on their faces, praise in
their songs.
According to the stories of the previous generation... the flights

who flew with the Ivory Prince shed much blood and many
feathers, but in exchange, were granted riches and glory.
Those who refused him...
Prince Tycon was going to destroy a human city bigger than any
nest Virgilia had ever seen. What had they done to deserve it?
From what she'd heard, the humans broke one of his satellite
nests.
It had less than ten of his associates.
He didn't even know them by name.
It made sense... in a cruel sort of way.

When a medusae nest was attacked... entire warbands were
wiped out, its people enslaved, petrified in brittle rock, or outright
killed.
But the Ivory Prince... was perhaps the only War Prince in the
history of the Free Nation-- maybe in all of the Realm who
considered all of his soldiers as part of his flight.
Even before Tycondrius' rise, the medusa faction was powerful.

No War Prince or Princess could challenge Rylania, the Queen of
Stone, without severe risk of debilitating injury or death.
However, the medusae were never an oppressive force. Even with

their wealth and natural resources, their population remained low.
True heirs were rare offspring of non-medusae breeding stock.
Male medusae were even rarer.
The Ivory Prince changed the balance of power.
His influence was not limited to medusae, mercenaries, and

slaves.
He gathered an army, all under the banner of Charm.
He gathered together some of the strongest heroes in the Free

Nation and beyond... the men and women who eventually became
known as Sol Invictus.
With rare Class Skills to lead hundreds and thousands into

battle... the name 'Ivory Prince' became known to warbands
across the Free Nation, to the Paladin-Tyrants of the Holy
Country, to the Witch-King of the Sleeping Country... and other
places, she was sure.
It didn't matter how much pride Virgilia had to swallow or

indignation she had to suffer... nor how many sisters she had to
sacrifice, nevermind blood and feathers.
Virgilia's fate and that of her flight were intimately entwined with
Prince Tycon's will. By his grace, they would soar to glory... or by
his command, they would crash in a heap of broken bones and
torn flesh.
She would remain loyal to that man... even if he was to war

against the seven hells and eleven heavens.
She'd remain loyal... even if the dragons dared to return.

Chapter 574 Every Possible
Advantage (Part One)
⟬ Letalis Serpentia Encampments, Outskirts. ⟭
Tycondrius smoothed out the folds of his thick cloak, thankful for
the warmth it provided against the hillside wind. Far in the
distance below, the city of Caeruleum glowed by the light of their
nighttime lamps.
He didn't like fair fights.
His plans to siege the city had been set in motion. They were
anything but fair.
He was the leader of Sol Invictus, an arena guild full of Gold-

Ranks that fought against Bronze and Irons. He was the Warlord
of Charm, a territory that fielded thousands of mixed-species
formations against indignant ancients who preferred tradition to
victory.
Tycon had plans. He had contingency plans.
He had allies. He brought as many as he could, promising them

honor and glory... wealth and slaves.
Caeruleum would fall.
It was inevitable.
Complications would arise. They, too, were inevitable.
Maybe Holy Magus Antonidus had hidden away troops... Or

maybe he had a team of Gold-Ranks he could summon. It wasn't
impossible for them to have hidden away a Warlord or
Commander Class-- something perfect for countering a siege.
Or maybe... all would go as planned?
Tycon stretched his arms and back, looking over to his silver-
haired companion.
"Athanasius, Siren Virgilia told me you were the one in charge of

scouting affairs."
Tanamar, real name Athanasius Mors, was the personal attendant

of Athena Vanzano. He was also a Holy Lancer and a fellow
transmigrator, and thus had the potential to be the strongest
adventurer in the Realm.
He served as the Scoutmaster for guild Letalis Serpentia, a role

he was highly experienced with. Besides having an excellent
scouting Class, the young man had also experienced Caeruleum's
treachery against the Brazen Guard Collective and Athena's allied
businesses.
He, too, would have the city razed to the ground.
"No changes on the walls," Tanamar pursed his lips, "Even the
number of guards haven't changed in the past three weeks."
"Excellent," Tycon nodded.
"They don't seem to have any idea," Tanamar shook his head. "It's
a Flamescarred joke. There are hundreds camped here-- and the
Guild Letalis main body is arriving over the next few bells."
Tycon shrugged, "Our forces can move across hilly terrain that
other armies wouldn't dare. Then there's the fact that over half of
our forces can see in the dark..."
He turned to grin at the footman, "And I assume our movements

might have included the 'removal' of human patrols?"
"They didn't," Tanamar narrowed his gaze. "I had a bunch of

Iredar scouts. The patrols, we avoided. No one has any idea we're
here."
"Then it's thanks to you we've gone undetected," Tycon chuckled.

"Have some faith in your own abilities."
Taking in a deep breath, Tycon looked over Tanamar. He, too,

wore his dark Letalis armor, made of an Arcanite alloy. He carried
no weapon but the young gentleman could summon beams of
light that he could literally use as lances.
It had been a year or so since they last met-- and the youth had
trained with the Frozen Cairn sect for the past several moons.
Logically, his power and prowess had increased substantially.
How exactly he'd improved was not apparent.
Tycon usually estimated an adventurer's strength by the quality of

their mana. However, that was far easier in combat situations, as
warriors willfully circulated their mana to sustain a state of
elevated combat prowess.
If Tycon couldn't tell by the quality of a person's mana, he relied

on his System to measure their changes in Metal-Rank and Class.
However, he could not ⌈Scan⌋ other transmigrators. It was a
peculiar limitation.
And thus, he had to ask politely... like a normal person.
"Athanasius, have you grown stronger?"
"Maybe," Tanamar replied, his expression unchanging.
"I'm being serious, arse," Tycon glared. "Have you met with
Harkus?"
"That old man?" Tanamar sneered.
"Well? Did you?" Tycon furrowed his brows, his irritation steadily
growing.
Besides possessing infallible loyalty and a high proficiency with

martial weapons, Tanamar was also one of the most arrogant and
headstrong individuals Tycon had ever met.
When he was younger, he was well-trained by his adoptive father.

The Tyrion dwarf, Harkus Mors, was a Divine Blacksmith... and a
former Gold-Rank. However, their relationship had soured and
they were no longer on speaking terms.
Still, there was great value in coordinating with a person belonging

to a powerful support Class.
Tanamar looked away, grimacing... "Yeah, I talked to him... but

only because you asked me to."
"You did?" Tycon stared back in disbelief, "Honestly, I'm a bit

surprised."
The Holy Lancer let out an aggrieved sigh, "I just... want to win. I
mean... even without all the points you brought up in your letter,
you weren't wrong."
"I'm always right," Tycon nodded contentedly. "Never question me

again."
"Anyroad," Tanamar rolled his eyes, "this isn't about me. My

pride? Worthless. This is for Athena. And with everything you've
done for her-- for us, the least I can do is listen to you... to get
every possible advantage."
...The young man had indeed grown. If not in strength, then

certainly in maturity and will.
Tanamar was a lowly footman who fell in love with his noble
mistress, Athena Vanzano. Even when her family lost their
prestige, he remained with her... and grew to be her strongest and
most loyal defender. It was enough for the young lady to return his
feelings in triplicate.
"I'm glad to hear it," Tycon smiled, pride in his heart. "Speaking of
the young lady, have you had sexual relations with her yet?"
The Holy Lancer stumbled. Tycon glanced down... but there
wasn't any uneven ground or debris. Tanamar had tripped on his
own feet.
"I'm-- I'm not at liberty to say," Tanamar averted his gaze... looking
somewhat guilty.
Tycon decided to press on, "Did you use protection?"
"Of course we--" Tanamar caught his words in his throat... "You're
a Flamescarred criminal, Tycon."
So they did have relations.
Athena Vanzano's Yin Body made it potentially lethal for her to

have intercourse with other cultivators, as her mana would
transfer in full to her male partner.
The Frozen Cairn sect had a way to solve that issue... something
called Dual Cultivation, a ritual that synergized their mana
signatures, allowing them to refine and strengthen each others'
cultivations.
Both Tanamar and Athena were powerful individuals prior to the

Hidden Sect training.
After Dual Cultivation, Athena's soul would hold some of

Tanamar's radiant energies. Likewise, Tanamar would have frost
mana coursing through his meridians.
Tycon was pleased. He had not one, but another two monsters he
could rely on to accomplish his goals.
",
Chapter 575 Every Possible
Advantage (Part Two)
"Congratulations, Brother-Athanasius," Tycondrius chuckled.
He was happy for his two young companions. They had a healthy
relationship and he was pleased that Tanamar was doing his best
at nurturing it.
"There's... uh," Tanamar hesitated. He rubbed the back of his

silver-haired head, looking overall uncertain.
"Go ahead," Tycon gestured.
"Something's been bothering me-- us, really... Apparently the

Frozen Cairn sect wants her-- us back, after this mission."
"Ah, of course," Tycon nodded. "Standard procedure. Athena is a

rare and valuable anomaly. Did you bring reinforcements from the
sect, then?"
Tanamar looked off into the distance, gazing wistfully at

Caeruleum below.
"...Athanasius," Tycon cleared his throat. "You... must have

brought reinforcements."
Still, the silver-haired Holy Lancer kept his silence.
Tycon crossed his arms, "You did not ask."
It wasn't a question. He spoke the words aloud to confirm it.
"I did not," Tanamar replied softly.

"Did they offer?"
"...They did."
"You rejected them."
"...I did."
Tycon sucked in air through his teeth... "You evaded their best
attempts to follow you."
Tanamar turned to meet Tycon's gaze, wearing a troubled smile,

"Ahh... yeap."
...Tycon forced a smile of his own, breathing deeply through his

nostrils.
It wouldn't affect their plans greatly, but... depending on who the

Frozen Cairn sect would have sent, Caeruleum might have fallen
to their forces alone.
"Athanasius... I recall you mentioning... wishing to achieve every

possible advantage?"
"Hey, man," Tanamar raised his palms. "I didn't wanna owe them
anything!"
Tycon groaned and stared up into the starry night sky.
The young man's defense was absurd. He and Athena were very
much indebted to the Frozen Cairn sect, having received
assistance with their cultivation issues, as well as being granted
esoteric sect training.
Tanamar summoned one of his holy spears and crouched down,

using the weapon to steady himself... "Because of the way Athena
got her powers over the course of years... and because of me, I
guess-- she's capable of bearing children."
Tycon sighed, but nodded in understanding.

Athena's Yin Body was an artificial one, produced by the well-
meaning meddling of her older brother and a mana-emanating
artifact he'd stolen. The members of the Frozen Cairn sect,
practicing so many Yin Body techniques since childhood would
naturally have difficulty to accept non-Yin energies without severe
complications.
However...
"You're too young for that..." Tycon glared. "Both of you are."
"Well, yeah," Tanamar laughed, slowly getting back to his feet. "I
know that... but... you know, maybe in the future? We've talked
about it... and Tycon-- would you be the godparent of--"
"You're too young for that!" Tycon repeated, his voice raised.
"Damn it, Tycon!" Tanamar raised his voice to match. "Just say
yes!"
"Fine, fine!" Tycon waved dismissively. "Your child will be under

the protection of House Charm."
"Come on, man. Look at me," Tanamar raised his arms to the
side. "I wasn't born under any house or whatever. I'm just a
Flame-taken footman. I want *your* word-- not the protection of
some house I don't know."
Tycon was taken aback... Tanamar had very well known all the
resources his name had put into House Vanzano. Coin was far
more useful than the loyalty of a single person.
Maybe he was just stupid.
...But it was more likely that there was an emotional reason

behind the choice.
"You're a complicated human, you know," Tycon sighed in defeat.
"So are you," Tanamar smirked.

"...Hmph. Very well, I agree," Tycon crossed his arms. "But I
implore you once more: no children-- not anytime soon."
"Right," The Holy Lance grinned.
"Anyroad," Tycon pointed out towards the doomed city in the

distance, "Does your ability tell us anything about Caeruleum?"
Tanamar, as a transmigrator, had a strange ability that allowed

him to predict encountering dangerous individuals. It was one of
the secrets behind the Dungeon-clearing power of the Brazen
Guard Collective, allowing them to make pointed and effective
plans against Gold and Adamantine-Rank threats.
The young man shook his head, "It only works in Dungeons,
Tycon. You know that."
"Humor me," Tycon shrugged. "We might be surprised."
"Well, alright..."
Tanamar faced the city. He shut his eyes. He began to

concentrate.
A low, pained groan emanated from his lips... "Ah... ahhhh..."
His eyebrows furrowed and his face twisted... Suddenly, he

twisted his neck to look away, clutching at his eyes, "HAHH!!
ARRRRRRRGHHHH!!!"
Tycon immediately shoved Tanamar to the ground, shocking him

out of his trance. The wide-eyed youth rolled on the rocky ground
as he convulsed, blood dripping down both of his nostrils.
"Stars and stones!!" Tycon knelt down, shaking him, "Snap out of
it, man! ⌈Desire Trigger!!⌋"
⟬ ⌈Desire Trigger⌋ activating... Support ability. Targeted ally is

compelled to envision an existing incentive, moderately boosting
target's ability to resist detrimental effects. ⟭
It took a few moments for Tanamar to calm himself... regaining the
ability to breathe on his own volition... "F... f*ck... that f*cking hurt."
"What... in... the seven hells... did you see?" Tycon grimaced.
Tanamar blinked his eyes, shaking his head, "I... haha... I don't
think you'll f*cking believe me."
"Humor me."
...
⟬ Letalis Serpentia Command Tent, some time later... ⟭
Tycon placed his wooden bowl on the edge of the planning table
as he reviewed the drawn maps. Over a bell prior, he'd
coordinated with the camp cooks to faithfully recreate one of
Zenon Skyreaper's favorite meals.
It was a popular noodle dish from Olea Garden.
...Tycon needed to keep busy. He didn't want to think about...

certain things.
"This tastes better than usual, Brother-Tycon!" Zenon grinned

between bites.
Tycon looked up to smile warmly at his friend, "I certainly hope so.
It was a hassle to get everything into my spatial ring for transport--
especially the fresh noodles."
"Yep," Zenon nodded. "But also, there's something about eating

Olea Garden that's... nostalgic? Is that the right word for it?"
"It will do. The journey has been rough..." Tycon raised his
winecup, "and it should end tomorrow... in bloody, fiery battle."
"O' Sol Invictus," Zenon chuckled as he raised his own cup, "Sing
our name in praise."
The wine was sweet... the feeling of intoxication, welcome.

It was a wonderful distraction from his troubles... the troubles he
kept to himself.
The threat of dragonsong was not something regular people

needed to worry about.
Chapter 576 Optimism
Tycondrius took a moment to look over his elevated companion.
Librarian Zenon Skyreaper's appearance hadn't changed much.

His skin was lighter, either from the sunless winter moons or from
the consistent use of his Letalis-issued full helmet. The lines on
his face had been etched deeper, as if he'd grown a habit of
scowling and furrowing his brows. His handsome mustache was
still full and luxurious.
It was a good mustache.
The gentleman exuded a strong aura of confidence-- perhaps

because he was in good spirits, concerning the company and the
meal. Certainly, he was a completely different person than the
always-smiling pushover Tycon had initially met.
Zenon placed his winecup back on the table and leaned back...
"Optio, I must admit I was looking forward to talking to you about
battlefield tactics."
Tycon raised his eyebrows in amusement, "You sound like you

have some experience."
"Well, I wouldn't say that," Zenon laughed with chagrin, "but you
know how I'm big on history? I've studied a fair amount of Tyrion
military engagements. Shield walls... cavalry charges, archers on
elevated ground, infantry formations-- that sort of thing."
Tycon chuckled, "You certainly rate as an above-average tactician

with just that. Admittedly, my peers tend to not be so studied."
It was a complex topic... and from what Zenon was implying, it

seemed he fell into the unfortunately common notion that unit-
types were... unique to themselves.
The most foolish subsequent theory was that the various
battlefield units had a relationship triangle. Cavalry defeated
archers, infantry to cavalry, and archers to infantry...
The logic fell apart with just a modicum of thought.
Archers didn't always defeat infantry. Arrow volleys were mostly

useless against large formations of infantry shield walls.
It was the same with infantry defeating cavalry. If a formation of

footmen was broken, light cavalry could inflict massive casualties
as they retreated.
Then, of course, modern battle strategy utilized Gold-Ranks,

either individuals or synergistic Iron-Rank teams. They were
fielded to shore up defenses or to crack open glaring holes in the
enemy line.
Battlefield studies were difficult in that there were so many factors

to consider... from training, morale, and fatigue, to armor and
weapon-types.
"Eh..." Zenon shrugged, "You're the expert though, Brother-Tycon.

Your base Class is Warlord, isn't it? The higher tier of Tactician?"
"Indeed," Tycon pursed his lips. "What of it?"
"As long as you're leading us, taking Caeruleum's gonna be a

breeze!" Zenon happily declared, shoveling a healthy portion of
food into his mouth.
"Well, yes," Tycon hesitated... "But be advised, the coming battle

is not something my Class excels in."
Zenon almost choked and he grabbed his winecup to clear his

throat-- "Wait, what? Why not?"
"As you mentioned, Warlords excel in large-scale battles... but

with thousands of troops on either side." Tycon smiled politely,
"We have hundreds... and we'll be fighting through a series of
skirmishes, rather than a single chaotic melee."
"Oh," Zenon mulled over the thought... "Yeah, that makes sense.
So we'll be focused on hit-and-run tactics to steadily hack away at
their number and bleed their morale?"
"I like the way you think, Brother-Zenon," Tycon nodded with
pride. "However, the answer is more basic. We have a number of
unique troops-- harpies, dwarves, a gorgon Idiot, a gunnery
squad... and the Letalis Gold and Iron-Rank frontlines..."
Tycon felt his eye twitch. Zenon sensed it, as well.
An unwelcome visitor had entered the war tent...
However, upon glancing at the dark-clothed Assassin in his

peripheral vision, Tycon decided not to worry about it and
continue.
"In theory, Caeruleum forces will be unable to adapt to our tactics,

especially if we strategically field our forces according to their
strengths."
Zenon crossed his arms, his gaze drifting over the shadowy area
where the Assassin hid, "I mean-- I get what you're saying, but...
isn't the best strategy the Tyrion one? Charge in through the front?
Rotate the front lines so our troops never get tired? Every single
one of our people should be superior to the enemy's, no?"
"Oh, that will work, most definitely," Tycon groaned, "However, I

am not a kind commander. That is why we have siege weaponry
parked outside; the fat raccoons are within the city-proper,
wreaking havoc; and I have literally entreated a young man with
the Hero Class to aid us-- have you met Pale, by the way?"
"I have," Zenon nodded, crinkling his mustache. "He's a good kid.
What should we do about the..."
"The Assassin?" Tycon chuckled.
From the corner of the tent, Tycon saw the young person visibly
shiver then grow completely still.
He could respect the Assassin's optimism.
"I'm not worried about it," Tycon lightly shrugged.
He reached over to grab the bottle of wine, refilling his and

Zenon's cup, "Perhaps we can keep them around for a light-
hearted prank?"
"Like tearing out his insides and having the Spider-Breeders feed
on them?" Zenon offered.
Tycon grimaced. Was that a prank? It seemed rather pointed and

not at all light-hearted, as he'd suggested.
"No?" Zenon furrowed his eyebrows, "Cutting off layers of his skin,
then? My ⌈Soothing Winds⌋ spell should ensure they die as slowly
as possible."
"...Do not do that," Tycon frowned.
"How about using fire?" Zenon offered, "Oh. I recently had to take
care of a bunch of unsanctioned psykers-- a lot of them, too... all
of them capable of using Unranked or First-Circle fire magic."
"The Sons of Qotal," Tycon shook his head... "I've heard. And
unfortunately, they are indeed sanctioned... and by the city of
Caeruleum, no less."
Zenon reeled back in surprise, "They are? ...Shite. I feel stupid,

then."
"It was an honest mistake," Tycon chuckled to himself. "Miss

Virgilia has ensured that no survivors remain from the century you
encountered. Worry not about anyone questioning your integrity."
The Assassin in the corner... his or her heart rate had spiked
dramatically.
"Commander Tycon!" A deep voice boomed from outside the tent,

"Warrior Cillian of Overlook requests permission to enter!"
"It's about time for the leaders to report in, isn't it..." Tycon grinned.
He hoped that Cillian fellow would provide an amusing show.
Chapter 577 Blade Of The Wolf
Tycondrius looked over to the tent entrance, "Warrior Cillian is..."
"He's from the Free Nation," Zenon answered. "He's acting as an

assistant to Quartermaster Sorina."
"Ah, very well," Tycon nodded. "One of Prince Dragan's men from
Vralkek, then..."
The command tent was built for Tyrion humans of regulation

height.
Zenon Skyreaper was not that, towering over Tycon at over 6-

fulms tall. Thus, he had to watch his head in many Tyrion
structures, the command tent included.
From the shadowy outline of Warrior Cillian outside, however, he

stood two heads taller than the Librarian. He was a Titanblood,
like Dragan-- and admittedly was of only average height.
"Permission to enter granted, Warrior!" Tycon called out.
Cillian crouched down dramatically, nearly having to crawl in,

"Good evening, gent..."
The large, but youthful man hesitated... and with a broad grimace,
he stared at the tent corner.
The horrified Assassin stared back.
Slowly... carefully... the Assassin began reaching for their weapon-

- a dagger of some sort. Suddenly, their hands grasped at their
throat, as if trying to pry away an unseen force. The fellow began
to loudly choke, trying to gasp for air.
In a frenzied panic, the Titanblood drew his longsword, nearly
taking out the tent's supports, "A-assassin!! There's an Assassin!!"
The cloaked figure dropped to their knees, subsequently

collapsing face-first on the tent flooring. Cillian, hurriedly-- if not
calmly, stabbed his sword into their back.
"What the-- what the HELLS is going on?!" He shouted.
Zenon had his palm outstretched, undoubtedly the reason behind

the Assassin's violent death, "You'd think that someone would
come in, with all the noise he's making."
"Not necessarily," Tycon smiled politely, "If an actual skirmish

occurred within the command tent... as both you and I are
present, any additional combatants would be needlessly risking
their lives."
"...Fair," Zenon nodded, sipping at his wine.
"Mister Cillian," Tycon smirked. "You've made a mess."
The Titanblood immediately began to babble, "I... I did what? I...

he--"
"After your report, I'll have you clean that up. It's only fair, no?"
"But I... I... h-wha?"
Zenon cleared his throat, "Report."
"I... I... right," Cillian stood as tall as the tent ceiling allowed...
though he kept glancing at the Assassin's corpse as he spoke...
"The uh... the Dark Iron armor has been distributed to the first six
companies."
"How did the testing go?"
"The fire resistance proves effective against Prince Droghan's Fire

Slimes, within a certain radius, Ivory Prince," Cillian said with
furrowed brows.
"Very well," Tycon nodded. "And the siege weaponry?"
"The Iredar engineers have elected to build catapults instead of

trebuchets-- and the fire-resistant enchantments have been tested
with the slimes... However..."
The young Titanblood's face twisted in hesitation.
"Your Prince has chosen you as his representative, has he not?"

Tycon rolled his eyes. "Honor his name by speaking with
confidence."
"I... I hear you, Ivory Prince," Cillian gulped, but nodded

vigorously. "The Iredar are wondering when we're planning on
moving the siege weaponry into position? For uh... calibration?
They said."
"Don't bother," Tycon waved dismissively. "We have a Calculator.

She'll be responsible for the catapult placement. Inform the Iredar
to set the catapults to similar standards, to ease adjustment en
masse."
"...Oh," Cillian placed a meaty hand on the back of his thick neck.
"Makes sense."
"Thank you, Warrior Cillian," Tycon nodded. "Send the next

representative in, if you would."
...
Tycon met with more of the various leaders allied to Guild Letalis.
The leader of the fat raccoon gang reported that they'd been
terrorizing various guard houses. The Spider-Breeder matriarch
reported on her kin, who took it upon themselves to haunt the
city's dark alleyways. The elven couple reported their confidence
in the synergy between their gryphons and Guild Letalis' second
company.
Next to enter the command tent was a large, grey-furred wolf. On

its four legs, its ears reached Tycon's chest, and it was
approximately as tall as Zenon, measured lengthwise.
The wolf's name was Tres Leches... and over the past several
moons, he'd gained a more wolf-like form, though his coat was still
as impenetrable as Dark Iron.
"(Good evening. Tres Leches, reporting as ordered,)" The wolf

lifted his head, baring his neck.
It was how wolves saluted.
"At ease, Tres Leches," Tycon pursed his lips, glancing around the
gentle-wolf... "Where is your Ranger?"
"(In the sweet embrace of a death-like sleep, sir,)" The wolf

yawned.
"Dereliction of duty, then? Perhaps I should dock his pay," Tycon

offered, "Perhaps I'll divert some of his wages to you."
"(No, it's fine,)" The wolf shook his head, a very human-like
behavior. "(He feeds me.)"
"He does... what?" Tycon frowned. "What do you eat?"
"(Mana, mostly.)"
"...Seems like a very sad way to live your life."
"(I've sampled my handler's cooking,)" The wolf looked up with a

solemn gaze, "(Death is preferable.)"
Tycon summoned a container venison jerky out of his spatial ring,

opening it and passing a serving to Zenon, "Give him this."
"What?" Zenon looked at the meat incredulously, "D-does he

bite?"
"Of course, he bites," Tycon furrowed his eyebrows. "I'd imagine

he'd be far less effective as a combatant, if he did not."
That was a stupid question.

"That... ah, nevermind," The Librarian shook his head and offered
the gift to Tres Leches. "Nice wolf... good wolf... don't bite my
hand off, please."
The wolf snatched it up in its entirety, chewing... judging... "(I'd like

to be paid in food, if acceptable.)"
"Granted," Tycon chuckled. "And how has your personal

development been?"
"(I've learned a few Skills...)" Tres Leches' tail began to wag

happily, "(I'm confident in using ⌈Tackle⌋ attack, ⌈Flamethrower⌋,
and ⌈Crunch⌋.)"
"That will do," Tycon slowly nodded.
The first Skill was somewhat weak and the second generally
required a higher level of mana to be effective. Thankfully, the
third was an excellent and effective mana-empowered physical
attack.
"(I've been having a lot of trouble learning ⌈Giga Drain⌋, though...)"
Tycon furrowed his brows... ⌈Giga Drain⌋? That was a Skill almost
exclusively used by Druids-- either by Classes that had a Primal
power source or had a high affinity for vampiric magic.
Teaching it to Tres Leches was a waste of time and energy.
"Who... who has been training you?" He asked.
"(Sorina has,)" The wolf tilted his head, his tail motionless, "
(Tycon... is there something wrong?)"
Tycon took in a deep, haggard breath... "Bring her to me.

Immediately."
",
Chapter 578 Honorable Duel
(Part One)
" Welcome back, Boss!" Sorina greeted Tycondrius upon entering

the tent.
She strode in arrogantly, sitting in the seat Zenon had vacated

since the kobolds carted him off to the infirmary.
"Not to be rude, young lady," Tycon twisted his lips to the side...
"but what took you so long?"
Calculator Sorina Capulet leaned back, crossing her legs. Though

she was dressed in her black Letalis armor, it differed in that she
also wore enchanted brass gauntlets that went up to her elbows.
Added to her gear was a flowing royal blue sash... probably to
mark her as important.
Unlike the others... she didn't look or seem particularly stronger.

He hoped that at least her Armor Cube-- her enchanted gauntlets,
had been improved upon over the past several moons.
She shrugged while loosing an uncouth yawn, "The kobolds kept

asking about calibrating the catapults."
The young woman had been busy for most of the sun,
coordinating various facets of the coming battle. She wouldn't be
participating in the assault, so Tycon directed her to work without
rest until they departed.
"Granted," Tycon sighed... "Have you received word from the rest
of Invictus?"
"Yep," Sorina stretched and leaned over the table, "Mister Dragan
said he was busy. Somethin' about revolting ogres."
...So the ogres were revolting. Perhaps that had something to do
with the ogre mage emissary that Dragan killed several moons
prior.
"Understood," Tycon pursed his lips, nodding. "I've already met

Mister Cillian..."
"He complains a lot for his size, doesn't he?" Sorina mused. "I
mean-- how hard can herding Fire Slimes be?"
Tycon elected not to answer her, deciding to change the topic

instead, "Anyone else?"
Sorina grabbed a wooden doll off of her waist, one-fulm-tall.

Jamming her hand down its throat, she retrieved a sealed
envelope and slid it across the planning table, "From Mister
Wroe."
"Thank you," Tycon opened the missive but turned his attention to
Sorina and her spatial... item, "Mister Boxtholomaeus, have you
been well?"
"Yessir," The doll responded quietly. "Any... any orders for me?"
"I think I'll have you accompany the riflemen to carry ammunition
and Khyber crystals. They'll be far less susceptible to... accidents
as long as you carry them."
"I... I obey your will, Ivory Prince," Boxtholomaeus whispered.
Sorina leaned over the table on her elbows, resting her chin on
her palms, "What's the letter say, Boss?"
Tycon skimmed over its contents once more before taking a

moment to summarize it... "This is an official letter from the city of
Whitehearth in the Eastern States."
"So... not from Wroe, himself?"
"Correct. They're requesting assistance from Sol Invictus... though

the details are vague."
"Do we care?" Sorina grinned mischievously.
"It can wait," Tycon admitted...
He tapped the planning table in deliberation... Should he ask? It

wouldn't hurt to...
"One more thing, Sorina."
"Ara ara~" The young lady perked up, "Were you wondering about
Korr?"
Seldin Korr? Tycon furrowed his brows. Why would he be worried

about her? There was nothing in the reports implying anything
was amiss.
"I was not. I was wondering if there had been any developments
concerning one of Guild Letalis' members... Miss Doe."
"Oh..." Sorina crossed her arms, "Her..."
Her face was twisted in... disappointment? "You two were pretty
close, huh?"
"I'd like to think so," Tycon nodded. "Is she well?"
Sorina smiled-- a bit forcefully, "You should ask her, yourself. I

received an accountability report for the Guild Letalis main body,
maybe half-a-bell ago. Everyone's arrived: Sergeant Salt, Raphael
of Cannes, Maeva Leserre-- oh, and even her brother, Emilien."
Tycon considered meeting with his lover... but decided it would be

unwise.
He shook his head, "No, they need their rest. We attack a bell
before dawn-- a time fast approaching."
"CoMMANDer TYCHONNN!!!" An idiotic voice bellowed from

outside the tent.
⟬ Stephanos, Gold-Rank Gorgon Idiot. ⟭

"Stephanos!!" Tycon yelled back, "Quiet down and get in here!"
A massive, metal bull-head peeked into the tent, easily the size of
Tycon's entire torso.
It was Stephanos... the Fierce Knight.
In full, he was a two-tonze, four-legged, bull-centaur-beast made

of metal. While he had arrogance in excess, the gods saw fit for
him to suffer a severe deficit in brainpower.
"Good evening, Commander," The buffoon tried his best to

whisper.
The volume was still at the level of a normal person's screaming

death rattle.
It was probably the best Tycon was going to get.
"What do you want, Brother-Stephanos?" Tycon groaned.
"I wanted... uh... y'know..." The bull grinned, "Request an

honorable duel?"
"With me, I'm assuming?"
Stephanos, the Fierce Knight, nodded egregiously.
"After the siege," Tycon rolled his eyes.
"You don't look busy now, Commander?" The Idiot pouted.
Tycon grimaced, trying to think of a plausible excuse. He was

fairly certain he could beat Stephanos in a one-on-one duel using
his curved blade techniques... but it would be such an incredible
hassle.
He didn't want to hear Stephanos sniffling and sobbing all sun.
The bull-centaur would find something to cry about after losing.

The most obvious would be complaining about some type of
inequality, he'd take issue with.
Tycon adopted a wide grimace. Concerning his recent surge in
strength, Stephanos might even attempt to take credit for it...
crying tears of 'pride.'
"So come on!" Stephanos sneered, "Let's get

craAAAAHHHHWWW???!!"
Thankfully, a powerful magic spell interrupted the bull. His eyes

grew wide and he was forcibly ejected from the tent. A loud,
prolonged, 'moo' reverberated throughout the camp.
Out of the tent flap, Tycon spied the massive gorgon's body
colliding against a large rock... where he became encased in frost
and ice.
A lithe teenager in white armor stepped into the command tent.

Her frost-blue hair was cut short and neat, but was still feminine...
and she wore an expression of extreme displeasure.
⟬ Athena Vanzano, Iron-Rank Human Frostblade. ⟭
It was most impressive. Though the young lady was still Iron-
Rank, she had solidified her abilities enough to defeat the Gold-
Rank Gorgon Idiot with a single spell.
Further, the temperature within the command tent had dropped

painfully low. Sorina began to rub her arms, her teeth chattering.
Tycon nodded, keeping his calm... and doing his best to ignore the
desire to shiver like his Calculator.
"Miss Athena. You look well."
The young lady shot back a literally icy glare, the mana in it
chilling and numbing his face.
"Not in the mood, Sir Tycon," Athena growled. "I challenge you to
trial by combat."
(Part Two)
⟬ Letalis Serpentia War Camp, Improvised Dueling Arena. ⟭
If a subordinate did not agree to a command, they could advise

against it to their direct superior. Granted, that superior had the
right to ignore any and all helpful advice. Tyoncdrius hoped that
was constant, everywhere in the Realm-- maybe in all worlds.
The various factions in the camp all submitted to the generally

unspoken rules followed by the warbands in the Free Nation.
There, 'friendly advisory' was synonymous with 'challenging
authority.'
Depending on the challenger, the response from the superior

would differ. At one end, Tycon could calmly take Zenon
Skyreaper's words into consideration, revising his commands at
his leisure. At the opposite extreme, he could use his strongest
blade technique on Sorina Capulet.
In theory, there was no shame in submitting to a stronger party.

The dwarves submitted to their patriarch, Thrumondi
Krakhammer. Thrumondi followed Isidor's requests without
complaints. Isidor, in turn, surrendered to his hunger and general
indolence.
In the cases where strength was difficult to measure, the

aggrieved party had the right to trial by combat. The winner would
have their request honored... or in the case of the loser's demise,
the winner would succeed their position.
Such was the matter with Athena Vanzano challenging his order
to raze Caeruleum.
She found the potential loss of life unacceptable on a moral level.
Tycon saw it as necessary. It would reduce the casualties taken by

his forces and prevent the snake cult from collecting in meaningful
numbers in the near future.
The young Frostblade was certainly powerful, at the peak of Iron-

Rank... but Tycon could not carelessly dispatch her. Besides
dealing a fatal strike to the snake cult as vengeance for damaging
Tycon's fragile ego, the true goal of the mission was to destroy
Athena's most troublesome opponent in the Holy Country.
When they succeeded, his East Charm Trading Company would

continue to positively influence House Vanzano's businesses...
and the Church would ensure Athena's holdings remain protected.
...Minor issues would certainly arise, but that was a problem to be

considered in the future.
Tycon shook his head and sighed...
"If I had a silver piece for every time I was challenged to a duel
before a major battle took place..."
Tanamar, real name Athanasius Mors, tilted his head, "Yeah? How
much y'think?"
Tycon pursed his lips... "I'd have two silver."
"That's not a lot, Tycon."
"It is not," Tycon frowned. "But it's rather strange that it's
happened twice, no?"
Tanamar crossed his arms, "Hey... Tycon, listen. I don't suppose

you could go easy on Athena, would you?"
Tycon narrowed his eyes into a glare, "Are you trying to get me
killed, Athanasius?"
"Nah... I mean... Athena's gotten a lot stronger... but she's... you

know."
"What?" Tycon groaned, "Stubborn? Naive? Overall
unreasonable?"
"...Uh," Tanamar scratched his head. "She means well. She just...
doesn't understand."
"This is going to hurt me a lot more than it's going to hurt her,"
Tycon rolled his eyes.
"Tycon, don't," Tanamar frowned, his gaze suddenly sharp.
Tycon sighed and clapped Tanamar on his shoulder pauldron, "I

won't hurt her. If you've forgotten, this entire operation is for her
benefit. I just wanted to go home."
Tanamar relaxed his shoulders and sighed... "Yeah, I know. Sorry

about all this, man."
"Apology accepted," Tycon shook his head as he turned and

walked away.
He stepped into the makeshift arena, drawn into the dirt.
Less than a hundred troops came to watch the duel-- most of the
factions still had their preparations or were trying to get a few bells
of rest before dawn.
Most of the fat raccoon gang had come to watch the festivities,
carrying with them glowing stones that lit up the edge of the
arena. Besides them, there were a few harpies, some of Vralkek's
Titanbloods, some gnolls and Iredar.
There was a troll amidst the crowd wearing spectacles that kept
looking around, as if he was lost. He wasn't a suspicious person.
Tycon had seen him before-- he was a friend of Isidor's.
But why was he here? What purpose did he serve? Was he aware
that the city was going to be on *fire*, the trolls' natural weakness?
Of Sol Invictus, only Tres Leches came to watch. While Pale,

Zenon, and Korr expressed their intent to attend, Tycon refused,
tasking Sorina to ensure that they and the others were resting
properly.
Placing his white commander's full-helm on, he approached

Athena until he was six paces away, "I'm ready."
Athena stood in her custom-made white suit of armor, her arms

crossed, wisps of white snowflakes swirling around her feet. Her
four hiltless Arcanite blades levitated over her shoulders,
menacingly pointed forward.
She didn't wear her helmet. Tycon planned on scolding her for
that, later.
"Draw your weapon," Athena pursed her lips, annoyance in her

voice.
...Tycon measured the seriousness in the young lady's eyes.
Though he initially planned on not doing so, he summoned his

curved blade in its Adamantium scabbard. Gripping it with both
hands, he held it in a neutral stance in front of his waist.
"Go ahead."
Athena raised her arms, her blades rotating and rising. She spun
around, punching at the air in a dance-like kata as her weapons
stabbed and retracted alongside them.
They were so fast, they made high-pitched whistles.
Tycon gulped, grimacing hard beneath his helmet. Her skillful

display had successfully shaken Tycon's confidence.
Athena was a hybrid Class... but it seemed her martial ability was
equal or greater to his.
...The young Frostblade had both a hard work ethic and natural
talent.
Conversely, Tycon... had lived for a very long time.

"I'll begin," Athena muttered.
He really wished she wouldn't.
Athena arranged her levitating blades in front of her as platforms,

running up them to rise in the air.
It was a technique that Tycon had taught her.
Was she going to start with an explosive airborne attack? That

would be dangerous.
Tycon lifted up his sheathed weapon, ready to deflect or block.
Athena shot her arms forward, palms pointed down towards him.
"Winds of the frozen north!" She shouted, "Spirits of wind and sky!
Come to my aid-- so I can pay back this stupid instructor for
throwing sand in my faaaace!!!!"
...How long was she going to be upset about that?
",
(Part Three)
thena hovered in the air above, high above Tycondrius, her

A
shoulder-length hair rising and fanning out as if she was
underwater. The icy-blue radiance from the mana gathered in her
palms outshone and drowned out the arena's surrounding lights.
Empty niiiiiight. Memories of Tycon's past began flashing through

his mind... trying to comprehend how exactly he got into this
situation.
"⌈IIIIIIICE BEAAAAAMUUUU!!!!⌋"
Tycon threw himself out of the way of the concentrated beam,

rolling roughly on the ground. Standing and pumping his arms with
alacrity, if not grace, he ran counter-clockwise in the limited space
he had.
Athena landed in a kneeling crouch, frozen stalagmites jutting out

from the earth around her. Reaching her left arm up and clenching
her fist, the ice formations burst. Her four Arcanite blades shot
towards him... as well as a torrent of icy shrapnel.
Tycon felt a cold sweat dripping down his forehead and back.
He was battered by the ice, thankful for the protection provided by

his Arcanite armor and full helmet. The pain was substantial,
however, the real threat he was wary of were Athena's swords.
The young lady could control them from a distance, as they had
frost mana crystals embedded where their hilts would be.
...Tycon had ordered them made that way, a decision he was

deeply regretting.
He swayed his body to avoid the two inner swords, barely slipped
the third, and deflected the fourth downward with his Adamantine
scabbard. Reaching his gauntleted hand out, he pulled that sword
out of the frosty dirt, gripping it tightly.
The other three blades spiraled upwards around him, then

simultaneously halted and turned inward, one aimed to pierce him
in the chest, and two behind.
Sharply aware of the danger to his life, Tycon felt a sudden, ironic
pride, that his young student had grown so powerful. However... it
made him curse his choice of remaining in the Holy Country.
He used the Arcanite blade to deflect the first attack, his sheathed
sword to deflect a second, then fell clumsily to the ground to
dodge the third. Sighing loudly, he activated his ⌈Tumble⌋ skill to
roll backward to avoid being pierced by all three.
The blades flew back to Athena, who spun around and reset her
stance.
"Draw your weapon, Sir Tycon! I don't wanna hurt you!"
"Young lady," Tycon stood up, dusting himself off, "I have
determined that to be a lie."
Athena growled as she waved a palm towards him, then shifted

her body forward while raising it. Her swords shot forward in a
line, cutting into the earth... flinging up dirt and debris and
effectively blinding him, "Take this! Sand-attack!"
Seven gods-damned hells!!! How much did he need to apologize

to get her to forgive him for that?!
Tycon shut his eyes... Thankfully, training with Garock had

prepared him for fighting without vision or tremorsense to a
combat-plausible degree.
He dodged. He deflected.
He heard Athena yell, "⌈Frostblade!⌋"

...He cursed the seven hells and the eleven heavens.
He dodged and deflected more Arcanite blade strikes. He

cowered and leapt away from seven-fulm long, exploding, frost
swords. He crawled out of the cloud of dust and dirt until he could
no longer-- finding the edge of the glowstone arena.
Tanamar was crouching down, meeting his eyes, "You... you

gonna be okay, Tycon?"
"I'm not quite sure," Tycon groaned, quite annoyed.
Tanamar's eyes drifted up, towards the starry sky, "Watch for the
⌈Icicle Fall⌋."
"My thanks," Tycon curled up and rolled backward, reactivating

⌈Tumble⌋ to avoid the massive falling and shattering icicles Athena
had summoned.
Back in the mist, he continued to suffer light plinks and heavy

ponks of ice fragments against his helm and armor.
He couldn't see... and it was cold.
And then... Athena appeared.
She was fast... Her fists struck against his chest armor, the shock
thankfully dispersing throughout his body. Tycon didn't think it
would bruise, but it was still terribly uncomfortable.
Too fast for him to block, the flat of one of her Arcanite blades
smashed into his side, sending him tumbling into the rocky dirt.
With his off-hand, he thrust his fingers into the ground, digging a
line in the dirt to ensure he wasn't launched out of the ring...
His body hurt. His fingers were numb.
The inside of his mouth tasted metallic. Either he had internal

bleeding or he bit his tongue-- hopefully the latter.
He stood up... feeling old, tired... and moderately humiliated.

All in all... he was f*cking miserable.
"Y... you've improved," Tycon forced a smile underneath his

helmet.
Athena emerged from the dissipating mists, "I'm holding back.

Draw your sword."
The girl's mana-control was deathly precise... but in exchange,

she consciously limited her power. It showed.
Tycon raised his arms, pushing his chest forward with bravado,
"Make me."
In a flash, Athena was in front of him, her blades poised to strike

at the space underneath his helmet... all four through his neck,
"Draw. your. sword. Sir..."
"...Shite," Tycon cursed.
It didn't feel good having his bluff called.
"I will not," He declared.
"Then..." Athena's eyes flashed whitish-blue with mana, "Submit."
He paused and caught his breath to ensure his voice did not
shake...
"I will not," He repeated.
Athena grit her teeth, "You're... you're really good, Sir Tycon."
"Thank you."
"I can definitely take you out of the ring... but I might really hurt
you... especially if you don't draw your weapon."
She noticed. Clever girl.
"I'm not drawing my sword, young lady," Tycon shook his head.
"You can't kill all those people, Sir Tycon," Athena grimaced, her
face twisted as if she were going to cry, "That's a lot of snake
cultists in Caeruleum-- I understand that! But there're so many
innocent people, too!"
"The option is in front of you," Tycon gulped... and hoped the

whelpling didn't hear it... "Defeat me. Lead my armies to your
satisfaction."
"All I have to do..." Athena steeled her gaze, "is take you out of
the ring. Then you'll have to listen to me."
"Correct. However..." Tycon tilted his head, "can you do so without

critically injuring or killing me?"
Chapter 581 Good Boy (Part
One)
sing a single finger, Tycondrius pushed one of Athena's

U
weapons away. It immediately returned to its position, pressing
against the skin of his neck... but not drawing blood.
The girl's mana control was precise, as always.
"I know I can't defeat you just like this, Sir Tycon," Athena
growled. "I know you have a buttload of defensive Skills... I'd have
to go all out..."
"Go on, then," Tycon leaned forward. The two blades pressed into
his neck gave way-- still not cutting him. "Even without me, you'll
win with the forces we've gathered."
"You mean the forces *you've* gathered," Athena grimaced...

"Isidor's Faction is only loyal to you... The Vralkek Faction, all
yours... and the same with Mister Emilien's guild.
"I just... I don't understand, Sir Tycon," The young lady shouted as
her frustrated tears began to fall. "We're so strong... Why do we
have to do this? Why do we have to commit GENOCIDE?!"
Tycon shut his eyes and he nodded solemnly in thought.
There were plenty of answers he could give.
He liked killing people, for one. However, in most situations, that

was usually not something he liked to admit.
If he did as Athena asked, having their forces only target obvious

combatants, his forces would suffer grave casualties. The cultists
hidden among the civilian populace would attack at their option...
and only when advantageous.
Then... if enough snake cultists were to survive and escape, they

could spread their propaganda, inciting the Tyrion masses to a
frenzy against House Vanzano. If the political opinion against
them was too strong, both Archbishop Natalya and High Oracle
Troia would have their hands tied.
Tycon considered refusing to answer... or perhaps he could blame

his own selfishness. He could have Athena direct her hate and
shame at himself... to protect her from the guilt.
He had done something similar when her parents were killed. He

refused Athena the privilege of witnessing them buried... so she
would not see their defiled and desecrated corpses.
"Young lady..." Tycon took a deep breath... "Mercy is a gift... only

granted to those who can be redeemed."
The snake cult was coiled too deeply in Caeruleum. The entire
city was infected by their lies. They were all beyond conceivable
redemption.
He reached his arms up, Athena's blades withdrawing as he did.

Taking off his helmet, he swept his sweat-drenched green hair
back and looked into the Iron-Rank Frostblade's eyes...
"Only death awaits the enemies of Sol Invictus."
"Sir Tycon..."
"Stand down, Athena," He whispered. "Stand down and let

Caeruleum fall as you know it must."
He turned to the surrounding observers... "and the rest of you...

prepare for battle. We attack just before dawn."
...
⟬ A bell before dawnbreak. ⟭

All things died. Death was inevitable.
However, death would befall the enemies of Sol Invictus before all
other parties involved.
Tres Leches, the wolf formerly known as Moon-Moon-Moon,

crawled out of the freshly dug dirt, emerging in the city of
Caeruleum proper. As he was in his grey-furred form, he shook
his coat free of dust and debris.
"(This is as far as the Bloodpaws can take you, Brother Three-

Moon,)" Lady whined.
The blue-furred Iredar girl was panting from the heat, and she
wiped a paw over her sweaty forehead.
While the smoke and fire of the burning city felt like home to Tres,
it was uncomfortable for most, including those that belonged to
the Bloodpaw tribe. The other members of the Guild Letalis
assault companies wore Dark Iron skin, so were largely resistant
to the heat.
As the Iredar attached to the assault were only tasked to dig them
into the city, they were not granted the luxury.
Still, they'd done their part, and admirably.
"(Thank you, Lady,)" Tres saluted. "(You're the best digger I've
ever known. You're a good girl.)"
"(You honor me, Sol Invictus,)" Lady returned the salute, then
placed her paw to her heart while closing her eyes, "(I only wish
we had more warriors to assist you...)"
Tres nodded, nudging her face, "(All members of the pack pull
their weight.)"
Lady's tail began to wag furiously, her eyes widened in surprise, "
(B-brother Three-Moon! You... you... you're a good boy... the
good-est of boys.)"
She turned back to the hole, helping pull a dirt-covered Lone
Shadowdark to the surface, "(Come on, human! The dwarves and
fat raccoons have already gone ahead!)"
Lone tousled his hair, allowing the dirt to fall, "Th-thanks, man!"
"(I'm a girl,)" Lady whined, shooting Tres Leches an uncomfortable

look.
"Don't worry, bro!" Lone grinned, "Me and Tres Leches here will
kill all the bad guys!"
"(Why's he baring his teeth at me?)" Lady asked.
"(He does that. The fault in training him is mine,)" Tres sighed as
he pawed at Lone's chest, "(Bad human. Be polite.)"
"Ow! Sorry! Right! Let's go!"
...
Tres and his partner jogged through the streets.
People were running away, screaming. They feared death, as folly

as it was.
It was a shame. It was a good sun to die.
There was smoke and dust and embers in the air. They passed by
a Fire Slime the size of gorgon Stephanos-- one of the big ones.
"(You good, Fire Slime?)"
The creature shrieked, making loud gloppy sounds as it rolled into

a small shop, breaking down its walls, parts of it lighting ablaze.
"What'd it say, Tres Leches?" Lone asked.
"(No idea. I don't speak slime.)" Tres whined... "(Can you

understand me, yet?)"
"Ah, I see," The human nodded sagely-- "Oh, here comes
trouble."
A gaggle of adventurers appeared in the distance, dressed in

differently-colored gladiator armors and wielding a variety of
weapons.
They were not afraid.
Tres crouched low to the ground, like a snake ready to strike.
He and Lone would strike fear into their hearts.
"(Shall we, Lone Shadowdark?)"
"You ready to do our part to fight the heretics, Tres Leches?!"

Lone grinned.
...Tres took a hot breath and sighed.
Having a language barrier was somewhat troublesome. It made

him wish he had opposable thumbs so he could learn the hand-
language that Boss Tycon used... or that he had the vocal
capacity to speak... human.
Then... metal began to rain down from the heavens.

Chapter 582 Good Boy (Part
Two)
ooking skyward, Tres Leches watched a trio of harpies fly

L
overhead, scattering metal spikes they spilled from torn pouches.
Looking back to the Caeruleum gladiators, they screamed in

horror, then in agony, as the shrapnel stuck into their flesh and bit
into their bones.
"What the... eleven-- HELLS!!??!" Lone shouted.
"(Seven hells, Lone,)" Tres corrected. "(There's seven hells,

eleven heavens.)"
"TRES LECHES, can you believe this?!? Those guys stole my

kills!!"
After the barrage, only two avoided death's embrace-- the

stubborn ones wise enough to raise their shields.
Also, the harpies were all female... but Tres didn't want to correct
his human twice in a row.
"(Well... those two should be enough for us,)" Tres offered.
Unfortunately, before he and Lone could act, a team of fat

raccoons rushed out of an alleyway-- closer to the humans than
they were. They used... ⌈Tackle⌋ attacks on their knees, then fell
upon them with picks and clubs.
"(Loot!!)" One yelled.
"(Yaaay, loot!!)" The others responded.

Tres bounded forward, "(Come on, Lone, we have to--)"
...He stopped, sensing that his human was not following him.
Turning back, he saw Lone silently watching the carnage with
quivering lips.
He was absolutely devastated...
It made Tres feel sorry for his sad human.
"(...Do you want me to bark the fat raccoons away? You can tear
out at least one enemy throat?)"
Lone tried his best to smile, "Let's... let's keep going? There's
gotta be a good fight somewhere in this city..."
"(A... alright,)" Tres Leches barked sympathetically. "(Don't worry,

Lone. We'll... we'll find something.)"
...
"There!" Lone shouted, "That's a group of Church enforcers!"
Tres Leches shook the ash and dust off of his coat, "(Ah, that's the
Dwarven patriarch... Thrumondi Krakhammer, I think his name
was.)"
The squad of dwarves collided with the other armored fellows...

but they made short work of them with hammers and blunted
axes.
...As was expected.
"(Lone...)" The wolf whined. His human looked so angry that he

was worried he'd froth at the mouth, "(You need to calm down.)"
"We'll KEEP GOING!!!" The furious Lone began to sprint, "Follow

me!!"
...
Tres' human glanced behind the building side, quickly ducking his
head back.
"There's like... at least fifty guys over there," He grinned.
"(That's too many, Lone,)" Tres Leches chided. "(We have to be

careful.)"
The humans were closely packed together, all of them carrying

shields and wearing metal skins. If he and Lone attacked with
surprise and with a ⌈Dual Flamewolf Rush⌋, they could
incapacitate at least the front line.
However, the other humans would surround them, nipping at their

heels and tiring them until they could strike a lethal blow.
It was basic pack tactics.
Lone peeked over again, drawing his longsword and hammer,

"We can take 'em... You and me, Tres Leches... On the count of
three... One. Two... Thr--"
"⌈MAGNUUMMMMM CRAAAAASHHHH!!!!⌋"
A small, blue, human-shaped figure plummeted out of the sky in a

streak of gold. It struck the center of the formation with a flash of
light.
The humans surrounding the blast were scattered, fallen and lying
still or moaning while covering their eyes or ears. There were
also... *less* humans than before.
...Those gone probably had no idea how they died.
Magic, probably.
The boy with the spear slashed his weapon twice more, launching
crescent-shaped projectiles of mana that cut down those that
remained.
"(Oh, it's Pale,)" Tres barked. He put his paw on Lone's thigh, "
(Look! We know that human.)"
Lone looked heartbroken as he watched Pale running about,
finishing off the survivors with quick stabs.
After several moments, the boy jogged up to the two of them, an

innocent smile on his face.
"(Hello, Pale,)" Tres yipped, wagging his tail, "(Where'd you come
from? I request head pats.)"
"Hey, guys! I just jumped off that building over there," Pale grinned
while fluffing the fur on Tres' neck. "Cool, right?"
"(I live for two reasons: meat jerky and head pats.)"
Pale looked over to the taller human, "What's up?"
Lone took a deep breath and sighed... "Nothing..."
"(We've been having trouble finding enemies,)" Tres Leches

explained, before turning to nudge his partner. "(Come on. Let's...
let's keep looking.)"
"O... oh," The boy scratched the back of his head, looking guilty,
"Um. Maybe check that way?"
"Thanks, Pale," Lone nodded quietly.
"(Thank you, Pale,)" Tres Leches barked.
...
"(Watch out, Lone,)" Tres sniffed the air, "(That group over there
smells like fire mana... And... there's a lot of them?)"
There were too many. He'd never smelled so many, at once. Were
they fire elementals? No-- their scent was unmistakably human.
"Wow! Those guys look strong!" Lone cheered giddily, "Finally, I

get a chance to use my new Ski-- OH, COME ON!!!!!"
A round of explosions rang through the air, causing Tres to lower

his body and flatten his ears.
"(That scent... the gunnery squad?)"
Amidst a falling flurry of feathers, a flock of harpies began to circle

while descending to the ground... and they carried a squad of
humans in their talons. Cecil Salt was among them-- the human
wearing the green Sergeant helmet. The Heavy Gunner, Mister
Lawrence, was carried by three.
"Ahaha! I heard those bastards can cast fire magic!" Salt cackled
gleefully, shouting to his cheering comrades, "Looks like we
outrange 'em with our Turathi rifles, boys and girls!"
Salt put his feet on the road and began to wave to the ascending
harpies, "Thank you, ladies!"
"'Tis a pleasure, Sergeant!" One of the birds squawked.
"Do well, boys!" "Survive and I'll be sure to thank you~!" "CAW!
CAW CAW!!!"
"Eh?" Salt looked over to Tres and gestured to his human, "What's
wrong with him?"
Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, was on his hands and knees,
openly weeping.
"(Don't worry about it,)" Tres reassured the Sergeant.
Salt tilted his helmed head, "H-hello to you too, Mister Wolf."
"(Hello.)"
"Sergeant Lone," Salt knelt down. "You still have your pistol, yes?"
"I... I do," Lone wiped his tears.
"Come along, then," Salt patted the sad human on the back.
"Rejoin the gunnery squad for the time being. We could use your
help."
"Alright..."
Chapter 583 Rude Awakening
⟬ Head Magistrate's Residence. ⟭
A heavy fist pounded on the door to Antonidus' bedchambers,

"Head Magistrate! Head Magistrate. Are you still there?"
Ignoring the voice, Antonidus stretched his arms and back... only
to have to creak, crack, and pop-- grimly reminding him of his old
age. Shaking his head, he unhurriedly put on his Magistrate robe.
An earlier series of knocks had awoken him-- and rather rudely.

This set of knocks was urging him to hurry.
He combed his long white beard thoughtfully, wondering what

terrible thing had befallen his city this time... Likely, another
merchant's son had been 'wrongfully' imprisoned or the Church
enforcers were trying to shut down a bishop's favorite brothel.
Maybe an important building was on fire? Flamescarred Sons of

Qotal... He had ordered them all to reside outside of the city. They
were all so f... flammable.
Regardless, it was probably something that could wait until after

breakfast... but, then again... if whoever was at his door got past
so many rounds of guards, they were probably worth pretending
to listen to.
He grabbed the satchel containing his pen, ink, and reference

materials, but suddenly... his chest began to spasm, his throat
blocked. He doubled over, overcome by a painful, coughing fit.
A pale-faced Decanus Philippos burst into the room, dark circles

underneath his eyes and his wispy brows furrowed, "Head
Magistrate! Are you alright?!"
"Yes, yes," Antonidus rolled his eyes, taking out a clean cloth and
wiping his mouth.
Blood. Again. The cold of the winter had been in the air, as of
recent... and it affected him more than in years past.
Righting his posture, he walked out of his room, past the young
Decanus, "Walk and talk, boy. Walk and talk."
He casually glanced out the window of the second-story hallway

and noticed the dim orange glow. He'd thought he'd woken up
before dawn, but it seemed it was much later than that.
Flame take it. He had plenty of work to do...
"Sir!" Philippos shouted, "Th-the city! It's under attack!"
"The city's under 'attack' every sun," Antonidus groaned. "What is

the outrage about now? Was another gladiator caught f*cking
something they shouldn't have? I told them that statue in the
eastern square had too Flame-taken much sex appeal."
"Sir... no, that's--"
"Wait, don't tell me--" Antonidus stopped abruptly, holding up a

palm, "It's another rally about inequality amongst the social
classes, isn't it?"
"Harpies! There are harpies, sir!"
"BAH!! Will it NEVERRR ennnnd?!?!" Antonidus threw his hands

up in disgust, turning away, "If it were up to me, Decanus, women
wouldn't HAVE rights! But that's not something that gets decided
by me, now is it? Have them write a Flamescarred letter to their
senator!"
"Head Magistrate, sir..." Philippos frowned, "I mean... literal

harpies, sir... with wings and talons."
Antonidus stopped... "Is that so?"
"It is, sir."

...The two of them slowly turned towards the nearby window.
The tinted glass shattered immediately, a naked woman with

sagging breasts and grey-feathered wings for arms crashing to
the floor. She loosed a croaking shriek, clawing at the space
around her with long-legged talons.
"By the Flame!" Antonidus cursed, "It's a Flamescarred HARPY!"
"Stupid overgrown PIDGEON!!" Philippos grabbed a broom that

had been left nearby and began to swat at the woman, "Get the
hells out of here! Shoo!"
The creature shrieked in indignation before flying out of the

broken window from whence she came.
"So there are harpies in my city..." Antonidus stroked his long

beard.
Philippos narrowed his eyes, "That's what I've been trying to tell
you, sir."
"Well, that's nothing to worry about. Mobilize the militia-- hm... and
post a bounty for the gladiators to compete over. When those
overgrown chickens swoop down, they'll be met by Tyrion shields
and spears."
"Sir... they're dropping... arrows and stones from the skies."
"Ughhh..." Antonidus sighed. So the savages had some

intelligence... "Send word to the Sons of Qotal. Their sanctioned
Fire Clerics can roast, what-- a dozen of the sinful creatures with
each cast? There can't be more than two-hundred of them."
"Sir..." The Decanus stared at the floor, "some of them are

carrying squads of gunners."
"...Crossbow gunners?"
"Our reports say they're using guns from Bael Turath."

"Fine!" Antonidus grimaced, "You were right to call me, then. I'll
handle it, myself."
Head Magistrate Antonidus was more than just a city leader, he

was a sanctioned psyker-- and a Flamescarred good one. He
clenched his fist, circulating the mana throughout his body.
He was often praised for his Divine Class, Holy Magus... but the
paltry radiant spells he commanded back then were nowhere near
enough for him. He was the Head Magistrate of the wealthiest city
in Tyrion! To defend it, he needed power far greater.
So harpies threatened to attack his people? And outsiders with

heretic weaponry? With the powers vested in him, granted by his
new Class, he would lead the people of Caeruleum in defending
her walls to the death!
Antonidus walked over to the window and looked down upon the
beautiful territory he governed.
It was on fire. Everything was on fire. Plumes of smoke filled the

skies, with a garish rainbow of harpies and other beasts of flight
amidst them.
...Even at first glance, there were far more than he'd imagined,
nevermind two-hundred.
He slowly turned back to the reporting Decanus... "Y... you, there.

Philippos."
"Yes, Head Magistrate?" The Decanus grimaced.
"...Is that a... fire slime in the streets?"
"They are, sir. More than one, sir."
"...How did they even get into the city?"
"They were catapulted over the walls, sir."
Siege weaponry?! The enemy had set up siege weaponry in the

night? Those USELESS Sons of Qotal!! How could they let
something so catastrophic happen on their watch?!
Antonidus stroked his beard in thought, trying to calm himself...

"And they're... how large?"
Philippos pursed his lips, "The smaller ones are the size of a
carriage, sir."
"Very well..." Antonidus straightened his back, placing a fist to his

mouth as he cleared his throat, "Ahem... Decanus! Deploy the
Faithful!"
The savages' uprising wouldn't last much longer.

Chapter 584 Champion Of
Qotal (Part One)
esides the Sons of Qotal, there were hundreds of Tyrions

B
amongst the Caeruleum populace who heard the dragon's
whispers.
Those that had a Metal-Rank were simply referred to as 'The

Faithful.' Veteran adventurers, popular gladiators, men of the
Church, they comprised the most powerful secret army in the
nation.
It was bothersome for Antonidus, having to reveal his hand... but

after over a decade of accruing forces, the Senate-- no, not even
High Oracle Troia would be able to challenge his iron rule over
Caeruleum.
"Well?!" Antonidus waved his arm, his official robe billowing

majestically, "What are you waiting for, Decanus?"
Decanus Philippos' expression didn't change, "There are several

dozen of the fire slimes burning the city, sir."
"S... several dozen, you say?"
"That's right, sir."
Antonidus gulped... "Then the uh... the Faithful... have the Faithful
alert... The Branded."
Amongst the Faithful, there was a small group of infinitely

powerful adventurers within the Sons of Qotal. They were called
The Branded and according to the rumors, every single one of
them were Iron-Rank or higher.
Confident in his command, Antonidus turned sharply and
increased his walking pace down the corridor.
"Sir!" Phillipos chased after him, "Where are you going? The stairs
to the front door are that way?"
Antonidus felt sweat drip down the back of his head. This fool still
wanted him to fight against insurmountable odds? That's what The
Branded were for!
"I uh... I left my... stove unattended."
The Decanus looked unconvinced, "Is... is that so, sir?"
"It is so. Now... go see to your duties, Decanus."
...
Tycondrius comfortably strolled down the streets with the

members of his team in tow.
Broken bodies were littered everywhere, covered in fresh blood

and a layer of soot.
Everything stank of smoke. Errant screams sang sporadically. It

was a beautiful, burning hellscape reminiscent of a nightmare.
Tycon remained unbothered. His own nightmares were worse.
He figured that, with Dragan's fire slimes, he could wipe out at

least 90% of Caeruleum's population. It was a severe enough
culling that whatever snake cultists hid amongst the survivors
would be hard-pressed to bite back within the next decade or so.
It was acceptable.
It was somewhat disheartening to kill so many innocents. Tycon

found the act mostly annoying. He knew the dwarves and elves
and the mostly-human members of guild Letalis weren't so keen
on the idea, either.
Still, he had enough allies who had no issues with the order.
The harpies needed their breeding stock. The spider-breeders
preferred meat-corpses to... breed spiders. The fat raccoons had
no issues with consuming the flesh of sentients and were more
concerned about looting than they were about morality.
Then the fire slimes... they were essentially natural disasters that
did as they pleased.
...Tycon would leave some of them in the city, even after his forces
withdrew. He'd need the Titanbloods to advise him on the matter...
They would know best on the number to leave, ensuring enough
of them to procreate but not enough that they'd terrorize the
surrounding areas.
Dawn had broken through the morning clouds only recently,

lighting up the alley ahead. Wet, glistening grey spiderwebs were
serenely draped along the walls, untouched by the fires.
"[LEADER,]" Seldin Korr's metallic voice echoed through her

emotionless helmet, "[THERE ARE BODIES IN THOSE
COCOONS.]"
Tycon nodded, "I can see that. Wait here."
"[YES, LEADER,]" Korr stood up straight and saluted.
...Her greaves were raised, artificially emphasizing her long legs

and making her taller than he was. It annoyed him slightly... but as
she was fond of them, he decided to allow it.
"[Eyes open, Optio,]" Zenon warned.
⟬ Seldin Korr, Gold-Rank Human Flaming Rage Knight; Zenon

Skyreaper, Iron-Rank Human Librarian. ⟭
Korr stood watch at the alley entrance along with Centurion Zenon
Skyreaper. Any of the three of them were enough to deal with any
difficult issues, but the teams had been decided the evening prior.
Stephanos, Pale, and the Lone Shadowdark were acting

independently. With their superior mobility, they were able to
engage with any targets at-will, withdrawing if necessary.
Holy Lancer Tanamar and Frostblade Athena formed a unit.

Obviously.
Tanamar was a lethal force at range and was difficult to defeat in

close combat, especially guarded by Athena's ⌈Frost Shield⌋.
Then Athena... any of her incanted abilities could wreak havoc on
anything that Tanamar couldn't defeat in a short exchange-- and
she wouldn't be interrupted, as long as her footman still breathed.
Sorina Capulet was somewhere in the city with Corporal Horse

and Private First Class Jeremy... with Private Edge assigned to
keep them alive and out of trouble. Tycon decided not to worry
about them, for the sake of his sanity.
With the other teams focused on wreaking havoc, Tycon was to

act as a general troubleshooter, assessing and assisting the
various Letalis companies. Zenon and Korr insisted upon
accompanying him.
Thus far, they'd checked on the dwarves and two of the six Letalis
fielded companies. It seemed that with the webs and various
arachnids crawling about, Tycon had come across where the
spider-breeders had been.
He walked into the alley, examining the human-sized cocoons of

thick, soot-covered silk. Men, women, children-- warriors and not,
all were bound, all were equal. Some still writhed in discomfort.
Most did not, having accepted their fate.
Tycon removed his helmet and raised his voice, "Is anyone here?"
He sought a report from the spider-breeders, if not from Matriarch

Feverbite, herself.
"T-tactician?" A woman's voice whimpered, "Is... is that you?"
Tycon furrowed his brows as he directed his gaze upward. A dying

woman was suspended by the webbing above him, her arms
outstretched like a captive angel.
⟬ Ptolema, Iron-Rank Human Champion of Qotal. ⟭
He didn't recognize her at first with the scars on her face... but he
knew her.
Still, he could not help her.
In the Brazen Guard collective, they were allies. In the short time
since, she had become an enemy.
Only one thing awaited the enemies of Sol Invictus.
He remained silent, wondering how he should kill her.
"Tactician... please help me," Ptolema begged... "I can't... I can't

see..."
Chapter 585 Champion Of
Qotal (Part Two)
tolema's voice tugged at Tycondrius' conscience. As the spider-

P
breeders' venom clouded the woman's mind, Tycon's voice should
have been nothing more than a fever dream.
Her pleading was an act of desperation, grasping at the faintest

glimmer of hope, regardless of whether it was real or not... It was
the only thing she could do in her pitiful state.
In better times, Duelist Ptolema was the guild leader of Snowy

Village. From what Tycon knew, she was its sole founder and her
ranks and reputation had grown steadily over several years. Most
recently, she wed Karodin of Emberhold, the most loyal
Legionnaire that Tycon had ever known. The loving relationship
even resulted in her carrying the gentleman's child.
Tycon was planning on inviting both the young guild leader and
her husband into guild Letalis Serpentia as officers, such was their
strength and competence. Of course, that depended on the wages
they would accept...
Then... the Brazen Guard collective accepted a dungeon

quest... and they traveled to the Halls of the Dead Serpent.
Tancred and guild Stormbrand stole a snake cult artifact and
effectively sealed the entrance. Subsequently, the collective was
forced to delve deeper into hostile territory, eventually finding an
alternate exit.
Many died... not the least of which was Ptolema's husband.

Sometime during the skirmishes, Ptolema had also suffered a
miscarriage.
Suffering two deaths of her closest kin in that place had likely
heavily damaged her psyche... enough to join a gods-damned
cult.
The entrapped Champion, Ptolema, wore the unmistakable armor

of her new guild... the Sons of Qotal. From the markings on her
shoulder, she had excelled in their ranks and was even promoted
to Centurion.
More and more, Tycon was growing suspicious of the mysterious

guild.
The mercenary company was the size of a small army, their

numbers having swollen only in the past several moons, recruiting
from the Ezyrian and Kasydonian countryside.
It seemed they were acting under Caeruleum's orders, as his

Letalis forces had eliminated a number of scout teams, wearing
their markings.
...Those two facts combined meant the city had collected a

militant force too large to be legal under Tyrion law. Were they
trying to rebel against High Oracle Troia?
Then... there was the fact that far too many Sons of Qotal were
sanctioned psykers.
From the faint essence of fire mana that Ptolema emitted... she
was one of them.
Reaching up, Tycon tore a glob of webbing out of the woman's

eyes...
He held his breath, annoyed but not surprised by what he saw.
"T... tactician?" Ptolema's voice rose in pitch, "The Flamescarred

shite in my eyes... there's so much of it. I still... can't see."
"Yes..." Tycon grimaced, shaking his head, "It can't be helped."
Spiders were crawling out of Ptolema's eye sockets, some of them

with chunks of white in their mandibles. The young woman would
not be seeing anything for the rest of her life.
"I'm... I'm so glad you're here, Tactician..." Ptolema whispered

hoarsely, before succumbing to a series of wet, body-wracking
coughs... "The city... it's been overrun by monsters."
Tactician nodded solemnly, "Indeed... it has."
The young lady spat and breathed a sigh of relief, "Thank... thank
the dragon."
Tycon narrowed his eyes into a furious glare, his heart-rate

spiking dramatically, "The... what?"
"The dragon..." Ptolema whispered, "He sent you to save us..."
"I recall no such thing," Tycon crossed his arms.
Ptolema shook her head... "I had faith. I always had faith."
"Your faith is..."
Tycon hesitated. He wanted to tell the woman her faith was

misplaced. However, it was an unnecessary cruelty that would
only serve to protect his fragile pride.
Ptolema smiled, even as more tiny black arachnids crawled about

her scarred face... even as they lapped at the sweat pouring down
her reddened forehead. Whatever poison she was afflicted with
seemed to dull her senses.
"I am Tyrion... just like you, Sir Tychon. What kind of woman
would I be if I didn't have faith?"
Tycon swallowed hard... but voiced the words in his heart,

"Dragons... don't exist."
"I am the..." Ptolema's voice trailed off, but the corner of her
mouth curved upward... "No... maybe you're right. But look at me,
guy. I don't really have much going for me, now do I?"
Tycon glanced at the series of cocoons in the alleyway. Many of
them had body parts revealing armor similar to Ptolema's.
Matriarch Feverbite and her spider-breeders had done well.
There was little he could do for the girl.
He could end her life as mercy...
...but the longer her blood stayed warm, the healthier Feverbite's
children and grandchildren would be.
He spun on his heel and began to leave.
"T... tactician?" Ptolema called out.
Tycon paused... "Yes?"
"You're going to get help? Right?"
Tycon grimaced... "I'm thinking to see if this dragon of yours might

answer your prayers."
Ptolema sighed... "A-alright... Hurry back. I don't know when the

monsters will be returning."
"I'll see you... Ptolema."
"Farewell, Tactician."
Tycon emerged from the alleyway, placing his helmet back on.
"[Is all well, Brother-Tycon?]" Zenon asked.
Korr tilted her head expectantly.
Tycon nodded slowly, "Let's move on. I feel like killing something."
Zenon clenched his fist, his Tyrion claws sparking with electricity, "
[Then the slaughter shall continue.]"
...
⟬ Two streets later. ⟭
"[What about that tall building over there?]" Zenon offered.
Tycon glared up at the tall Librarian, "That's a hospital, Centurion.

No."
"[Oh... how about... that one, then?]"
"The orphanage?" Tycon crossed his arms, "Seven hells, Zenon!

No!"
"[Don't you think you're being a little unreasonable, Optio?]"

Zenon sighed.
Tycon's voice was caught in his throat.
...Was he?
He looked to Korr for affirmation. She responded with an upraised

thumb.
Without a reference, the gesture meant absolutely nothing to him.
At the very least, the woman didn't seem to have any strong
opinions on who or what they were killing.
...No. Tycon shook his head. He was the one that was right.
Everyone else was wrong.
"I don't care," He snapped. "Choose something different."
"[Th...at one, then,]" Zenon pointed at an ornate building adjacent

to a four-way road.
"That is... a Church temple?"
That seemed... slightly more permissible than the other options.

There would be plenty of innocents inside, but a Champion or a
Cleric or two protecting them would prove to be good exercise.
Chapter 586 Fake Scars (Part
One)
efore Tycondrius and his companions could burn down the

B
Church temple, an adventuring company walked out from an
adjacent road. There were dozens of them, all wearing military
Tyrion armor and carrying long, rectangular shields.
However... one of their number flew a strange banner with a

familiar symbol. He'd seen it before on Ptolema's armor... a
stylized dragon's head on a red backdrop.
"Sons of Qotal," Tycon remarked.
"[They reek of heresy,]" Zenon added.
"[LEADER. I REQUEST GROUND-BEEF PATTIES WITH BREAD

FOR LUNCH,]" Korr boldly declared.
The three of them were about to engage in lethal combat and she
was thinking of her next hot, delicious, expertly-cooked meal.
"Stay on topic, young lady," Tycon chided.
"[...I WOULD COMMIT GENOCIDE FOR GROUND-BEEF

PATTIES WITH BREAD FOR LUNCH.]"
At least she was consistent.
"Halt!" One of the adventurers shouted. "We are The Branded!

Loyal Sons and Daughters of Qotal! State thy allegiances or DIE!"
"Is it just me or do all human Tyrions sound the same?" Tycon

muttered.
Korr responded with a light shrug.
Zenon leaned forward, his tri-blade claws were crackling

menacingly, "[Same plan, Optio?]"
He was referring to Flaming Rage Knight Korr crashing into the

group, Tycon covering her with either blade-whip or curved sword,
and Zenon supporting with his magic.
However, Tycon was still in a poor mood. The dozen or so city-

defenders they'd murdered since leaving Ptolema's alleyway had
yet to sate his bloodlust.
"Negative," He shook his head. "We dance."
Zenon shrugged, "[Hm, very well. Let the dancing commence.]"
Korr tilted her head, "[ACTUAL DANCE BATTLE OR THE

CODEWORD?]"
"The codeword," Tycon assured her.
The tall, dark-armored woman nodded quietly. While Tycon

couldn't see her expression, she seemed somehow...
disappointed.
"I'll see you two shortly," Tycon stepped forward, expediting the
mana circulating through his body... focusing on his legs,
"⌈Shadowfang.⌋"
Tycon appeared in the midst of the Sons of Qotal, stepping down

gracefully upon the road.
As a credit to their training, the humans took a step back, shields

up, weapons ready. They wore heavier sets of Tyrion armor and
armaments, leathers and metal bands, highly resistant against
cuts.
"By the Flame, what do you think you're doing?" A woman

scowled behind her tower shield, her sword pointed over it.
Tycon looked her over... she wore red war-paint on her face
reminiscent of stylistic scars, but frivolously wore no helmet--
allowing her brown ponytail to swing freely. According to the
markings on her armor, though, she held the same rank as
Ptolema, that of Centurion.
He waved in greeting before placing his hands comfortably behind

his back, "Do you have some time to talk about your lord and
savior?"
The Centurion twisted her lips in confusion, "The Eternal Flame,

you mean?"
Tycon cracked his neck left and right. That was the 'correct'
answer... but it wasn't what he was looking for.
"Ah, so fellow faithful," He smirked beneath his full helm, "I was
just curious. Can't be too careful, you know."
The Centurion relaxed her shoulders and sheathed her weapon...

"Stand down, men. This isn't one of the heretics we're looking for.
"You too, adventurer," She pointed, "Find your way to safety...

unless you can direct us to the xeno's attacking the city."
Tycon laughed internally at the woman's naivete. It seemed they

hadn't yet encountered any Guild Letalis members. Though he
wore the white helmet of a commanding officer, the blackened
armor of Letalis Serpentia was easily identifiable.
"And what makes you think you can make a difference?

Centurion?"
The woman's eyes in annoyance, "We have to, adventurer. The

Branded are the strongest members in the Sons of Qotal, blessed
by the..."
Her words caught in her throat and she swallowed awkwardly.
Tycon gestured for her to continue, "Blessed. by. the...?"

"By the Flame," The woman growled... "The city burns all around
us. Every able-bodied Tyrion is honor-bound to do *something.*
"Sons and daughters of Qotal!" She raised her voice, "We're

moving!"
Tycon watched their backs as they dropped their guards and

began to walk away. While he could respect their hopes and
dreams... their ignorance was unforgivable. The Sons of Qotal
thought they were the heroes of their stories. In fact, they were
little more than blind fools, clinging to their false faith.
The corruption of Caeruleum ran deep. Tycon had initially thought

he was only hunting after the snake cult. But instead, he found...
dragon cultists. Or perhaps they were the same, all along?
Though it annoyed him greatly to do so, he decided to quote a

particular dragon prophecy.
"Sons of Qotal!" Tycon called out after them, "Have you heard of a
song... of which legends are sung?"
He had to know...
How far had Caeruleum fallen?
The Centurion stopped walking... and soon her troops stopped as

well.
Tycon wanted to be pleased, but instead, he grew more anxious...

"It is a song... of ash and fire."
The female Centurion stomped her way back to Tycon, staring at

him eye-to-eye... "Where... the hells... did you hear that?"
Wonderful. Unfortunate... How... gods-damned annoying it was for

his worries to be confirmed.
"What's wrong, Centurion?" He teased, "Have you been hearing...

voices?"
"You..."
She was at a loss for words. She just needed... a little push.
"Come now," Tycon turned his palms up and tilted his head. "You
can trust me."
The Centurion stood up straight and shook her head... "Why

would I trust a man who hides his face?"
"Hah!" Tycon tilted his head back to laugh, "This is a helmet,

Centurion! Are the Sons of Qotal so destitute that they could not
afford to issue you one?"
The woman grimaced, crossing her arms, "My title, sir... is

Scarmother."
Tycon stopped laughing.
Scarmother... It was the same title the snake cultists' leaders used
in the past... the ones led by Snake Champion Orcus.
But why... in the seven gods-damned hells... were the snake

cultists in league with--
The snake god.
The snake god was working with the dragons.
It was an incredibly specific coincidence that Tycon did not want to

believe.
Chapter 587 Fake Scars (Part
Two)
he woman eschewed the use of her helmet, as if her rank of

T
Scarmother placed her above her country's military doctrine.
Everyone wore helmets, from rank-and-file Munifices to the Pilus
Priori in charge.
Tycondrius wore a helmet! He was the gods-damned Commander

of an army!
The audacity made his blood boil.
He reached his gauntleted hand forward, gripping the sides of the

so-called Scarmother's face.
"And what use are your fake scars, WHELP?!" He shouted in her
ear, "Can they protect you from ME?!"
"Wh-what are you doing?!" One of her helmeted Munifices

shouted.
Tycon rolled his eyes, still squeezing the woman's face as she
struggled. What did it look like he was doing?
"Unhand her, you fiend!" "Heretic!" "Let go of her!"
"Out of the GOODNESS of my heart!" Tycon roared at her

subordinates, "I'm showing your fool of a Scarmother how
USEFUL a helmet can be!"
"Y-you're hurting me!" The woman shrieked, cowardice and fear

dripping from her words.
Tycon leaned forward... whispering sweetly into her ear... "I know."
Groaning in pain, the Scarmother reached her hands up-- and
Tycon swayed his head back, reflexively, to dodge. Instead, she
grabbed onto his forearm.
It grew hot... impossibly hot. Red and gold flames rose from her
hands... ever-burning.
It hurt. He was a rank above the woman, but still, the skin
underneath his metal armguards blistered and boiled. Tycon
placed his opposite hand on his forward arm, concentrating...
circulating more mana to empower his straining muscles.
« System, analysis: The Scarmother. »
⟬ System response: Iron-Rank Human Dragonfire Adept. ⟭
What kind of CLASS was that?!?!
He. WOULD. NOT. TOLERATE. ITS EXISTENCE!!!!!
"GRRRAHHHHHH!!" Tycon screamed.
Something crunched, wet and meaty. The pressure in his hand

was relieved.
He'd broken the woman's skull. Blood spilled down her nostrils
and from her still-wide eyes.
He shoved her back, her lifeless body falling to the road.
The other Sons of Qotal watched it all happen, awe or horror in

their eyes, their mouths agape like frightened children.
Their surprise... their fear... it did nothing to diminish Tycon's rage.
He breathed in... and exhaled... slowly. He needed calm. He

needed focus.
Tycon was a Gold-Rank Warlord wearing Arcanite-alloy armor...

but he was mortal. He was surrounded by enemies... not just
Bronze-Ranks, but Iron, as well.
If he made a mistake, their weapons would fall upon him... and he
would die.
The time for civil discussion had ended. He needed to be fast...

efficient... and merciless.
Tycon grabbed his sword on his waist, "⌈Iron Warlord REND!!!⌋"
Drawing his blade, he slashed it at the ground. The road tore open
in a deep pit, sending stones and dirt flying all around-- but, most
importantly, cleaving the immediate area in two.
Dust obscured the humans' vision. The attack was loud,

deafening. The men and women beside him were covering their
ears-- some even crouching down in panic.
Weak! Hearts not of steel, but of brittle bone!
These were supposed to be Tyrions, unfaltering in their faith. Yet

with only burst eardrums and the breaking of a single woman's
skull, they turned into sniveling wretches, one and all!
He grabbed the nearest man's arm and sank his sword into their
throat.
"Die. in. SHAME!!!" He twisted the blade for good measure,

kicking the body in the chest.
Turning around, he hacked his weapon into the side of another

man's neck. Their eyes shot open, knowing their death was
inevitable.
"ROT in the seven hells!!" He slammed his sword's side with his
metal-covered palm, half-decapitating the fellow.
A third came, their weapon raised to strike downward.
Tycon grabbed their falling wrist, then wrenched it around,

breaking or dislocating it.
He hacked his sword onto the screaming man's shoulder. And

again. The third time cleaved the arm off in its entirety, a gout of
blood erupting onto their companions.
The blood loss would lead to shock, then death.
He briefly lifted up his helmet and spat on the corpse.
"DIE HERETIIIIIC!!!" A lithe, Iron-Rank Legionnaire charged with

shield and flaming spear.
Tycon swayed to the side, then swung the severed arm at the
Legionnaire's jaw. The angle was perfect. The amount of force
was more than was necessary. The Legionnaire's head violently
snapped to the side-- turning too far, too quickly.
That would do.
He battered the arm he was wielding into a woman's shield, then

into her unguarded chest. As she staggered back, Tycon hopped
forward and stabbed his sword just-above her solar plexus.
"I hear her voice!!" A man screamed. He'd shot his arms out to the
side and spheres of fire were roiling in his palms.
Tycon pulled his sword out, charging it with mana to segment it

into a bladed whip. Swinging it at the fire mage, his weapon
constricted around their throat.
"You hear naught but LIES!" Tycon shouted. He pulled his hilt,
interrupting the mage's spell and tossing him into a group of his
allies.
With a loud boom a short ways away, a whirling cyclone of fire

burnt the dust, sending a blast of flame towards the heavens.
When it dissipated, a thick-muscled helmed Son of Qotal was
revealed, the base of his halberd slammed against the dirt.
He pointed his weapon at Tycon, roaring flames enveloping his

person, "The Sons and Daughters of Qotal are the dragon's
chosen!"
⟬ Iron-Rank Human Burning Halberdier. ⟭

Another Iron-Rank! Another hybrid martial-caster! The strength of
the Sons of Qotal was absurd! He would die! ALL OF THEM
WOULD DIE!!
"Dragons!" Tycon shouted. He dropped his blade-whip and

summoned his curved blade and scabbard in hand.
"Don't!" He grabbed the hilt, his mana rushing through his weak,
useless, Gold-Rank body like a storming ocean against a river
dam.
"EXIST!!!"
Tycon unsheathed his blade, releasing eight massive, golden

snakes-- all born of his hatred! One bit into the Halberdier's torso,
its head as tall as its prey. The snake then twisted violently to the
side, breaking the fool's spine.
The other snakes surged forward, each enveloping more cultists--

devouring them, leaving nothing behind but ash and dust.
"⌈Taste the Hydra Blade,⌋" Tycon growled...
The cultists, they screamed in fear. The mortals, they wailed in

desperation.
"Forgive us!" They pleaded.
"Dragon save me!!" They cried.
Tycon raised his arms, willing the hydra heads to heed his
command... and he thrust his hands downward with the force and
fury of the heavens crashing to the Realm.
"What the F*CK DID I JUST SAY?!?!?"
...
Tycon hopped over the small crevasse with a mana-empowered

leap, back to where his companions were waiting. Korr and Zenon
had handily defeated the cultists that were separated from their
main group, strewn about haphazardly with charred corpses, the
air still heavy with static electricity.
An echoey whistle came out of Zenon's helmet, "[Remind me not

to piss you off, Optio... Did you beat like... three people to death
with some guy's arm?]"
"Two or three-- I lost count," Tycon shrugged. "The Sons of Qotal

are snake cultists, by the way."
Korr tilted her head up, then nodded in understanding.
"[Makes sense,]" Zenon inclined his head. "[Told you they reeked
of heresy.]"
"WELL, WELLLLLLL, WELLLLLLLLLL!!!!!" A familiar voice

shouted.
Over a dozen gouts of flame erupted from the ground, each

unveiling another Son of Qotal. All of them Iron-Rank... steam
wisping off of their armor plates.
They stood in a half-circle around Tycon and his companions...

and at their center was an arrogant, rough-shaven bastard,
sneering in arrogance.
"It seems you found out our LITTLE SECRET!! Hurr hurr hurr!!"
Cleric Occam cackled.
Tycon sighed in annoyance. Occam was one of the Stormbrands,

the treacherous guild that took advantage of the Brazen Guard
Collective to recover a snake cult artifact in the Halls of the Dead
Serpent.
As a Divine Class, he was one of the greatest enablers for the

snake cult's current dominance in Caeruleum.
"[It's... you...]" Zenon growled.
Korr straightened her back and cracked her knuckles.

"[Stand down!]" Zenon shouted in his dark, echoing voice, "[We've
already defeated your Branded, Occam!]"
"HARR HARR HARR!!" Occam laughed, sweeping back his dark-

silver hair. He had foregone his Cleric robes and was dressed in
Heavy Legionnaire plate. However, he still retained his slovenly
appearance, as it was covered in blood glops of ash and dirt.
"So you've sided with those filthy non-humans!! Hurr hurr..."

Occam chuckled. "Well, you might have defeated that slut,
Cipriana, but you'll find that--"
Tycon drew his hand-crosssbow and fired.
Occam swung his heavy warscythe, a trail of wicked greenish

energies following the sharpened blade.
...He smirked, spinning the weapon until the haft was behind his
back, the scythe head downward, "HARR HARR HARR... Hrr hrr...
hrr..."
The Cleric collapsed, the metal of his armor thunking on the

stones. The poison from the bolt in his neck seemed to have
spread quickly enough.
Tycon tilted his head, slightly surprised. That fellow was

notoriously robust, so he was fairly certain that his poison's effect
would be largely muted.
...Just to be certain, he threw his short sword with moderate force.

It pierced into Occam's neck and into the road.
The other Branded looked on, their faces twisted. Tycon

recognized some of their number-- more former Stormbrands.
Ah. Branded. Stormbrands. He felt foolish for not realizing the link
sooner.
Zenon slowly turned his head towards him, "[Usual plan, Optio?]"
"Usual plan," Tycon nodded.

Ever silent, ever loyal, Korr drew her two-handed blackblade and
charged.
"[Face my HATRED!!!]" Zenon shouted, crimson bolts of lightning

arcing from his hands.
"Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus," Tycon groaned as he knelt

down to pick up a dropped pilum.
Chapter 588 Promise
anamar soared high above the city on wings of light, looking

T
down upon the death and destruction wrought by Letalis Serpentia
and her allies. There had been less than two bells of fighting, but
Caeruleum's fate was sealed.
On the ground, over half of the city had been consumed by flame.
Some of the rampaging fire slimes were big enough to see, even
so many thousands of feet away.
In the sky, flying amongst the plumes of smoke were harpies,

gryphons, and even a group of Letalis-armored adventurers with
raven-like heads. They dropped arrows, sharpened bits of metal--
literal junk onto any pockets of resistance... and from a distance
too high to retaliate against.
This was all thanks to Tycon.
The guy didn't even want to siege Caeruleum... but he pulled out
all the stops when essentially, Athena refused to run away to a
different territory.
Tanamar spotted a glint of white-- that was where he needed to

be. It was at the foot of one of the tallest buildings... a building that
was miraculously still standing.
Forming a lance made of thick, crackling radiant energy, he tilted

his body down to speed his descent.
"⌈Heaven Dive.⌋"
He knew his helmet and armor were growing hot as he dove, but
whatever it was made of protected him well. The spear punctured
a hole through an armored Legionnaire's chest, and when he hit
the ground, the ten-foot shockwave took the dozen or so
Munifices off of their feet.
Trash.
Garbage.
Pathetic weaklings.
Tanamar stood tall, wisps of radiant energy steaming off of his

dark armor. He was surrounded by people from a guild called
Sons of Qotal... impossibly strong fire caster and martial Classes,
every one.
But though they all wielded some type of fire magic... and the city
they protected had been reduced to burning rubble, the ground
was coated with a light sheen of ice.
Athena was somewhere nearby. He had to find her.
The Branded charged forward. They came with shields. They

came with enchanted weaponry.
Tanamar willed another holy lance to materialize in his hands...

and the Branded gave pause.
It was like they thought he could only make one.
Leaping forward, he stabbed at a man's head over his shield, his

brain exploding out of the back of his skull. With the haft of his
spear, he smacked away another warrior's shield, then stabbed
that woman in the heart.
Tanamar staggered forward, feeling someone strike him in the

back.
It hurt-- it would probably bruise, too, but his armor was damned
good. Glancing behind him, there was a Legionnaire, looking
dumber than a mushroom that his fire-enchanted sword didn't do
shite.
Back-stepping towards the guy, Tanamar jabbed the base of his
spear against their foot.
Their leg broke at the ankle. When they collapsed, Tanamar spun
his lance around and stabbed the downed man through the eye
socket.
They were just trash. He didn't even need to use Skills.
A year ago, he'd have to... Half-a-year, maybe.
Tycon had asked him if he'd reached Gold-Rank. That was

impossible for a normal person, and he'd told him as such.
...Tanamar felt a little guilty for lying.
The Branded began to shout, finally forming a half-decent shield

wall-- something that wouldn't prevent, but would slow the
slaughter.
Grinning, Tanamar squeezed and bent his mana-lance. He forced

its shape into a curve... then, with his finger, he created a taut line
between its ends.
He had a gift on his wrist... a talisman from his bastard of an

adoptive father, Harkus. It regulated the mana usage on his
creation skills, which allowed him to reshape his lance as he
pleased. With it, he no longer needed to carry a physical bow.
It was useful.
He still wouldn't forgive the man, but he didn't hate him so much
anymore.
Maybe being with Athena dulled his old hatreds. Maybe he was
growing more mature, influenced by a certain green-haired
Tactician.
Maybe he was growing soft?
...Nah.
Tanamar fired a spear-sized arrow upward... one glowing blue and
composed of frost mana, "⌈Scatter.⌋"
The crystalline arrow burst... raining death upon the Sons and
Daughters of Qotal all around him. Heavy icicles battered their
raised shields, denting the metal.
He fired another shot skyward, this one made of light capable of

better-piercing through his enemies' weakened guards,
"⌈Scatter.⌋"
"Stand together, men!! Our shields will stay strong!!" One of them
shouted.
Tanamar chuckled to himself, nocking another arrow.
He could do this all sun.
...
Using his ⌈Aspect of the Celestial Hound,⌋ Tanamar was able to

locate Athena after only a few minutes.
She was sitting on the steps to the Head Magistrate's residence,

quietly regenerating her mana.
Athena was the most beautiful woman he'd ever known, her
custom-made silvery-white armor accentuating her subtle, but
perfect curves. She still had her frosty-blue hair cut short, but it
was longer than before, falling slightly past her shoulders.
She told him that she wanted to grow her hair out... that it made
her more feminine? He said it looked fine-- that he fell in love with
her because she was who she was, not how she looked.
He got yelled at.
...He was probably going to get yelled at again.
Tanamar twisted his mouth into a frown, "You should really wear
your helmet, Athena."
Athena popped one eye open, smiling coyly, "It's so stuffy,
though~"
"Still..."
"Don't worry," She stuck her tongue out. "I had it on while taking
care of these guys."
Tanamar looked around. Armored Legionnaires littered the area,

frozen into bluish-white, vaguely-humanoid statues. Many of them
were cracked, body parts broken off-- blood seeping pink and
pooling onto the icy ground.
There were probably over a hundred of them, too. It was no

wonder that she felt confident in going ahead of him.
His girlfriend was still Iron-Rank, according to Tycon.
Whatever System that guy had was broken-- in a bad way. He'd
never met an Iron-Rank who could do what she did.
Athena stood up to stretch, holding her helmet but still reluctant to

put it on, "All done! Let's go, Tanamar!"
"We can still rest," Tanamar grimaced. "No one's going anywhere."
"I'm fine," Athena insisted. "The sooner we can get the Head
Magistrate to surrender, the sooner we can stop fighting!"
Tanamar took in a deep breath, the cold air stinging his nose. He
was suspicious as to why Athena was in such a hurry... and her
words confirmed them. In her selfishness, she thought that she
could save people by defeating the city's leader.
That's not how the world works.
He attended the strategy meeting with Tycon, Sorina, and Zenon.

Besides being a bed of snake cultists, Caeruleum was a collection
of a thousand different parties, not an entity loyal to a single
individual.
Forcing the Head Magistrate to submit wouldn't stop the siege.
The siege wouldn't stop until the city was purged in its entirety.
Besides that, Tanamar was worried about Athena pushing herself

too hard.
The Sons of Qotal were a powerful force defending Caeruleum.

Their elites were called The Branded... and they were intermixed
with the regular militia and adventurers and dumber-than-
mushroom gladiators.
He'd dealt with them easily enough. Athena did too. However...
they'd been fighting for a couple of bells. The Branded weren't
getting stronger-- but he and Athena weren't exactly well-rested.
Tanamar had taken a few hits. Athena's once-pristine armor was

scuffed in a few spots.
All it took was one mistake, one shite judgment... and either of
them would be dead. Resurrection magic didn't exist in this world,
not to his knowledge. And the last thing he wanted was to beg
Tycon for another favor.
According to Calculator Sorina's reports, the leader of the Sons of

Qotal made The Branded look like glue-eating children. He was
some lame bastard called The Exarch.
Stupid Flame-taken name.
Probably strong enough to rate.
That wasn't even what Tanamar was worried about.
Tycon had him use his ability... to see the future. He didn't see
shite, not really. He got a Flamescarred headache and a bloody
nose for his troubles, too.
He saw flames. That was a given-- Tycon had the Iredar catapult
fire slimes over the city walls. Those things split into more slimes
sometimes, too. There were less places *not* on-fire than were.
In those flames... Tanamar saw something.

And whatever it was... it looked back at him.
It wasn't shaped like a person... or any beast he knew. If he had to

venture a guess, it looked like a Flame-taken dragon.
But dragons didn't exist in this world.
Tycon nearly had an aneurysm when he mentioned it.
That guy really didn't like the thought of it, for whatever reason.
Whatever it was... Tanamar didn't want to encounter it, not without

the other members of Sol Invictus. Seven hells, even if he had a
company of Guild Letalis-- maybe the assault rifle squad, he'd be
more confident.
Tanamar took a deep breath. The problem, then, was convincing

Athena.
"Athena... we should wait for reinforcements."
The woman shook her head... "We have to keep going, Tanamar."
She reached her hand out... sparkling tears brimming out of her
eyes, "Will you protect me?"
Shite. He could never say no to this woman. She was going to be

the death of them both.
Tanamar held her small hand, nodding, "Of course, I will... in this
world and the next."
Chapter 589 Prayer
⟬ Head Magistrate's Residence, Underground Level. ⟭
Antonidus placed his handkerchief to his mouth, coughing wetly

as his chest convulsed with pain. There was more blood than
usual...
It was the damned smoke in the air... or the fluctuating weather...

or maybe... allergies? ...Arena sand? Maybe when that damned
Decanus assaulted him in the coliseum stands a year prior...
There were dozens of people in his home.
For years he'd been criticized for having so many commoners in

his employ... or for the nepotism amongst his administrative staff.
It was 'flippant' usage of city taxes, they'd say.
Several high personalities were noted to frequent the

administration building, as well. In Antonidus' time as a politican,
he'd made plenty of powerful allies... veteran merchants, aged
guild leaders, corrupt bishops. Many of them sought sanctuary in
the walls of his home.
He deserved a full staff who catered to his every whim. He

deserved the adulation and obeisance of powerful men and
women. The wealthiest city in Tyrion had only prospered for the
past thirty years because of his contributions-- and his, alone.
Admittedly, he couldn't give less of a shite about those servants...

nor for supplying room and board to his subordinates. He wasn't
attached to any of his so-called 'friends'... the ones who scoffed at
any mention of the dragon's voice.
They were not Faithful. They were fools... deaf and blind to the
truth.
He kept them around for such a case as was current. Those
mushroom-brained idiots would finally be useful, for once.
"Wrrghhh.... ArrrghhhhHGH..."
The City Treasurer was the next to die. Sensing his fate, his
mouth lolled open as he tried to voice his useless opinion. The
poison he'd been injected with had taken away most of his
facilities, but not the sense of pain... and apparently, he could still
faintly protest.
Antonidus glanced over to the corner of the panic room

underneath the kitchens. Some forty bodies had been arranged
haphazardly in a pile, lit by too-expensive candles, a gold-alloy
brazier, and a magical focus suspended in the center of the room.
"Cease your struggling, old 'friend'," He pat the fellow's round,

sweat-covered cheek, "You approved the purchase of this very
nice Tyrion steel dagger-- as well as most of the ritual
components, here."
"Humu humu... hrrrrnnn..." The chubby man began to blubber and

cry, not in full control of his tongue.
"Do not be afraid, your death shall bring about something greater,"
Antonidus explained... sarcasm tinging his voice, "Blah blah
blahhh~"
"Hummmm mmmmgh~!" The fellow's eyes looked towards the pile

of bodies.
"Oh, those?" Antonidus shook his head, "'They haven't worked so

far,' you say? Well, I've never performed ritual summoning
before... so there is a necessary degree of trial-and-error."
He plunged the dagger through the treasurer's ribs and into his
heart. He held it there for several seconds until the man stopped
twitching, "Voice in the Flame... or the Snake God-- whoever can
hear me, I beseech you: take this... forty-second sacrifice."
"Forty-fourth, this sun, actually," A voice chuckled. "I understand
missing one, but two? I don't think you're taking this seriously,
Head Magistrate."
Any icy chill ran down Antonidus' back, irrespective of the dozens
of sources of warm lighting in the smoky room.
Slowly turning, he saw... himself... an identical, long-bearded

doppelganger of himself. Instead of magistrate's robes, he wore a
simple tunic and trousers, a darker black than the surrounding
shadows.
"Come to mock me, Zehr?" He spat. "When you've brought your

enemies to my city gates?"
"My enemies are your enemies," The Snake God shrugged,

stroking his long white beard in mockery. "Your Snake Cult was
going to attract trouble, somesun, regardless of my interference."
"MY Snake Cult!?" Antonidus fumed, "Everything I've done, I've

done FOR YOU!!"
"Yes, yes, I know. Congratulations. Well done," Zehr applauded

politely, but all while wearing an ignoble sneer. "You've been
rewarded for it. Your Class has changed from Holy Magus to Void
Summoner, has it not?"
"That!" Antonidus raised his voice, his frustration mounting, "was

because of the sacrifices I have made for POWER!"
"Well... yes," Zehr furrowed his bushy white eyebrows...
"That is how your ritual sacrifices work," He casually explained.

"There is always... a price."
Antonidus furrowed his own brows, drew the dagger from the
dead man and stabbed him again in frustration.
Flames burst from out of the corpse's chest... to be absorbed by

the clear white crystal appeared levitating in the room's center.
The stylized lightning bolt within the magical focus glowed for a
brief moment... then again fell inert.
"Then the price I pay with these bodies, Zehr? With this... this Fire
Stone as the ritual focus! Is it not enough for you?!"
Zehr stretched his wrinkled mouth into a too-wide grin, then licked
his lips with a thin, forked tongue, "Perhaps you've been praying
to the wrong god?"
"Wrong god?!" Antonidus roared, gritting his teeth, "WRONG

GOD?!?"
What else was left? He told all his Faithful that the voices they
were hearing belonged to some... mythical creature speaking for
the Flame... but it was all a fantastical LIE!
In the distant past, he was a devout practitioner of the Tyrion

religion. Those suns... were long gone. The current him had been
practicing heretical magic for decades under Zehr's guidance. He
didn't dare pray to the Eternal Flame anymore... out of guilt... and
out of fear.
"You're right, f*cking here, you shite-filled Snake God!!" He

shouted, again stabbing the fat man's chest for emphasis. "Now,
activate my damned summoning ritual!"
"Hey, hey," The aging doppelganger lifted his empty palms, "I hear
your prayers, just fiiiine. And I've relayed your hopes and dreams
to that... that other one, as we've discussed."
"What is it, then?" Antonidus seethed... "How do I save my city

from this Flame-taken-- whatever the hells is outside right now!?"
Zehr smiled... the same, insidious smile Antonidus had seen all
those years ago, when he was little more than a low-level Snake
Cult neophyte.
"A simple fix, Head Magistrate. Direct your sacrifices... to the

Dragon God."
Chapter 590 Divine Armor
⟬ Head Magistrate's Residence, Ground Floor. ⟭
A shy mumble broke the silence, seeming much louder against

the contrast.
"Excuse me, sir?"
Tanamar looked over to the creepy doll walking rigidly at his side,
"What is it? Did you notice something?"
"I just... I just wanted to say..." Boxy muttered, "it's... been eerily
quiet, sir."
Twisting his lips to the side, Tanamar nodded in agreement.
They were in one of the largest structures in Caeruleum, and it

should have been full of civil servants. It was discussed in the
strategy meeting... it was the most logical place for the most
important persons of power within the city to gather. With them,
the city's strongest defenders should be present, as well...
The estate was empty and devoid of life.
The only people they'd encountered was a single group of guards

in the courtyard.
Athena took care of them.
She called it a mercy. With a quick incantation, she used her ⌈Ice
Beam⌋ spell... The guards didn't even last a second.
They weren't Branded... or even Sons of Qotal. They were just a

bunch of unlucky bastards that should have tried to flee the city
when they had the chance.
It was how Athena was. She set a goal... and she committed her
all to it. A gagglef*ck of Bronze-Ranks wouldn't be able to stop
her.
Athena was out for blood... and she wouldn't stop until the Head
Magistrate was dead.
Before Tycon arrived and began training them, Athena never had
the power to be so... forceful. Ultimately, Tanamar was glad for it.
The stronger she was, the less he had to worry about her being
hurt in an accident or falling prey to assassins from rival houses.
His role had changed slightly, which was fine. Instead of

functioning primarily as her protector, Tanamar had to focus on
ensuring she wasn't pushing herself too hard.
He still couldn't slack off with his own training, though. Athena was
used to hitting him playfully if she was upset or annoyed... or if
she was surprised or embarrassed... or sometimes, when she was
happy.
If he didn't block or dodge her attacks, it'd hurt... not that he'd ever
admit it. If Athena thought for even a second that she actually hurt
him, she'd probably cry-- full-on weeping tears, too.
Tanamar walked back into the hallway, "Athena! Did you find
anyone?"
Athena emerged from a different room, shaking her head, "There's

no one in these rooms, either."
Her eyes suddenly widened and she pursed her lips, "Oh! Mister
Boxy's with you? I thought you were supposed to be with
Sergeant Salt's rifle squad?"
Boxtholomaeus allowed his head to fall limply in a bow, "Change

of plans, milady. Sir Tycon has requested me to accompany you in
looting the administration building."
"L-looting?" Athena grimaced, "Wait!! You mean he knew I--

whaaaat?!"
She thought she was clever. With the way she acted at the
strategy meeting, overly insisting on which sector the two of them
would occupy, it was obvious there was something there that she
found important.
The Head Magistrate's residence was the most obvious target.
Tanamar shook his head, "We all knew you'd deviate from the
plan and march directly here."
Athena squinted her eyes and looked away, trying to look

innocent, "I... maybe..."
Suddenly, she turned back, pouting, "WHATEVER! We're here,

already! And Sir Tycon's really smart! Of course, he'd figure it
out!!"
Tanamar smiled as gently as he could. He was the one that knew

her best... and he was the one that volunteered the specific
information at the discussion table.
However, she didn't have to know that.
He'd give Tycon that little victory. Tanamar felt that, because of his
and Athena's relationship, there was no point in being jealous of
the Tactician. Anyroad, she would probably get some petty
revenge on the guy that 'outsmarted' her.
...It wasn't all malicious though. It'd be easier for him to calm his
girlfriend down so long as he wasn't also the target of her anger.
Boxy walked up to a wall and pointed with a limp wooden arm,

"Excuse me... what does that say?"
Tanamar stood by Athena as the wall in front of them began to

crumble away... Flames began to appear on the wood, fiery runic
script that formed a single word.
[Outside.]
The burning didn't stop. As the smoke rose up and the entire wall
caught fire, the script remained, glaringly bright and unmistakable.
The sanctioned psyker that cast it... he was strong. And that
person was waiting for them outside the villa.
...
Tanamar led Athena and Boxy out of the burning villa.
The luxurious fountain in the front had evaporated in its entirety.

The frozen statues that Athena had left were nothing more than
charred corpses.
Surrounded by blackened trees and amidst the still-smoldering

bushes and grass... was a twenty-foot tall suit of red armor.
Athena's voice shook underneath her helmet, "That... that looks

like one of Uncle's Divine Armors?"
Tanamar crossed his arms, quietly brooding. His girlfriend's

instincts were on point. Though Holy Blacksmith Harkus made
dozens of Divine Armor suits in his lifetime, the one he and
Athena were looking at was one of his first works.
...One of his greatest.
Before Harkus built the Dawnbringer and the Star-Fury, he

remarked that even though they were larger in size, their power
paled in comparison to his originals.
Athena looked to Tanamar, her fists balled up in front of her chest,

"Sh-should be easy to beat, right? We saw something like that in
the Halls of the Dead Serpent!!"
Though it had a similar shape, it was nothing like that shite, dull-
metal automaton they found back then. This one was bigger,
coated in a shining crimson red, and lined with a deep black that
absorbed the light of the flames around it. Faint gold-glowing
runes were carved into its thick, metal plates... dozens of
enchantments, all layered on top of each other.
Worse still, the inside of that thing had formations that made it
move as fast, if not faster than its pilot.
It was probably enough for that formation-loving freak, Tycon, to
masturbate to.
",
Chapter 591 Orcus (Part One)
anamar tried to curb his annoyance, but it definitely showed in

T
his voice... "Athena, take a look at its right hand."
His girlfriend leaned forward, as if she was squinting her eyes

underneath her helmet... "Is that... a lizard head on its arm?"
Close enough. Old Man Harkus said that he'd built the armor suit's
forearm to resemble a dragon's head.
"That..." Tanamar pointed, "is the defining characteristic of Divine

Armor Orcus."
He turned to Athena, crossing his arms... "The rest of Tyrion

knows it by a different name: The Oathbreaker."
"The OATHBREAKER?! Wait-wait-wait!" Athena cradled her head

in her hands-- "That doesn't make any sense! Orcus is supposed
to be a Champion of the Flame! AND that's the same as Tancred's
gladiator name!"
Tanamar shook his head, "Orcus isn't a person. It's a title."
"[That's why I chose the name,]" An echoing voice from the

massive suit of armor rumbled, powerful enough that the ground
began to tremble. "[There's no one better than me to wield
Father's greatest achievement.]"
The set of armor reached its arms forward... and with a blinding
flash of smokeless fire, a double-bladed poleaxe appeared in its
hands. Its haft looked like it was made from a bony spinal column
and the full-metal blade head made it look too heavy to wield
effectively.
Tanamar almost forgot to breathe, trying to place where he'd seen
the weapon before.
...It was in the Halls of the Dead Serpent. It was the Snake Cult
artifact that Tancred had taken before he left the Brazen Guard
collective to die.
The axe.
Everything... fell... into... place.
The axe was the key to Divine Armor Orcus... and his twin brother
was inside of it.
"Tancred?!" Athena shouted, "That's Tancred's voice! Tancred!

What are you doing in there?!?"
"[Building a new world, Athena... one guided by the voice of the

dragon,]" Tancred chuckled, his voice echoing across the
courtyard, "[Maybe in your next life, you'll choose me instead of
my Flamescarred brother.]"
"Um, ew?" Athena swayed her head back, "I don't think of you like
that, Tancred. You're just my boyfriend's sibling."
"[Your... what?]" Tancred did not sound pleased.
"She's mine, Tancred," Tanamar stepped forward. "And I'll do my

damnedest to keep her away from you--no matter which world
we're in."
"You tell 'em!" Athena squealed... while shuffling not so subtly

behind him.
"[Actually...]" Tancred held out a massive metal gauntlet, "[They

call me The Exarch, now... The Exarch of the Dragon God.]"
"WAIT!" Athena shouted over Tanamar's shoulder, "YOU'RE the

leader of the Sons of Qotal?!?? You're-- you're the one that gave
them all fire powers?! TANCRED!! You're being controlled by an
evil force or something!! Snap out of it!!"
"[Nope,]" Tancred shrugged. "[It's all me. Didn't you know? I'm a
certified badass. That's why the Snake Cult chose me to recover
the Orcus. That's why the Dragon God saw fit to give my followers
gifts of ash and fire. That's why I'm the Flame-taken EXARCH!!]"
"Tancred..." Athena's voice shook... "How... could you?"
Tanamar chuckled to himself. He and Athena may have been up

against one of Harkus' most powerful weapons, but its wielder--
he was absolute garbage. If Tanamar were blind and had both
hands tied behind his back, he was still confident in defending
both himself and Athena as they withdrew.
"Yeah, Tancred," Tanamar grinned underneath his helmet as he

summoned a holy lance into his hands, "How could you?"
Once they regrouped with the other members of Sol Invictus,

they'd be able to take out Divine Armor Orcus without any
casualties.
"Tanamarrrr!!!" Athena blubbered, "Can you-- can you BELIEVE

this?!?"
Tanamar nodded in response, glad that his woman couldn't see

his expression, "Oh, I'm *devastated.*"
"Mister Tanamar," Boxy looked up at him, "I cannot tell if you are
serious."
He leaned over to whisper to the wooden doll, "I'm devastated

because I should have killed him sooner."
"...Oh."
Athena walked forward, icy blue mana emanating from her white
armor, "So if I take care of the leader of the Sons of Qotal... the
battle will be over, right?"
"Athena..."
Tanamar struggled to find the words to convince her otherwise.

The Exarch was probably the real power behind the forces
defending Caeruleum... but during the strategy meeting, it was
unanimously agreed that that person was not to be engaged by a
single team. From all the information they'd gathered on him, it
wasn't worth the risk.
That was before they knew it was Tancred, though...
Flame take it, that meant The Branded were probably all former
Stormbrands, too... If Occam and the others showed up, Athena's
conscience might get in the way of ending them.
...well, maybe not Occam-- but it was probably true for the others.
The worst-case scenario was Athena feeling personally

responsible for Tancred's betrayal. It wouldn't make any sense. If
he asked her about it, she wouldn't be able to explain her logic.
That's how Athena was. She always took the blame... with
whatever logic that her brain operated on. It was something
Tanamar had always known about her.
And it showed... in how she half-sprinted, half-flew towards Divine

Armor Orcus.
"Flame take me," Tanamar cursed beneath his breath.
Athena leapt up, soaring twenty feet skyward with a palm raised to
the smoke-filled sky, "⌈Icicle FALL!!⌋"
"[Useless!]" Tancred cackled, "[I am the chosen exarch... of ASH!!!

AND!! FIRE!!]"
He slashed his giant greataxe above his head, an arc of flames

melting the falling icicles before they formed fully. Bringing his
weapon down, a curve of fire surged towards Tanamar like a
crashing wave.
Tanamar spun his mana-charged weapon in front of him to

dissipate the attack. The flames licked at him, his hands and chest
becoming scalding hot, even despite his enchanted armor.
Athena was in trouble. Ice magic wasn't going to work against
Tacnred's fire abilities. Though she could instill radiant mana into
her attacks, her affinity with frost magic was so high that she had
trouble using anything else... and that was when she was fully
rested.
Tanamar had to intervene-- and quickly.
Athena landed in a kneel, pressing her palms in the ground in

front of her, "⌈Frosssstttt tor-NADO!!!⌋"
Her four Arcanite blades slashed forward, kicking up a whirling

cyclone, twice as tall as her metal opponent.
Tancred crossed his arms over his chest, then leapt through the
rending winds and ice, "[⌈Charging Bull!⌋]"
...and he was upon her in an instant.

Chapter 592 Orcus (Part Two)
"ATHENA!!!" Tanamar screamed.
Divine Armor Orcus was nearly four times his height... but with its
movement empowered, it was almost faster than he could
comprehend.
He'd already activated his own movement technique, ⌈Aspect of

the Winged Seraphim,⌋ and he was speeding towards his
girlfriend and twin brother. His mana was circulating inside his
body so fast, it felt like his skin was going to burst open.
The Snake Cult greataxe was crashing downward towards

Athena,
Sensing the danger of Tancred's attack, Athena raised her arms

and formed a ⌈Double Mana Ward⌋, two several-inch-thick walls of
ice.
Both cracked. Both broke apart.
Tanamar couldn't believe it.
Even his strongest attacks couldn't break her ice barriers...
Had Tancred become that much stronger? No... Tanamar had no

issues following his movement.
Did Athena not think Tancred would use his full power? ...But even
when he dueled his supposed teammates, he never... ever... ever
held back.
...Had Athena had used too much mana, defeating the city's
defenders?
Maybe... in her trying so gods-damned hard... the world saw fit to
tell her... that she wasn't invincible.
As Tanamar charged, he aimed his weapon at the side of the

Divine Armor's chest. It was aimed at his shite brother-- a bastard
who wrongly thought he was safe behind so many layers of
enchanted Tyrion steel.
Tancred whirled his flaming greataxe above his head,

"⌈RAVAGER'S!!! STRIIIIKE!!!!⌋"
Once more, the weapon fell upon Athena.
It struck her four crossed Arcanite blades... but they were

scattered by the force.
The huge axeblade struck her in the collar. It cut into her Arcanite
armor. The defensive enchantments on it shattered, and with it
came a high-pitched whine and a pulse of silvery light.
Her back and helmet slammed into the floor, a deafening CRACK
echoing in Tanamar's ears... and creating a web of broken stone
beneath her.
"ATHENAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!" Tanamar screamed his voice

hoarse, plunging his spear into the Divine Armor's chest.
"[⌈Earth Shield.⌋]"
Tanamar's blood ran cold, hearing his brother's Skill activation...
Tancred... was a dual-element caster... just like he was.
A barrier of stone formed in front of the Divine Armor, softening his

lance strike.
Tanamar felt the tip of his blade barely scratch the metal. It didn't
pierce.
The attack was a failure.

Steeling his will, he roared with fury as he withdrew his weapon
for another attack.
"My spear in hand will ⌈PIERCE THE HEAVENS!!!⌋
"[Whoa! Careful now!]"
Tancred hopped back, forming another layer of ⌈Earth Shield⌋, and

another behind that. The force of Tanamar's holy lance was
harmlessly absorbed by the dirt shield... and shattered into mana-
dust.
"[I've always wanted to do this, Athanasius!]" Tancred taunted, "

[⌈Earth Dragon Slam!⌋]"
Tanamar's eyes grew wide, realizing he had diverted all of his

mana to offense. Too late to cast a ⌈Mana Ward⌋ of his own, he
grit his teeth as he took the impact of the greataxe to his side.
His entire body shook. The whole of his torso felt numb. He flew
through the air... the first time in a long while, not of his own
volition.
He struggled to control the wings of light on his back... but he'd

taken too much damage. He crashed into a burnt tree, shattering
it and sending wooden splinters everywhere.
The still-smoldering leaves fell on him, enveloping him in smoke

and taking away his breath. He crawled out on his elbows and
knees like a dying dog, hacking and coughing dirty blood.
He clenched his hand full of ash and dirt... and slammed the
ground in anger. This was not the time to show weakness!
Everything was on the line!
Ignoring his pain and fatigue, holding desperately onto his anger
and indignation, Tanamar willed himself to stand...
The tall suit of armor began slowly stomping towards him, its arms
raised to the sides, "[Athanasius, Athanasius... dear brother...
Always thinking you're the shite. Not so f*cking tough now,
crawling in the Flamescarred dirt where you belong.]"
'Yeah, keep f*cking talking' Tanamar thought.
He cleared his throat and again spat to the side. There was
probably blood in it. He didn't look to check.
The longer his shite twin brother talked, the more time he had to
condense his mana into another attack.
Steam began to wheeze and whistle from the Divine Armor's

shoulders and near its waist. Its chestplate split open from the
center, opening like window shutters to reveal Tancred sitting
inside, wearing a form-fitting red gambeson.
"How does it feel, Athanasius?" He grinned, "--knowing that I've

finally surpassed you."
Tanamar furrowed his brows in thought. His brother's complaints

made no Flame-taken sense.
Back when Tancred worked with him at the Vanzano manor, he

was the one who made friends with all the other servants. Then
when he left for the Caeruleum arenas, he was the face on their
posters, a living legend! Seven hells, making the Stormbrand
adventuring company was his idea!
It didn't make sense to respond... Tancred could think whatever he

wanted. It was all bullshite, but it wouldn't weigh on his
conscience.
Tanamar needed to end him. The thought of killing his blood-

related brother bothered him even less than hearing the shite
coming out of his mouth.
He needed to use his strongest attack. He needed to use Harkus'

⌈Oath⌋ shot...
It was something he never used on humans. It didn't work on

them, an illogical rule made by whatever powers governed the
Realm.
However... his brother didn't classify as human, anymore. His

instincts told him so...
Tancred was just... The Oathbreaker.
As a transmigrator to this strange but similar world, Tanamar

carried knowledge coveted by gods and ancients, alike... secrets
that took literal decades to unravel. Taking a deep breath, he
searched his soul for words he did not know the meaning of... but
were forbidden to speak.
He whispered the first.
A circular blast of mana extinguished the smoldering grass and

trees around him, flinging dust and debris outward.
He whispered the second.
Light from the sun broke through the black-clouded sky, shining
only upon him.
He struggled to remember what he knew... whispering syllable by

syllable of praise not uttered in tens of centuries.
Beginning to panic, Tancred hurriedly closed the doors to his

armor suit, hiding like a coward in his shell.
Chapter 593 Divine
Armorsmith (Part One)
t the edge of Tanamar's mana formation, the cool winds swirled

A
about, curious to his call. The flames just-outside, they rose and
fell, bowing out of respect.
The ground shook, its crackling roars praising his name. The
spirits of water and ice heeded his demands, forming a protective
barrier upon his one true love, Athena.
Tanamar raised his hand forward, grasping a mana longbow-- a

gift from the heavens, themselves.
He finished speaking that which was forbidden... and the world

grew still.
Slowly... deliberately... he created a holy arrow, nocking it in his

bow.
"This is my ⌈Oath⌋: Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus."
Loosening his grip, a beam of concentrated light shot forward...

bright enough to burn a human's soul into nothingness.
"[Hah! HAHAHAH!!]" Tancred cackled, "[I've already seen that

attack a DOZEN times!!!]"
The crimson armor emitted a low, ear-splitting roar, "⌈Dragonscale

WAAALLLL!!!!⌋"
Tanamar's heart shook and his stomach roiled, affected by a

deep, primal fear. He fell to his knees and covered his ears, trying
to shut out the hellish noise, to reduce the vise-like pressure
crushing his head.
Transparent scale-wings of rocks and earth formed around Divine
Armor Orcus, tiny particles at first, then globs of dirt and mud,
then entire chunks of stones and crystal debris. It dispersed the
force of Tanamar's ⌈Oath⌋ shot... the stones and grass beside the
armor disappearing into the nether.
Tanamar looked up, clenching his teeth. The wings dissipated into
a rain of heavy fine sand, and fell to the earth, coating his
surroundings a pale grey.
Tancred was fine.
He lived.
Safe in his armor, he stared down at the kneeling and weakened

Tanamar...
"[...That all you got, b*tch?]"
...
⟬ Flashback: Caeruleum Hills, one week prior. ⟭
Tanamar banged on the log cabin door, "Come out, old man. I
know you're in there!"
"Tanamar!" Athena scolded, her hands on her hips, "Don't be

ruUude!"
She tried to dress discreetly, a decision she made on her own.

Though she opted for a thick cloak, a sleeved shirt, and trousers,
her small, cute face was unmistakably feminine... though made
her look younger than she was.
Athena reached forward and grabbed onto Tanamar's hand... and

he felt his anger melt away.
...most of it, anyroad.
"It's what he deserves," He shrugged.

"You should forgive him, you know," Athena pouted. "I'm sure he
feels bad about it, too! That's probably why he took you and
Tancred in, in the first place!"
"Yeah, and you should forgive Tycon for that sand-attack on the
beach," Tanamar replied sarcastically.
Athena turned her nose up and away, "That's different!"
The door opened up to reveal a surly, grey-bearded dwarf with

deep lines etched onto his mouth and a permanent cross-scar
above his nose.
"Athanasius," He scowled... "What the hells do ye--"
"UNCLE!!!" Athena shouted.
In an instant, she tackled the old dwarf to the ground in a hug. If

he wasn't a retired adventurer, the impact would have probably
put him into a bed.
"Young mistress! Ah! Ow! Quit it!" Harkus groaned.
"Oh! Ehehe~!" The embarrassed Athena helped the old dwarf

back up, dusting him off. "When's the last time you took a bath,
Uncle?! You smell like socks."
"None o' yer business, lass," He growled, crossing his thick

Dwarven arms.
Tanamar had originally come to ask Harkus for a favor... but he'd
forgotten that Athena missed her 'uncle' very much. Maybe it had
to do with the fact that the old dwarf was the closest thing
Tanamar had to a father. It was probably because Harkus, with all
his flaws, was still a more reliable adult than either of Athena's
actual parents.
"Uncle!" Athena grinned, "I'm marrying Tanamar!"
The dwarf's jaw dropped, "Yer what, now?"

Athena's tactless admission warmed Tanamar's heart. She'd
grown so much over the past few years. She'd always had good
morals, but before, she was a shy girl who only confided in him.
Around the time she reached Bronze-Rank, she stopped holding
back whenever she felt strongly about anything... leading to a
speechless and confused dwarf.
Athena nodded, flexing one of her arms and holding her bicep,
"Yep! So you have to give us your blessing!"
Harkus looked over to Tanamar in confusion, "Boy?"
Tanamar bared his teeth in chagrin, "Ah... yep. That's the way it
is."
"You have to," Athena insisted, leaning forward on the tips of her
toes, mere inches from Harkus' face.
Harkus turned away, wrinkling his beard and mustache, "Well... I

uh... I have no problems with it."
"I would have done it without your blessing, old man," Tanamar
groaned.
"TANAMAR!!!" Athena yelped, "Be nice! I'm the one asking, not
you!"
Tanamar felt his eye twitch in annoyance. His girlfriend seemed to

have forgotten that it was HIS idea to visit the old goat.
"Come on, Uncle!" Athena hopped up and down in excitement,

"You have to come live with us, too. We're gonna build a new
estate... oh, and I have a guild now! We're called Letalis, and--
and--"
"A new estate?" Harkus raised his furry eyebrows, then as if

remembering something, resigned to a grimacing nod, "I... I see."
The Vanzano estate in Silva was burnt to the ground by Tancred

and his Stormbrands... the Snake Cult bastards. It was not a well-
kept secret.
"So pack your things, Uncle!" Athena grinned, "We'll come get you
after we do one more quest."
"I uh..." Harkus looked around at his log cabin, grimacing as if he

was hurt, "I built this by meself. I build things. It's... what I do."
"Well, it sucks," Athena pouted. "You have to move."
Tanamar rolled his eyes as he nudged Athena with his elbow.

What happened to being nice?
"I MEAN!!!" Athena shrieked, "It's gorgeous! Very rustic! Classic

architecture."
Harkus' entire fuzzy face seemed to droop.
"--But you can do better," Athena grinned. "Come on, you can
build a new one when we move!"
Harkus sighed, shaking his head, "This... this cabin took me o'er
three months to..."
"Ahem," Tanamar cleared his throat. "Athena, I have something to

talk to Master about."
"Eh?" Harkus' eyes opened wide in shock... then narrowed in

suspicion, "Haven't heard ya call me that'n years, boy."
"How 'bout you shut it, old man?" Tanamar whispered, "--before I
jam a lance down your throat?"
"'At's more like it," Harkus scoffed.

Chapter 594 Divine
Armorsmith (Part Two)
" Athena," Tanamar smiled. "I thought I saw a cat out back. Could
you give me and Master a moment, please?"
"Well..." Athena placed a finger on her chin, "Alright... but no

fighting, okay? Promise me."
"I... I promise," Tanamar smiled politely.
Damn.
Athena happily bid her 'uncle' farewell, before running off to

pursue Harkus' cat.
The squat dwarf shifted uneasily, "The uh... tha Mistress still
absolute shite with animals?"
"She is," Tanamar conceded, crossing his arms.
Harkus nodded quietly. He gestured for Tanamar to enter the

cabin and they tacitly took seats at a small table with two chairs.
Several moments of staring passed... all while Tanamar struggled

to find the words to say to his adoptive father.
Harkus broke the silence first... "A shame what happened to

Greer."
"Yeah," Tanamar pursed his lips. "May they burn in the seven
hells."
"Aye," Harkus nodded... "You uh... you been takin' care o' tha
girl?"
"Yeah..."
"...She serious?" Harkus leaned forward, "Are you two of

marriageable age, already?"
"Yeah," Tanamar grimaced.
Harkus twisted his lips to the side... "Y'should at least grow a

beard. Ye still look like yer balls 'aven't dropped."
"I'll think about it..."
Another several moments of staring passed. Tanamar closed his

eyes and sighed. He was having a staring contest with a stone-
stubborn dwarf... and the dwarf was the one trying to make
conversation.
"Tell me why yer here, boy," The dwarf sighed. "Ye've avoided me
fer years. The girl'd visit me outta good will, but you... you want
somethin'."
Tanamar tapped his finger impatiently on the table... "Teach me...

that."
"No."
Harkus flatly declined him.
Tanamar wasn't even allowed a word of explanation.
...Frustrated began to mount in his heart, "I need it to fight the

snake--"
"No means no, boy," The dwarf raised his gruff voice... but not
enough for Athena to hear it outside..." The last human I taught
that skill to was that bastard of a student Pontius... and what does
he do? Takes m'best suit of Divine Armor and starts killin' every
two-legged f*cker 'e knows."
"I'm different..." Tanamar grumbled.
"How do ya think?" The dwarf huffed.

Tanamar stared his old man down... "Because I have someone to
protect."
Harkus rolled his eyes, nearly falling off of his chair, "And ye don't
care tae think Pontius was any different? 'E had friends too-- a
lover whose name I didn't care to remember, 'an he even had a
nightmare of a dog... pissed in me boots-- 'an more an' once!"
"That's not the point," Tanamar interjected.
"Bah!" Harkus waved dismissively, "That cunt stood fer your

'Church of the FlaaAme' like all the rest of yer Holy Country.
"What did it f*cking matter, huh?" The dwarf gulped, his brows
furrowed... "What did it matter... He still did what he did, in the
end...
"It's... it's been half a gods-damned century, boy... and I still can't
tell commonfolk my gods-given name... not so long as I wanna
avoid bein' pinned up on a cross."
Harkus grumbled curses under his breath... then fixed his sitting
posture... "You want some tea?"
Tanamar shook his head, "Water, please."
Harkus stood up, grabbing a pitcher of water. Pouring into wooden

cups, he placed one in front of Tanamar.
Sitting back down, Harkus loosed a long sigh, "Power corrupts,

Athanasius. Or somethin'... Hells if I know-- I ain't a gods-damned
philosopher."
"...I need it, Master."
Harkus drained his cup in a single pull, then took a long look at
Tanamar's face...
"Ye don't need anything else I have to offer. You can protect yer
little wife on your own, without my help... as ye always have."
Tanamar pursed his lips, "I know better, now. I can't do everything
by myself..."
He grit his teeth... forcing words he didn't want to admit... "Even

my current strength... I couldn't have achieved without your
training."
Harkus narrowed his eyes... "Where in the seven hells did you
learn humility? Are ye tryin' ta make me puke? With yer soft, pink-
skin feelings? If ye grow pointy ears, too, consider yerself
disowned."
"It's not about me, Master," Tanamar shook his head. "I need
every advantage I can get."
Harkus leaned forward, his expression grave, "Tell me, then, boy...
and tell me honestly... Summoning a set of Divine Armor... can
you honestly tell me you deserve that kind of power?"
Tanamar shut his eyes in quiet contemplation. He felt the spirits

around him... the wind, the air, the water in his cup... He could
hear their wishes. He could bend them to his will.
He searched his heart for the answer.
Power... he needed power to protect Athena.
He needed it to protect himself, too. If he was killed, she'd cry.
He needed the power to fight against the heavens and hells-- he'd
allow nothing to take away her smile.
His Class was Holy Lancer... but... The Church... the Eternal
Flame... he was never truly loyal to them.
His master, Harkus, was asking if he'd abuse the power granted to
him...
He wouldn't hesitate for a second.
Tanamar quietly shook his head, "I don't."

"Well, then," Harkus put on a smug grin, "Now, would ya kindly get
the hells out of m--"
"I'll learn it on my own," Tanamar stood out of his chair, draining

his cup of well water. Smacking his lips, it felt like he'd lifted a
heavy weight off of his heart.
"Now HOLD ON fer just a gods-damned minute!!" Harkus yelled.

"I'm tellin' ye, that ye shouldn't mess with that kinda power, boy!!"
Tanamar shrugged, "I've already mastered ⌈Oath⌋ shot to high

completion, anyroad."
"You've WHAAAAT!?!? That-- that Skill took me TWENTY gods-

damned YEARS to get just to MIDDLE completion!!!"
Athena opened the panels of a nearby window, peeking her head

in, "HeyYy~! You guys fiiiiiighting?"
As expected, there were light cat scratches on her face.
Harkus pointed at Tanamar, his face turning red from indignation,

"Young Mistress! Talk some sense to this boy!!"
"Oh! Uncle!" Athena beamed, "Could you teach him that thing?"
"WhAaaAAAt?!!"
"The thing! He wants to learn the thing, so you should teach him."
Athena bared her teeth in a grin, before looking to Tanamar,
"Uncle can never say no to me-- isn't that right, Uncle?"
Tanamar crossed his arms and chuckled to himself, watching the

old dwarf's face change from furious to heartbroken to confused...
to pathetic.
The dwarf sighed. "Come out back to the clearing when ye're
ready..."
",
Chapter 595 Heaven Creation
⟬ Head Magistrate's Courtyard, Present time. ⟭
"[That all you got, b*tch?]"
The twenty-foot tall Orcus towered over Tanamar, resting its

enchanted greataxe on its pauldron.
Tanamar tried to stand... but he was barely able to get to a knee.

Since his failed ⌈Oath⌋ attack, he needed to rest a few more
minutes and clear his mind before he could activate any useful
Skills...
He needed help... or both he and Athena would die.
He slammed his palms into the sandy dirt. The fingers he used to
draw his bow were bleeding.
Lovely.
"C... creation is a noble charge," He whispered, shaping his

fingers into a diamond.
"[WhaAaaAt's thisss?!]" Tancred laughed, "[I know FLAME.

TAKEN. WELL that you're outta mana, 'Thanasius. You have any
idea how pathetic you look, right now?]"
'Just let it happen, Tancred,' Tanamar thought to himself. His twin

brother always talked too damned much.
"Earth, wind, sky and... flame..." He whispered, "I am unworthy of

thy praise."
The talisman bound to his wrist began to glow... if faintly. Though

his mana reserves were dangerously low, they were enough to
light a spark within the artifact Harkus had given him.
"[Do it, 'Thanasius. Gimme what you got. Kill yourself,]" Orcus
slammed the base of its greataxe into the ground, creating a
shockwave of sand that washed over Tanamar's armor.
"[You always thought you were better than me,]" The Divine Armor
angrily clenched its fists, the sound of metal on metal scraping
together grating to the ears... "[First... your lies got Bannok
practically sucking you off. Then you got all buddy-buddy with that
noble guy. Flame take you-- you even brought a Calculator to
make the rest of your FRIENDS look like trash!]"
Tanamar forced himself to stand, borrowed mana raging in his

body. When he spoke, his voice was empowered into a
thunderous echo, "My light... reaps the lives of the faithless."
The spell circle he stood in erupted in light, the beam shooting up

through the sky and splitting the black smoke clouds. He just
needed... a little more time.
"[I bet you think you still have hope, huh? I bet you're still grinning
like an idiot underneath that helmet...]" The massive suit of Divine
Armor grabbed hold of its greataxe, rearing it back for a
telegraphed swing.
Tanamar snatched the glowing talisman off of his wrist. It was cool
to the touch, even through his metal gloves. He felt... safe...
comfortable... like he was in the presence of an old friend.
An errant thought went through his head. Did it feel like this...
training with Harkus? ...long before he knew that his adoptive
father built the Oathbreaker.
Tancred's metallic voice was amplified loud enough for the entire
city to hear, "[WELL, I'm SICK and TIRED of your smug. f*cking.
FAAAAACE!! ⌈Ravager's STRIKE!!⌋]"
Tanamar could think about it later.
The ritual was complete.

He thrust the talisman towards the gargantuan greataxe about to
crash into him.
"⌈Divine Armor Summon: Apollonius.⌋"
...
Tanamar opened his eyes to find himself surrounded by creation

mana. He was taller... the same height as Divine Armor Orcus. It
was swinging an axe at him... slowly... so very slowly.
He lifted his hand forward... but his hand didn't budge... it was
Apollonius that moved as he willed.
"⌈Heaven Creation: Shield.⌋"
Tanamar formed an eight-pointed shield on his arm and braced

himself to take the impact. His arm and body shook from the
force, but it was tolerable. The wielder of the Spinal Reaper might
have been slow, but taking a direct hit would cause lasting
damage.
...He shook his head lightly. Spinal Reaper? How did he come to
know that name?
"[What... what the f*ck IS THAT?!]" Orcus screamed.
Tanamar glanced down at his-- no, Apollonius' body, white and

gold metal, thrumming with Adamantine-Rank mana. He looked
back up, meeting Orcus' eyes, "It's death. Death to the enemies of
Sol Invictus."
"[Sol... Invictus?]"
Tanamar could hear the magnified sound of his brother gnashing

his teeth. He sighed in disbelief. It wasn't the first time he'd openly
declared the name of his guild.
"⌈Heaven Creation: Lance,⌋" Apollonius changed his shield into his

weapon of choice, grabbing onto the haft. Smacking it down into
Orcus' wrist, he forced the greataxe downward, then cracked the
opposite end of his mana weapon against his brother's ankle.
"[ARRRRGHHH!!!]" Orcus shrieked in pain, stumbling to the side,

"[What the F*CK!!??!]"
Apollonius scoffed. Pathetic.
Quick and clean, he thrust his spear forward.
"[Gahhh! No, you don't!]" Orcus roared, "⌈Earth Shield!!⌋]"
The heretic quickly erected a wall of earth and stone in front of its
chest. Apollonius' spear struck the barrier, but the tip pierced
through easily enough, cutting into the red of Orcus' armor.
"[Flame TAAAKE YOU, ATHANASIUS!!!

FUUUUUUUUUUUCKKK!!!!]"
It sounded like it hurt.
It was disappointing. Apollonius would have preferred that Orcus

died and said nothing at all.
"[Errrgh... This is nothing,]" Orcus grabbed the spear haft, "[You're

just using Father's used garbage. You can't beat me and Divine
Armor Orcus.]"
Apollonius tried to pull his lance away... then to push it deeper. It

wouldn't budge. Orcus was physically stronger than he was... or
was it because Tancred was always stronger than Tanamar?
...Whoever he was, it didn't matter.
He and the other both grinned as they chuckled to themselves,

"You seem to be forgetting that we just f*cking cut you."
"[You'll PAY FOR THAAAAATTT!!!!]" Orcus tucked the spear blade

underneath his arm, then began to rotate his body.
Apollonius released his weapon so he wouldn't fall... then thrust

out his palms, "⌈Heaven Creation: Trash Bin.⌋"
The lance dissipated into mana dust... and reformed as a giant,
mana-created bin atop Divine Armor Orcus' head.
Orcus righted his posture... "[The f*ck is this?]"
"It's a trash bin," Apollonius answered. "Because you're garbage."
Orcus smashed a fist into the side of his head, shattering the
mana creation... "[I'm done messing around, Athanasius.]"
"⌈Heaven Creation: Chamber Pot.⌋"
The Divine Armor with the chamber pot helmet roared, lunging
forward and swinging his greataxe.
Chapter 596 Apollonius
pollonius smirked, calmly dodging the attacks or deflecting them

A
by manipulating Orcus' wrists. Though he would have enjoyed
making his brother look like a fool for the rest of the sun, he also
knew his mana wouldn't last forever.
"⌈Heaven Creation: Greathammer,⌋" He swung a weighty mana-

weapon at Orcus' side.
Orcus formed another ⌈Earth Shield⌋, blocking the attack.

However, it could not stop the force and he staggered to the side,
cradling his arm.
Holding onto his advantage, Apollonius continued. He rushed

forward, his greathammer crashing down upon Orcus from above.
The red suit of armor held his greataxe haft up to block the
barrage of attacks, constantly stepping backward.
Finally, Apollonius stepped forward and to the side, rotating his

body with a horizontal swing. Even through his brother's ⌈Earth
Shield⌋ and greataxe, the traitor was launched backward.
He tumbled into the dirt and earth, crashing into trees. Great
swaths of red paint were scraped off of his skin. Eventually, Orcus
tumbled over, his momentum stopping with his face and chest
sliding across the ground.
Apollonius walked forward, slowly and vigilantly. Using

overwhelming strength was Orcus'-- no, Tancred's fighting style...
but it seemed they had no idea how to fight against it.
Orcus steadily got to a knee, "[How the f*ck did you get so strong,
'Thanasius?]"
Apollonius gave a casual shrug, "I don't wanna tell you."

"[Then I'll MAKE YOU!! ⌈CHARGING BULLLLL!!!!⌋]" From the
kneeling position, Orcus sprinted forward.
Still, it was too slow, Apollonius put his hands forward, "⌈Heaven
Creation: Twin Lightfrost Blades.⌋"
He grabbed the two swords, made from frost and radiant mana,
holding them in a cross guard. Orcus' greataxe smashed them
into pieces, but Apollonius danced away before they could do any
real damage.
"[Haha!! HA HAHAHA!!!]" Orcus cackled victoriously, "[Your

weapons are--"]"
Apollonius clenched his raised fist, "⌈Scatter.⌋"
"[Oh, Flame take me.]"
Shattered fragments of ice and beams of light began to batter and

cut through Orcus' armor. Orcus flailed his arms, activating ⌈Earth
Shield⌋ after ⌈Earth Shield⌋... But no matter how defensive Skills
he activated, he was being overwhelmed.
"Alright, Apollonius," Tanamar whispered. "Let's finish this."
...
Apollonius' eyes glowed bright with power.
"[Hear my name and tremble in fear... for I am Apollonius... The

Oathkeeper.]"
His eyes glowed bright with power as he grabbed the heretical

weapon that Orcus wielded. He wrested away the foul greataxe,
still burning with hatred and dark magics, and tossed it aside.
It was just a mana-weapon... and its true form was far smaller.
However, Apollonius held the advantage with his brother
disarmed. Orcus had always been too stubborn to master ⌈Mana
Creation⌋ to high completion.
"[Your name means NOTHING to me!!]" Orcus yelled, "[For I-- I
am the Oath-BREAKER!!!]"
Apollonius was struck in the head, a loud clang echoing across his
metal body.
It did not hurt. Apollonius had forgotten what pain felt like.
Once more, The Oathbreaker shot his right fist forward.
He was Father's masterpiece... his pride and joy. The formations

that powered him amplified his energy tenfold... and his materials
were extravagantly dense and resilient against attack.
However, Father had built Apollonius first... and though he was

lighter, he'd always been faster.
Apollonius ducked down to dodge the punch, returning a right of

his own.
It struck. Hard. It felt right... it felt good. This was what pleasure
felt like.
"[How dare you show yourself before me, Brother.]" He powered a

left hook into Orcus' side. Then again, satisfied by the crack of
metal.
"[...after what. You Did!]" He leapt up and smashed his right elbow
atop Orcus' thick head.
The red-metal heretic had enough. He draped his arms around

Apollonius like a lover begging for mercy.
"[If you seek redemption,]" Apollonius reached his right knee

back... and powered it into Orcus' side, "[You'll find none from
me.]"
He heard a human screaming, like their bones were broken. It

was a scream of pain.
"[I have nothing to apologize for, Apollonius.]"

Apollonius' confidence shook. His brother's voice had changed...
His entire aura had changed.
Orcus reached his hand forward, thick white steam spewed out of
the dragon head on his arm.
Apollonius tried to break away, unable to see through the sandy

clouds.
...Something was wrong. His brother wasn't letting go.
They were falling... and they struck the ground together. Orcus
scrambled atop him.
"[Everything! I! Did!]" Fists rained down as Apollonius struggled to

block, each leaden strike clanging against his guard. "[Was! For!!
HER!!!!!]
That was right... Pontius-- no, Orcus... he had a wife. He loved

her. But was reason enough to turn his back on the Eternal
Flame?
A fist found its way past, striking him again in the face.
The heretic's fist... it was heavy.
Apollonius felt something... something unpleasant. Was it pain?
No. It was shame. It was disgust.
Tens of thousands of Tyrions looked up to Orcus, Hero of Tyrion.
Those same people suffered his betrayal... their lives reaped by

The Oathbreaker, Champion of the Snake Cult.
All those Faithful... they were worth more than one human
woman! They were worth more than one man's selfish quest for
revenge!!
Bringing dishonor to their Father, forcing him to live in shame...

even if it were his only sin, Orcus did not deserve to live.
Apollonius popped his hips upward, forcing his brother off of his
chest.
Orcus was unbalanced and had caught himself on his palms.
Apollonius shoved the stronger Divine Armor away... and tried to

get to his feet.
It was... so hard to move.
Orcus had grabbed onto the sides of his head with both hands.
It rang. Something felt wrong... bent. Orcus had struck him with
his knee.
What was he feeling?
This was pain.
This was what pain felt like.
Apollonius put his arms up... trying to defend himself.
...They had grown slow. His entire body had become slow. His
arms... they moved... but the speed... was wrong.
« Run System Diagnostics, Quick Scan. »
⟬ Mana is corrupted in the following locations... ⟭
...Apollonius was afflicted by the heretic's magic. He needed to

reboot... he needed to repair the faulty processes.
Orcus had widened his stance, his fist reared back. He moved
forward, rotating his body.
That fist was aimed at Apollonius' face.
It struck true.
...and everything grew dark.

Chapter 597 Not Quite Dead
he mana Tanamar expended shaped his volatile 'arrow' into

T
something aerodynamic.
First word. Second word.
The ground he stood on lit up like a holiday tree. He felt his silver
hair stand up like he was some sort of legendary Tyrion hero.
Tanamar grimaced upon realizing how upset Tycon would be if he

were around to sense his mana output. Even without Apollonius'
assistance, he was obviously and unapologetically Gold-Rank.
Third word... fourth word-- Tancred looked over, probably having

figured out that he wasn't actually winning.
"[What the-- why are you OVER THERE?!]" The oversized set of
scuffed armor bellowed.
"I ejected out of Apollonius like five minutes ago, guy."
The mana flowing through Tanamar's body and through the

surroundings echoed his words... but he didn't particularly care if
Tancred heard him.
"[Your ⌈Oath⌋ shot ain't SHITE, Athanasius!]" Tancred shouted,

uncertainty clear in his cracking voice, "[It can't get through my
⌈Earth Shield⌋!!]"
Tanamar sighed... That was obvious. He wouldn't be so stupid to

use the exact same attack twice.
Furrowing his brows, he mentally went through his list of Skills...

"⌈Aspect of the Vengeful Archon,⌋" He began. It was the most
powerful aspect of his Holy Lancer class.
"⌈Divine Weapon,⌋" It was a basic enchantment that Harkus put on

everything.
"⌈Frost Enchantment,⌋" He had Athena's frost mana coursing

through his veins. Using it was a given.
"⌈Sharpened Steel,⌋" That'd add a bit of piercing power to get

through Tancred's ⌈Earth Shield.⌋
"[EY!! QUITE THAT SHITE!!!!!]" Tancred roared. The massive suit

of armor began charging towards his position-- fast, too. That
⌈Charging Bull⌋ Skill was no joke.
"⌈Pinning Strike⌋ ⌈Murderous Aim⌋ ⌈Biting Volley...⌋ What else..."

Tanamar mused.
His head was feeling light. If he was only operating on logic, he

was dangerously low on mana... but it felt like he had so much
more to give.
"⌈Split Arrow⌋... ⌈Triple Arrow⌋..."
He drew back his bow, a gargantuan, crackling mana-arrow

nocked and ready to fire.
Blood was streaming down his nose, his head was filled with
clouds, and his entire body felt numb. That probably meant he
should stop.
Nah. He couldn't hold back... Athena was still in danger. He

couldn't afford to fail.
"⌈Sudden Shot.⌋ ⌈Maximize Shot⌋..." Blood welled up into his

mouth and he coughed it out.
Damn. He wanted to cast ⌈Vorpal Shot⌋ too, but that was definitely
too much.
He aimed down his weapon, his arrow pointed directly at Divine
Armor Orcus' center of mass, "This is my ⌈Oath⌋: Eat shite and
die, Tancred."
...
⟬ Flashback: Twenty minutes prior, Market District. ⟭
"[You feel that, Brother-Tycon?]" The armored Librarian, Zenon

Skyreaper looked up into the sky... at a very lost-looking troll
mounted on a large gryphon, struggling to remain airborne.
"I do," Tycondrius followed his gaze and nodded. "If our troll friend
were to fall on the three of us, we would sustain severe injuries."
"[No, not that,]" Zenon shook his head. "[I mean the mana...
something Gold-Rank-- maybe Adamantine... and it's headed
towards the Administration District."
Tycon rolled his eyes, "The enemy seeks to intercept Athena and
her footman, then."
"[Yeah, feels strong,]" Zenon tilted his head downward... "[Maybe

it's that Exarch guy we keep hearing about?]"
Korr nodded eagerly, gripping her two-handed blackblade, "[HOW

DARE HE.]"
Tycon pursed his lips underneath his helmet. 'How dare he' what?
He wanted to ask the young lady to explain herself, but... he
surmised the resulting story wouldn't come close to answering the
question.
"[Whoa! Hold on!]" Zenon raised his voice, "[I just felt Athena use
a huge attack... the incantation ⌈Ice Beam⌋, I think.]"
"[THE ENEMY IS LIKELY ALREADY DEAD,]" Korr declared.
Tycon grimaced and shook his head, "Nonetheless, we should

hurry... I'd rather not underestimate a Gold-Rank power. Brother-
Zenon, if you could cast your--"
"HARR HARR HARR HARR!!!!! HARRRRRR!!!!" A chilling voice
echoed in Tycon's mind...
"Seven hells, what is it, now?" He sighed.
The ghost of an armored Cleric rose out of the roadstones,

translucent and glowing green, "YaAAaRRrr!! I hAve aRiSen from
BeYoonNdd the GrAaaaAve ta PaY ye BACK for my UnJuSt
DeaAaaAthhHhh!!!"
"...Who are you again?" Tycon crossed his arms.
The levitating ghost summoned an oversized, wicked-looking

warscythe, and held it out menacingly.
"GHOST OCCAM!!!!"
"Of all the people you could choose to haunt," Tycon groaned,
"you chose the three of us? Really?"
"ReAAAaaAaLLLyYYyyY!!! ooOoOooOooOoh!!!" Occam moaned,

"Harr harr HARR!!!"
Tycon took another deep breath before turning to the dark-

armored woman at his side, "Korr."
Korr stepped forward, clinking a metal fist against her palm, "[YOU
ARE ALREADY DEAD.]"
Occam's jaw dropped, "Ah. F*ck."
Korr grabbed Ghost-Occam by the ghost-collar and began to beat

him, "[I SHALL RELEASE THEE FROM THY MORTAL COIL!!!]"
Zenon tilted his head, "[I've always found it weird that Korr could
literally punch apparitions.]"
"It's a useful ability," Tycon shrugged. "I try not to think about it."
Taking a deep breath, he reached up to pat his Librarian-friend on

the shoulder, "Zenon, I'll be moving ahead. Cast your movement
spell on me, if you would."
"[Sure thing, Optio.]"
...
Tanamar dragged himself back to the front of the Head

Magistrate's estate. He was tired... beyond tired.
He'd vomited until the contents of his stomach were empty, and
his insides still rumbled... but he was alive.
"We did it..." Tanamar tossed his helmet to the ground and
collapsed at his girlfriend's feet, "Athena, we did it."
With Apollonius' help... he saved her. Athena lived. He had

changed her future. Their future.
Athena lied with her back against the stone steps, wearing a
defeated smile. Her frosty blue hair was strewn over her face like
she'd just woken up from a gentle summer nap.
"Tanamar... I knew you could do it."
Her armor was still on, but she'd placed her helmet on the steps
beside her. On her left arm and shoulder, she'd made a makeshift
cast out of ice with her gloved hand sticking out.
Besides that, her Arcanite swords were scattered on the ground

beside her. She didn't have the mana left to control them.
She wouldn't be fighting anytime soon-- not without both rest and
magical healing.
Chapter 598 Too Late
thena thrust her good arm forward, offering a half-emptied

A
healing potion, "Want the rest? I managed to stop the bleeding..."
Tanamar propped himself up, lying beside her with his back on the
hard steps, "Nah. I used mine. I'll be alright."
"You look terrible, Tanamar," She giggled lightly before downing

the bottle's contents.
"I'm not the one who almost got her arm cut off," Tanamar laughed
to himself.
"Yeah, well... You could only beat Tancred because I attacked him
first," She smirked.
That was... incredibly wrong. Still, Tanamar didn't feel like

correcting her, "Yeah. I could only win because of you..."
The sounds of fighting elsewhere in the city had seemed to calm

down. They were left with the peaceful crackling of the Head
Magistrate's residence, the symbol of Caeruleum's power, wholly
engulfed in flame.
Athena stared up at the smoky sky... "Hey, Tanamar..."
"Yeah?"
"It's over, right?" She asked.
"Yeah, it is..." Tanamar nodded.
"We... we just have to go tell Sir Tycon the good news..."
"Yeah. We do."
The corner of Athena's mouth curved upward... like it took all of
her effort to do so, "I'm... so glad..."
Tanamar cursed himself quietly for lying. The city still needed to
be purged... and Antonidus was still alive. The leader of
Caeruleum undoubtedly had hands as dirty as Tancred's.
Suddenly, Tanamar felt his anger spike. He remembered seeing

the two bastards meet with each other after the Martial
Tournament. If only he'd noticed it back then, he could have killed
them both... It would have saved them all a lot of trouble.
"Hey... Tanamar..." Athena whispered.
...Tanamar furrowed his brows, his anger drained in an instant.

Something had changed.
"Y... yeah?"
"I love you... You know that, right?"
"...I love you too, Athena," Tanamar sat up, worry blossoming in
his heart, "What's... this about?"
Athena sighed... "I wanted to make sure you knew."
"I knew..." Tanamar raised his voice... "I've always known."
"Yeah," Athena rolled her eyes. "You've always been smarter than
me... but..."
"But?"
"I'm... I'm not sure," Athena's voice cracked... "if it matters, this
time..."
"Athena? Athena!!" Tanamar scrambled over to her, "What's

wrong?"
Tears were streaming down Athena's face, "My... my left hand..."
Carefully... but quickly, Tanamar removed the leather glove.

Her skin had grown white... smooth, polished white... immobile...
stone.
Tanamar looked up to meet her eyes, "What... what's going on?"
"Tancred... He... he used... a Skill," Athena sobbed, her words

interspersed with pained hics... "He called it... ⌈Petrifying Cloud⌋."
Tanamar's heart shook. It was one of Divine Armor Orcus'

abilities... the strongest Skill belonging to Pontius' Sandstone
Reaver Class.
"No... no... not again..." He shouted, "I promised to protect you,

Athena! It hasn't changed! That'll NEVER CHANGE!!"
He got to his knees and began to beg, "Stay with me, Athena...
Just... just hold on. The Holy Magus-- he can cure your condition.
I'll tear his heart outta his chest if he DARES refuse!!"
Athena smiled... She was dying, but still, she smiled.
"Tanamar... you can't fall in love with anyone else."
Tanamar grabbed onto her other hand... It was rigid... also frozen
in stone. Peeking out of her armor, the bottom of her neck was
beginning to change color, too.
"I won't, Athena," He declared. "I've always been in love with

you... and no one else... for literal lifetimes before this one."
"Good," Athena sighed. "I'll... I'll be jealous otherwise. You have...

you have to be miserable without me."
"It's not over, Athena," Tanamar urged. "Keep your mana

circulating. Hold off as long as you can."
"It's... already too late," She shook her head. "I... I love you...
Tan..."
"ATHANASIUS!!!"
A piercing shout caused Tanamar to turn towards it. In an instant
he was on his feet, holy lance in hand.
It was Tycon.
...The anomaly.
And he'd arrived too late...
"Plan's changed, Tycon!" Tanamar shouted, "I need to have a little

chat with the Head Magistrate."
"Hah, really?" Tycon tilted his white-helmed head up, as if he was

rolling his eyes, "Are you thinking of switching sides, this late in
the siege?"
"If I have to," Tanamar spat.
Tycon halted his steps, ten paces away... "That was certainly not
the answer I expected...
"Boxtholomaeus," He snapped his fingers, "execute Plan B."
Tanamar furrowed his brows as turned his head... where he saw

the wooden doll, Boxy, halfway through with sticking the petrified
Athena in his mouth.
"What the HELLS are you doing?!?" Tanamar yelled.
"I'm 'erribry sorry, hir!" Boxy responded before swallowing, "I'm

only following orders!"
Tanamar heard the sound of something big-- something heavy

moving through the air at him. He turned back to Tycon and
stabbed his radiant spearpoint into it...
Tycon had... thrown a greataxe at him?
The weapon shattered, greenish mana dust scattering all around

him... The distraction had allowed Boxy to escape, retreating to
safety besides Tycon.
"Huh," The Tactician tilted his head. "I expected a violent
explosion. Whatever you did to the Spinal Reaper drained the rest
of its mana..."
"You..." Tanamar stared back in disbelief... "You just tried... to kill

me?"
"Yes, I did," Tycon chuckled. "That was for lying to me about still
being Iron-Rank. Did you think I wouldn't find out?"
The white-helmed Tactician lazily stretched his arms, "I cut off
your brother's head, by the way-- I wanted to be thorough. No
need to thank me."
Tanamar grit his teeth and tightened the grip on his lance, "You.
just. tried. to kill. me..."
"Yes, I literally *just* confirmed that," Tycon shook his head, "Now,
as I'm assuming you were joking about joining the Snake Cult,
let's share information."
Tanamar didn't know where the strength came from... but as his
anger rose, his mana circulated twice as clear... thrice as fast...
enough that his entire body glowed in radiant power.
"Give... her... back," He growled. "Now."
Tycon crossed his arms, "What are you going on about? Miss
Athena is afflicted by petrification. That's not something you can
fix."
Tanamar pointed his spear forward, "When I present your head to

Antonidus, he'll give me anything I want."
Chapter 599 Danger To One’s
Self
ycondrius narrowed his eyes beneath his helmet. Tanamar was

T
poised to strike... looking as threatening as a half-dead man could
look.
The footman was suffering a temporary bout of insanity from

recent events. Tanamar had expended a great deal of mana in
what Tycon assumed was a clumsy shouting match with his evil
twin brother. That compounded with the fact that his girlfriend was
in a near-death state.
The most mature response was to advocate peaceable

discussion... to elucidate the young man on the flaws in his
decision-making.
It was true that he was openly challenged. It was insulting to have

a deadly weapon pointed at his face.
Still... logic trumped emotion and Tycon prided himself on being a

man of high ideals.
"Athanasius, you're delirious from mana-fatigue," He impatiently

patted the blade on his waist... "As you are a danger not only to--"
Tanamar blinked.
How. Dare. He.
Interrupting himself, Tycon unsheathed and lashed out with his

whip sword, entangling it around Tanamar's leg. With a swift pull,
the young man was off his feet, the back of his head bouncing off
the stone steps.
Tanamar's mind was too hazed, his reflexes too slow, and his
body too weak to respond. It was his own damned fault that Tycon
was forced to attack!
"--⌈Shadowfang⌋."
Activating his movement technique, he dashed forward and

landed a running kick to the youth's side. Rearing back, he kicked
again. Tanamar curled up, covering his body. Tycon began
alternating feet, continuing to kick the downed youth in the chest
and stomach.
"Let me show you all the reasons you are WRONG!!!" Tycon
yelled.
If Tanamar wanted to survive, he was doing a very poor job of it.
After being granted so many 'reasons', the Holy Lancer grabbed

hold of Tycon's boot, "W-wait..."
In response, Tycon dropped down, his knee striking the side of

Tanamar's ribs. Leaning over, he began to strike the boy in the
side of his silver-haired head. Still in hand was the hilt of the
blade-whip, undoubtedly making his fist that much heavier.
"Boss Tycon, sir?" Boxtholomaeus murmured.
The humanoid-shaped doll stepped into view, wringing his

fingerless, wooden hands.
Tycon stood and flipped Tanamar onto his front with an un-gentle
boot, "Go ahead."
He sat on the youth's back, placing one hand on his head, with the
other hooking onto his right bicep. The boy would be far less of a
threat with a broken or dislocated shoulder.
"Sir... doesn't this seem a rather strong response, concerning the

circumstances?" The doll asked.
"Nonsense, Mister Boxtholomaeus," Tycon shrugged. "Mister
Athanasius has threatened my life. I have responded out of fear
for my own safety."
"But sir?" Boxtholomaeus tilted his head, "Mister Tanamar doesn't

seem to be fighting back anymore.
"A shame," Tycon scoffed.
Applying slow and steady pressure, he dislocated Tanamar's

shoulder. The youth screamed in agony-- as if he had no idea that
Tycon would respond to death threats with open violence.
"But... but sir?" The doll continued to complain.
Tycon would have none of it. He wasn't in the mood for games.
He reached his arm back, snapping his blade-whip back into

sword-form, "It was nice working with you, Athanasius."
"...Miss Athena would be sad."
Tycon stabbed his sword... into the dirt next to Tanamar's neck.
...Then he turned to growl at Boxtholomaeus, "Must you, child?"
The wooden doll nodded shyly, "Yes, sir... Sorry, sir."
Tycon took a deep breath... "No apology necessary... You raised a

valid point..."
He slapped the side of Tanamar's face to wake him, "Explain

what's going on. Depending on what you say, I may or may not
jam a poisoned bolt into your neck."
"Tycon..." He groaned, trying to turn his head, "What the f*ck,

man?"
Tycon grabbed Tanamar's hair and twisted his blade in the dirt.
The edge bled the surface of the boy's neck, "Understand that my
actions are a professional courtesy. Were you not so dangerous,
we might have spoken amicably."
Tanamar shut his eyes... seeming to have resigned to his
situation.
"...You told me that the future can be changed."
Tycon rolled his eyes. The weeping young fool with the bleeding
neck was more than a transmigrator, like himself. He was a
reincarnator... and had seen a different future from the present
they were living-- multiple futures, if he were to be believed.
"I did," Tycon twisted his lips. "What of it?"
He felt his eye twitch, sensing Tanamar suddenly increasing the

circulation rate of his mana.
"Well, it CAN'T!!!" He shouted, "⌈Solar Flare!!⌋"
Tycon activated his ⌈Tumble⌋ skill, rolling backward and shielding

his eyes from a fantastically bright light. Whipping his sword to the
side, ready to defend himself, he focused his concentration on the
ground, sensing for the footman's movement.
...Yet, no attack came.
Tanamar stood up slowly, a holy lance in his left hand... his right
arm still dangling uselessly.
"I tried to change it... even killing my brother to do so... but still...
ATHENA DIED!!"
"That's ridiculous," Tycon got to his feet, casually stretching his

back, and cracking his neck left and right, "The girl lives-- she's
merely affected by a ⌈Flesh to Stone⌋ spell."
Tanamar's mana-weapon began to glow brighter with power. The

boy was expending some of his soul energy in order to empower
his almost nonexistent mana pool. Whether the attack succeeded
or failed, the damage he'd incur would be difficult to heal.
"The ONLY spell capable of healing her... is a ⌈Holy Blessing,⌋" He

growled. "I need... Holy Magus Antonidus... the Flame-taken Head
Magistrate of Caeruleum."
Suddenly, strength seemed to leave his body as he collapsed to

his knees. His mana-weapon dissipated and he reabsorbed the
energy, as well. Good for him.
Tycon tried to walk forward to finish him off... but Boxtholomaeus

was holding onto his leg.
"In my last life..." Tanamar muttered... "Athena and Tancred went

to a dungeon... and..."
Tycon's attention drifted away, listening to the boy drone on. He

performed some mental calculations of when and how he would
signal his forces to withdraw from the city. Two bells, perhaps.
Whatever it was, it would be best, soon.
Zenon and Korr would be arriving shortly... and the blasts of

energy from Tanamar's fight with Tancred would attract Pale--
maybe Stephanos, too, if his mana-senses were half-way decent.
From the bits and pieces of Tanamar's story... it seemed that the
young man had won the Caeruleum tournament in his last life, as
well, and was owed a favor. He bought Athena to be healed, but
Head Magistrate Antonidus dodged him for several suns. The end
result was Athena dying... and Tanamar attacking the city by
himself, eventually being slain by Champions of the Church.
Sensing that the Holy Lancer's overlong story was finished, Tycon
cleared his throat to speak, "Are you done?"
"Have you heard a single Flame-taken word I've said?" Tanamar

seethed.
"Did you know I can cast ⌈Stone to Flesh⌋?" Tycon sighed.
"You can what?" Tanamar's jaw hung agape, like the fool he was.
"We fought gorgons in the Halls of the Dead Serpent, young man,"
Tycon's annoyance seeped into his voice as he spoke, "Bannok
was among the petrified. I healed him."
"But... but Priestess Ariadne..."
Tycon took a deep breath and groaned... his annoyance painfully

obvious, "Egh... ⌈Flesh to Stone⌋ is a spell belonging to a higher
Spell-Circle than Aria is capable of."
It seemed not every transmigrator was as familiar with spells and

their effects as he was.
"Tycon... please," Tanamar bowed with his forehead to the

ground. "I know I don't deserve it-- but please... Heal Ath--"
"Get up, idiot," Tycon waved dismissively. "Of course, I'll--"
Boxtholomaeus pushed at Tycon's leg with his flimsy wooden

arms, "Um, Sir Tycon?"
The doll was pointing up at the sky.
"Don't interrupt, child," Tycon scolded... "Be polite and wait your
turn."
"...Y... yes, sir..."
The daylight skies began to darken as if the sun had chosen to

hide. An unnatural sphere composed of pale white light appeared
in the distance, consuming the clouds of smoke and sending
harpies and gryphons screeching in terror.
Tycon ignored it.
"Ahem. Of course, I'll heal the girl, Athanasius."
...
⟬ Half-a-bell later. ⟭
Tycon helped pop the youth's shoulder back into place-- a painful
ordeal, but one the young gentleman weathered with little more
than a pained grunt. He then used his ⌈Inspirational Surge⌋ on the
Holy Lancer, fully expecting it to fail.
It was effective.
Having only a modicum of his mana and being beaten half-to-

death was certainly not the best Tanamar could do.
The young man refused to withdraw with Boxtholomaeus, insisting

Athena be restored immediately.
It was a sound decision that Tycon (begrudgingly) could not fault

him for. As the siege had not yet ended, it was still possible for
him to be severely injured or even killed before sun's end.
Athena was affected by a Sixth-Circle petrification spell... normally

impossible for a normal Gold-Rank healing Class to cure.
It made no difference to Tycon. He was a Maedar, a rare male

born with the medusa bloodline... and by his breath, he could
undo the effects of petrification, regardless of the caster's Circle
mastery.
It was also why Maedari were both revered and feared amongst
his kin.
After Tycon had restored Athena, she was still physically weak
and in an advanced stage of mana fatigue. She'd live... and she
elected to nap on her placated lover's shoulder while the four of
them waited for support to arrive.
As for Boxtholomaeus, he kept looking up at the strange, grey

sky-sphere, but decided not to broach the topic. Whatever was
going on, neither he nor any ally present had the means to stop it.
",
Chapter 600 Angel Bane (Part
One)
" [Hey! Sorry we took so long,]" Librarian Zenon waved as he and

Raging Flame Knight Korr approached.
He paused, looking down at Tanamar-- "[Whoa! What happened

to you?]"
It was no surprise that Zenon was concerned. The entire side of

the footman's face was discolored and bruised.
The Holy Lancer's gaze hardened as he looked up at the tall,

dark-armored Librarian.
"...I fell."
"A mistake was made," Tycon shrugged. He would not cast the
blame on his young friend. He was partly to blame for losing his
temper.
Korr pointed wordlessly at the sleeping Athena, likely inquiring

about her condition, as well.
"Athena was injured and is out of mana," Tycon explained. "I

expect her to make a full recovery."
He cleared his throat, standing straight and saluting with his fist to
his chest, "Report, if you would."
Korr saluted before flexing an arm, "[I PUNCHED A GHOST TO

DEATH.]"
The woman's declaration was... wrong, somehow. However,

Tycon understood the point she was trying to make, "Thank you,
Korr."
Zenon rendered a Tyrion salute before pointing at the sky, "

[Whatever's causing that is probably around this area. The mana
around here is similar.]
Tycon nodded, looking up and squinting up at the foreboding ball,

"It doesn't seem to be a harmful evocation spell... Any thoughts?"
The Librarian took off his helmet, wrinkling his mustache... "I
sense otherworldly energies. I don't think I've ever felt them
before..."
Tycon took a deep breath and exhaled through his teeth,

"...Brother-Zenon, think carefully about those words... Are you
certain?"
Zenon grimaced, but nodded gravely... "Yeah... I'm sure. Do you

know what it is, Brother-Tycon?"
"Unfortunately, yes. It's a spell connected to another plane... a

summoning ritual, most likely."
This was not the first time Tycon had experienced the threat of an
otherworldly invasion. When he was adventuring in the Kingdom,
he encountered something similar-- an attack by a rogue warlord
from the Plane of Fire.
He hoped this was just a simple summon, not the opening of a

permanent rift. Either way, the situation had become far more
complicated than he was hoping for.
He just wanted to raze a city to the ground and kill all of its
inhabitants! Why was that so difficult?!
Suddenly, the door to the still-burning Head Magistrate's

residence burst open. Out walked a soot-covered old man, his
long white beard nearly burnt completely off. He bent over,
coughing ash and blood in between bouts of manic laughter.
"It's too late, heroes..." He hacked, "It's FAR TOO LATE!!! The
summoning CANNOT be STOPPED!!"
"Hm. It's the Head Magistrate," Tycon mused. "Tanamar, did you
have something to ask him?"
"No, I do not," Tanamar sighed. "And f*ck you, sir."
"Granted," Tycon smirked.
While somewhat disrespectful, he had been the first to taunt the

young man. He would punish the insubordination at a later date.
"SOON!!!" Antonidus shrieked, "My new ARMY will swoop down

and your pithy rebellion will be ENDED in BLOOD AND FIRE!!"
"Optio," Zenon leaned over to whisper, "That guy's the ritual

caster. Same mana signature."
"Makes sense," Tycon nodded. "Well, if we can't stop the

summoning, we can at least kill the old fool. Which of you wants
him?"
Tanamar rolled his eyes, "I'd do it, but... you know."
He gestured at his recently dislocated arm, careful not to jostle his

lover, laying her head on his shoulder.
From his words, it seemed that the young man was going to hold
a grudge over the sun's events. The thought did not bother Tycon,
at all.
Korr raised her hand... using mana to empower the movement.
Tycon narrowed his eyes, "If this is about dinner, young lady, the
answer is yes. I'll make whatever you'd like if we can manage the
ingredients."
That was provided they both survive... but Tycon' didn't think that
needed mention.
Korr put her hand back down... but then pointed towards Zenon.
"Centurion Zenon Skyreaper," Tycon smiled. "Would you do the
honors?"
Zenon placed his dark helmet back on, "[My hatred will make the
mountains bleed.]"
"...Don't do that," Tycon frowned.
"Hah... hahah.... Hahaha!!!" Antonidus was beside himself,

cackling like a madman, "I was granted gifts FAR beyond your
imagination, Church dog! Taaaake THISSS!!!!"
The wrinkled old man, filthy from fire and dust, directed his palms
forward, gathering his mana.
Boxtholomaeus nudged at Tycon's leg, "Sir... sir... perhaps we

should all attack him together?"
"For tactical purposes, I agree with you, young mimic," Tycon

nodded. "However, I'll ask you to have faith in our stalwart,
vertically-advantaged companion."
Antonidus began to glow with power as he shouted in a shrill

voice, "With the powers bestowed upon me... by the DRAGON
GOD, HIMSELF!!! Suffer my WRATH!!!! ⌈PEEEEAAAAK
IRONNNNN FIREBAAAAALLLLLLL⌋"
"Peak Iron?" Tanamar furrowed his brows.
Tycon pursed his lips, "That... is what he said."
Boxtholomaeus looked at his tiny wooden feet, "Oh."
Korr had crossed her arms and was tilting her head.
Head Magistrate Antonidus' ⌈Fireball⌋ washed harmlessly over

Zenon's Arcanite armor.
Zenon reached his open hand forward and made a fist.
Antonidus' throat visibly collapsed inward.

He reached to grasp at his throat-- a useless affectation,
considering.
The ⌈Fireball⌋ activated from his palms, engulfing his neck and
above in a quick blast of magical flame.
The old man tumbled down the steps, leaving blood and crisped
bits of skin on the white stones.
While most everyone looked on in horror, Tycon walked over and

looted the Amulet of Obscuration off of the corpse's neck.
He'd always wanted one, and the Head Magistrate no longer

needed his.
...
Creatures began to spill out of the rift in the sky... several dozens
of them. They flew on a variable number of wings and they
wielded weapons of war. Some glowed blindingly radiant, with
beauteous white-marble skin and sets of golden armor. Some
were hideous and a terror to look at, their mass an amalgamation
of limbs, many-pointed metallic rings, and fiery eyes.
"By... the... Flame," Zenon cursed. "What in the seven hells are
those?"
Tycon sighed in frustration, "They're from the eleven heavens,

actually. Athanasius, please explain."
The Holy Lancer looked up, his eyes wide in realization... then he
grit his teeth hard... "They're... they're angels."
"A... angels?!" Zenon furrowed his brows, before pointing up

again, "That one-- that one's just a bunch of wings! How is that an
angel?!"
Tycon shrugged, "It is. 'How' is a moot point. Zenon, use your
wind magic to call for our main forces to withdraw."
Zenon frowned, "There's only... a few dozen of them, Optio. Are
you sure we can't band together and defeat them? So what if they
can fly?"
A small barrage of arrows was quickly towards their location.

Zenon seemed unconcerned.
"Most of them are hiding their power level," Tycon explained.
Zenon clenched his fist, "I'm confident in my abilities to sense their

true power."
The angel-fired projectiles bounced harmlessly off of Zenon's

passive ⌈Wind Barrier⌋. It seemed he had improved his ability to
stop attacks without breaking his concentration.
"Don't," Tycon warned. "Do not underestimate the angels, Brother-

Zenon. You might literally die, seeing their true forms. Some of
those creatures are peak Adamantine-Rank."
Zenon's mustache drooped, crestfallen, "Then... we can only run?

With our Flame-taken tails tucked between our legs?"
"I specifically stated order our *main* forces to withdraw," He

turned away from his friend, smiling at a young man who was
jogging towards them, "All able combatants of Sol Invictus will
remain."
"Hey, guys!" The blue-armored Spear Hero waved. "There's flying

baddies in the sky! What do we do?!"
"Good morning, Pale," Tycon nodded. "Athanasius, do you have

enough mana to cast your flight spell on our young friend?"
Tanamar twisted his lips with uncertainty, "I do... but... it won't
work. I can only cast ⌈Aspect of the Winged Seraphim⌋ on myself."
"Humor me, if you would, little brother," Tycon smiled politely...

"Just try it."
Baring his teeth, Tanamar nodded and did as Tycon asked.

The boy sprouted wings of light.
Everyone seemed to be surprised, save Tycon and Korr.
"I owe you one, Tanamar!" Pale grinned, rendering a clean salute.
The young boy then crouched down and leapt skyward with a
heavy flap of his glowing wings.
Tanamar was still unconvinced... "Isn't the kid a spear user, similar
to me? Can he shoot spear-arrows too?"
Tycon gestured to the sky, "Something like that."
The winged Pale pointed an empty palm towards one of the

angels in flight, "⌈MAXIMUS!!!!⌋"
Magical lightning arced from his hand to the winged fellow. The
angel squawked similar to an oversized chicken and immediately
began plummeting towards the ground.
The skill activation was easily heard... unmistakable, despite the

distance, such was its power.
Tanamar stared in disbelief, "He... did he just... Pale just..."
Ignoring him, Tycon turned to Zenon, "The withdrawal order."
"Right away, Optio," Zenon began to channel his mana, to

empower his voice.
Tycon turned to Korr, "Defend our forces as we withdraw."
"[I HEAR YOU, LEADER!]" She shouted as she bolted off, her
metal boots leaving a fiery trail.
Tycon then turned to Tanamar, "Wake Athena."
A still-groggy Athena opened her eyes, "I'm... I'm awake."
She slowly got to her feet, her worried footman carefully

supporting her.
Athena smiled warmly... "Sir Tycon... I... I dreamed of my brother,
just now... Haha... can you believe it?"
",
Two)
ycondrius decided to ignore Athena's ramblings. Her brother was

T
long dead and his influence, more-or-less nonexistent.
"Young lady," He gestured towards the burning building behind

them, "I want the Head Magistrate's residence scoured for
valuables."
"Oh... okay?" Athena pursed her lips. It seemed she'd forgotten

that, in sieging Caeruleum, Letalis Serpentia was operating on a
loss. Looting was the only way they'd hope to recoup those
losses.
Tanamar frowned, "Shouldn't we... withdraw with the others? The

place is in ruins."
Tycon twisted his lips, "You'll... find something, I'm sure...

Sculptures, metal trinkets... Ah, I did notice some very nice tiles in
the front hallway."
"Tiles, Tycon?" Tanamar grimaced.
"I... I can use my Arcanite swords to pry them off the floor," Athena
offered.
"Creative thinking, I approve," Tycon smiled to her, "Do your best

while not overstressing yourself, young lady. Once Boxtholomaeus
is full or your confidence wanes, withdraw to safety..."
He clasped his hand on Tanamar's shoulder, "Athanasius, I trust

you'll keep the Vanzano mistress safe?"
"In this life and the next..." Tanamar groaned, shaking his head...
As Tycon turned to leave, the young man called out to him.
"Hey... Tycon."
...Pausing, Tycon turned his head back, raising an eyebrow,

"Yes?"
Tanamar rendered a crisp salute, a steady fist to his chest, "Don't

die out there, man."
"Tss..." Scoffing, Tycon placed his helmet back on and continued

on his way, "That is my general goal in this life."
...
Priestess Ariadne's chest tightened in anticipation, watching a

host of angels descend from the black sky. They fell or flew
through the smoky haze... some forms passably resembling
humans, and some... far from it.
It made her question who was worse... her enemies... or her

allies.
The Tactician had bid her and her husband, Bannok, to travel from
their hovel to the city of Caeruleum.
Upon arrival, they found that the snake had an army of monsters
with mouths of flesh-rending teeth, wings for arms, and skins of
thick steel.
She argued and argued with Bannok for bells on end... to no avail.
Bannok still wanted to participate in the siege... to get revenge on
the city that killed his best friend and forced him to disband his
guild.
Deep inside... Aria was still angry... at everything. She hoped that
the monsters would try to antagonize them... to have some spark
of conflict. She needed a reason to bite back... to convince her
husband that they weren't as welcome as they seemed.
Maybe she just wanted a way to cause problems for Tycon.

It didn't happen... nothing close to it.
In passing, she asked an Elven member of Guild Letalis about

why they seemed to be avoided. She learned that the monsters
were warned to keep away from the Gold-Rank humans. Those
without rank that did not were to be executed.
Also... the order was given before Ariadne and Bannok arrived.
It was annoying-- infuriating, almost, thinking that Tycon knew

they were coming without a doubt.
Still... it didn't change anything.
The only reason Ariadne was in Caeruleum... was to keep her

husband out of trouble.
...Only a few suns prior, avoiding 'trouble' meant keeping Bannok

from drinking himself stupid.
Tycon changed that. He gave him hope for redemption... and a

reason to avoid the bottle. It was something that Ariadne did not
want to thank him for.
Instead of cheap whiskey, she now had to keep her husband

away from pissed off heavenly beings.
And with what? All Bannok wore a cheap iron helmet, a thick
gambeson, and grumpy old polecat scowl.
The Calculator, Sorina, had offered them both a full set of armor
worn by Athena's Letalis Serpentia. Bannok declined... as if
arrogance and cloth were somehow better than steel plate.
She glanced over to Bannok... an old... old... angry human. This

was the man she fell in love with all those years ago. This is the
man she still loved with all of her heart, regardless of the lines
etched in his face... even though he could only embrace her with
one arm.
Without a shield arm, Bannok carried a looted longsword over his

shoulder.
Obviously, he'd be fine. He had the Weaponmaster Class, after
all. But still... using such a large, unwieldy weapon wasn't like him.
It just felt like... neglecting heavy armor... prioritizing offense...

seven hells, even coming to the gods-damned city in the first
place...
It felt like... maybe Bannok was tired of living.
The thought of it broke her heart.
He never showed weakness around her. When she'd ask about it,
he'd laugh and smile... even though she knew he left the bed in
the middle of the night to cry... Traveling over, he swore up and
down that he wouldn't needlessly risk himself...
And even though she hated herself for thinking the way she did...
Bannok was human.
Humans are natural-born liars.
...Almost as bad as snakes.
"You best be careful, hon," Ariadne warned. "I can't heal you if yer
dead."
"I know, wife," Bannok grumbled. "That's not even the first time
you've told me that this sun."
"I'm jus' worried," She huffed. "Tha's all..."
"Well..." Her husband winked as he wore an unapologetic smirk,

"How 'bout you worry a little quieter?"
Ariadne shook her head, too fed up with the circumstances to

argue. If things were different, she'd have offered to shove her
enchanted quarterstaff up his rear.
A short distance away was an angel, but nothing like she'd ever
seen or heard about. Its body was a gorgeous, marble white... and
that was where the beauty ended.
It was a huge mass of flesh, twenty feet tall and wider than four
gorgons around. It crawled around by undulating its body and
dragging itself forward on massive, three-fingers claws. It had no
face, but had a huge, stretching maw of jagged flesh that
resembled teeth.
With an otherworldly roar, it shot a beam of radiant energy...

disintegrating a troop of fleeing humans.
They weren't even part of guild Letalis. They were just

adventurers.
Aria knew that angels did not care for mortals. She had the feeling
that whatever mage brought them to this world also knew.
Three)
"I'm goin', wife," Bannok muttered. "Take care of me, will ya?"
"Pff, go on," She groaned. "Git."
"Love you too," He scoffed before turning away and breaking into
a jog.
One of the flying angels dove towards him with spear in hand, this
one with a myriad of wings and ablaze with holy fire.
"⌈Crimson Stride⌋," Bannok swatted it away like a horsefly, a red

trail following his weapon. The male angel smashed into a
building, its wings broken, a cut on its chest, and with another
blood-red slash of energy cleaving the creature into top and
bottom.
A slash and magical after-effect?
That... wasn't a skill Ariadne was familiar with. It wasn't the first
time Bannok had hid her abilities from her... but it was
inconceivable to her that he was drunk-training in the fields behind
her back.
In an instant, Bannok was engaged with the tentacle-thing,

dodging beams of light and its pounding claws.
Keeping her eye on him, Ariadne turned to face another angel.
She wore a helm that hid her eyes, from which pale blonde hair
spilled down her back. Her eight wings glowed on her back as she
hovered with her bare feet not touching the filthy, blood-mucked
ground.
The angel was above and not equal to the mortals she faced.
[Lay down thy weapons... and allow thy actions to speak for thy
sins,] She said.
Her words echoed in Ariadne's mind... the power in them

threatening to tear apart not just her mind, but dismantle her entire
physical form.
"Not gonna happen, b*tch," Aria grit her teeth, expelling mana
outward to reject the mind-effect. "Y'all are just tryin' ta get me
got!"
Two long swords appeared in the angel's thin, uncalloused hands,

sheathed in holy flames... [I will ask but once, mortal.]
Ariadne spun her heavy wooden quarterstaff in her hands, locking

it beneath her right shoulder, "An' I'mma tell you to stuff it as many
times as you want, ho!!"
She shot her left hand forward, "⌈Bind Outsider!⌋"
Glowing silver chains erupted from the ground, wrapping around

the sword angel's arms and wrists.
[You are making a grave mistake,] The emotionless angel stated.
"Yea, I reckon I've made a lot of mistakes in my life," Ariadne

growled. "But marryin' mah husband AIN'T ONE OF 'EM!"
She whirled her quarterstaff over her head, smashing it into the
angel's helm. The angel tried to move her arms-- and failed.
Ariadne smashed her staff into the woman's clavicle, collapsing
the holy whore to her knees. The chains withdrew deeper in the
ground, severely limiting her opponent's movement.
"⌈Lance of Faith,⌋" Ariadne blasted the woman in the face from

less than a foot away.
...and it didn't do shite.

She groaned in frustration, "⌈Lance of Faith.⌋ ⌈Lance of Faith.⌋
⌈Lance. of. Faith!⌋"
The angel was injured severely, her hair a mess, her majestic
robes torn. But still... she lived.
[You... are making...]
Ariadne sighed as she drew her utility knife and slashed the
angel's throat. The rest of the creature's sentence devolved into
wet gargles... still echoing magically in her mind.
She clicked her tongue, "Stars above, this don't feel right."
Suddenly, she winced, feeling three more powerful creatures

quickly approaching.
Three more angels had descended... and they had her

surrounded.
Ariadne cast her fear away and put on a brave smirk...

"Appreciatin' you ladies waitin' yer turns."
She pointed her staff forward like a spear, "Now which o' y'all's
next?"
She had to stand her ground... not letting them past. Out of her
peripheral vision, Bannok was desperately fighting his way toward
her... and she didn't like their chances if her angels turned to her
husband.
"ARI!!!!" Her loyal and faithful Centurion shouted her name as he

cut down another faceless angel with four arms and oliphant
hooves.
Thankfully, the angels surrounding Ariadne had humanoid forms

and weren't weird, white, tentacle monstrosities like Bannok was
fighting.
The first looked the most powerful... golden-armored, golden-

winged, and with glowing golden hair and eyes of golden light.
The second was a lithe, silver-haired woman with a subtle smirk
on her face. Instead of wings, long translucent and sparkly fabrics
floated around her sheer robes.
The third landed on the ground with two heavy clunks, a tall
woman, her skin a gleaming metallic bronze and her armor
seamlessly melding with her body. She crossed her muscled
arms, grimacing.
Just by their presence, Ariadne was struck by the powerful urge to

kneel... to beg for mercy... to give praise to some god she didn't
care for.
A dragon?
Bull shite. She wouldn't have any of that.
The golden one opened her mouth to speak, [Lay down thy--]
"Oh, hush yer mouth!" Ariadne stepped forward and jammed her
quarterstaff at the back of the hovering angel's throat. Shifting her
weight, she slammed the woman's head into the road.
She took a quick glance behind her-- the other two hadn't acted
yet. The silver one's mouth was so wide she could ride a horse
into it. The metal girl had uncrossed her arms, leaning forward
and staring.
Were they surprised? And they were supposed to be high and

mighty, no-nonsense angels. They were Flamescarred jokes.
Ariadne stomped on the golden angel's chest with her sandaled

foot. Her divine spells were largely ineffective against these
things... which made sense-- them being divine beings and all...
but she had a little something for that.
She pulled on the strap around her chest, grabbing the weapon
she had on her back.
Though, like her husband, she declined Calculator Sorina's offer

of armor... she did take a weapon from their armory.
She pointed the barrel of the hextech shotgun at the angel's head,
its wooden stock resting against her shoulder pocket. She'd heard
the guns made in the Eastern States were based off of designs
made in Bael Turath... and from the familiar way the Letalis
weapon fit in her hands, she feared it might've been true.
"Betch'all were thinkin' I'm jus' a helpless belle with a pretty face,
huh?!" She shouted. "WELL, I AIN'T!!"
Four)
riadne willed her Gold-Rank ⌈Mana Ward⌋ to thicken around her

A
ears-- she knew the thing in her hands was louder than all git-out.
She clicked off the safety.
She pulled the trigger.
The loud bang reverberated throughout her entire body. Her

shoulder hurt. Even her ears hurt! The shotgun packed a bigger
punch than she'd remembered.
There wasn't much left of the angel's head... just a bottom jaw and
some teeth. Everything else of her was splattered onto the stones,
a mess of crimson red and a patch of sopping wet hair.
She turned to the other angels, sweeping a blonde bang out of her
eye, "Only reason ah'm here's ta keep mah idjit husband
breathin'-- even if I hafta pull him outta the depths of the seven
hells with mah BARE HANDS!!"
The metal feet of the bronze-angel began to quickly clunk towards

her. The hands at the ends of her muscular arms had transformed
into long metal spikes.
[You are making a GRAVE--]
Ariadne rolled her eyes. Turning the barrel of her shotgun at the
soon-to-be carriage wreck.
"Go back to yer maker, b*tch," She pulled the trigger once more.
"An' tell 'em Ari sent ya."
The angel collapsed onto her knees, her chest thudding against
the ground. A hole the size of her head had opened up in her
chest, bent in like metal and bleeding a dark, oily substance
instead of blood.
Bannok had finally reached her... walking quietly and keeping a

weird amount of distance away, "Hey... Ari...?"
"WHAT?" Ariadne growled.
She kept her attention on the third, silver-haired angel with the
flowy scarf. The b*tch had just turned to fly away.
"Oh, no, you don't! ⌈Bind!⌋"
Grasping her fist, silver chains sped up from the road, coiled
around the angel's ankles, and pulled her down to the ground
where mortals tread.
"I uh... I'm here, now," Bannok grinned sheepishly. "You uh... you
look like you got it, though."
"No shite," Ariadne rolled her eyes as she popped her shotgun
open, ejecting the two spent shells. "You change your Class to
Investigator, hon?"
She loaded two fresh ones with practiced hands, closed the
chamber, and cocked the weapon back.
Aiming down the sight of her barrel, the flighty strumpet had made
it near 50 feet in a matter of seconds.
Close enough.
Ariadne pulled the trigger, pink-misting her target. The angel

flopped to the ground, part of her head and shoulder having up
and disappeared.
"Flame take me, that's loud," Bannok cursed, "Where uh...

where'd you learn to shoot like that, wife?"
"Turkey huntin' with pa," Ariadne gave her husband a grin, "Why'd
you come back in such a fuss, hon?"
"Well, I uh... I was worried about you's..." Bannok averted his

gaze.
"Of all the..." Aria sighed, "Ah'm fine, darlin'. It's you who I gotta
worry about."
Suddenly, Bannok grabbed hold of her and kissed her deeply.

While surprised, Aria returned the passionate kiss... parting only
reluctantly.
She smirked, shoving him playfully. "We're in a Flame-taken

combat zone, bub. Yer not exactly pridin' professionalism, are
ya?"
Bannok turned away, "I just... this life isn't worth living without you,
Ari."
He turned back, meeting her gaze, "Thanks for dealin' with my

selfishness, alright?"
Ariadne chuckled at her husband's sudden shyness, "Oh,

Bannok... I ain't never been surprised by you. I've always loved
you despite yer stubbornness."
"You're kinda makin' me sound like the bad guy, wife," Bannok
grimaced.
"Well..." She chuckled derisively, "we're offin' angels, darlin'. It

sure don't feel make me feel like a hero."
Bannok grinned, his spirits returned. He walked a bit away,

readying his sword as another half-dozen angels began to
descend around them.
"Hey, Ari," He called out. "How 'bout we work for the snake after
this? Who knows? He might be the next demon king!"
Ariadne glared in response as she aimed her weapon at her next

target, "You'd best be joking, husband."
...
« System, analysis: Class and rank of those two... »
⟬ Ariadne, Gold-Rank Elven Priestess; Bannok, Gold-Rank Human

Avenger. ⟭
From where Tycondrius was observing them, they seemed to be

holding out well enough. Bannok had Class-changed from
Weaponmaster to Avenger, his offensive power growing
exponentially.
It suited him, considering the circumstances.
However... the enemy's swelling number did not bode well for
them.
Tycon wrapped his enchanted blade whip on one of the guard

tower's crenellations. Leaping off, he focused his mana-control on
his weapon to steady his descent, allowing him to safely land on
the ground.
"We're being overrun," He muttered. "Brother-Zenon, contact Pale

and tell him to support Bannok and Ariadne."
Librarian Zenon Skyreaper nodded, "[Flame take these bastards...

the stream of 'em's neverending...]"
He then turned away and walked off to send his ⌈Wind Whisper.⌋
Tycon crossed his arms, staring expectantly at an adjacent

building.
A generous section of the wall burst open... and a huge, four-

legged, two-armed creature emerged. It was a gorgon... a metal-
skinned, bull-bodied, humanoid-torso'd, bull-headed, fish-brained
Idiot.
⟬ Stephanos, Gold-Rank Gorgon Idiot. ⟭

He was also blissfully unaware of an armored adventurer still
gored on his horn.
Tycon gestured at his own head.
"Oh, thanks," Stephanos tilted his head, jostling the dangling

corpse... and wiped off the opposite, corpse-less horn.
Tycon glanced at the building the gorgon had emerged from. It

was one of the Church temples he hadn't gone through. It seemed
that Stephanos, though generally unreliable at everything, was
somewhat diligent in slaughtering humans.
"GOT 'EM!!" Stephanos guffawed, "Got all the Paladins! Left the
women and children, jus' like you said, Commander!!"
Tycon placed his palm on his face. He had ordered *all* of the
humans killed.
"...Very well," He sighed. "Good job, you."
There was no point in berating him... or alerting him to his head-

ornament a second time. At least praising him would keep his
spirits up.
"Good job?!" Stephanos allowed his hafted axe to rest against his
shoulder as he placed his hands on his torso's hips, "GREAT JOB,
I'D SAY!! AHAHA HAAA!!! So what say you and me, Commander,
we get on to that HONORABLE DUEL!!"
Tycon pointed skyward, "After we deal with that."
"Aha! Hahaha!" Stephanos laughed. "HAHAHA!! HAHA!"
He looked up, "Ha... haa..."
He stopped laughing... "Hmm..."

Chapter 604 Dreaming Of
Home
" HMMMM," Stephanos crossed his heavy metal arms, "Those

don't look like birds. They don't look like birds, AT ALL!!"
Tycon took a deep breath. Then he took another. Still, the urge to
pick up fallen debris and smash it against the Idiot's horned head
abated only slightly.
"Correct," He grumbled.
He feared that, in trying to say more, he would act in a manner

atypical of a gentleman.
"Say... Brother-Tycon," The gorgon mumbled.
"What is it, Brother-Stephanos?" Responded the snake.
"I don't feel like fighting anymore."
"Granted."
Tycon began walking back to his Centurion, "Come, Brother-

Zenon. The three of us must away, lest the forces of heaven
decide to grace us with their presence."
"Tycon!" Stephanos shouted, "What... the HELLS is that?!"
Tycon felt his eye twitch again. Yes, some angels were nothing but
magical elements and a wide assortment of body parts from a
larger assortment of mundane creatures, but Stephanos had
surely seen...
Oh.
Looking up, Tycon saw the skybound angels falling to the ground,
one by one.
"Zenon..."
The human had taken off his helmet and was also looking up,
"Yeah, Optio?"
"You neglected to mention you got in contact with Mister Kanbrai."
Kanbrai was an adventuring Tyrion house cat... an orange tabby,

in particular. He was also one of Tycon's strongest trump cards...
another transmigrator similar to Tanamar and himself... who
seemed to be far stronger than either of them.
Zenon nodded... "Y-yeah... I did. But I didn't report it because I

wasn't sure if he was going to show up."
"Well," Tycon smirked. "It looks like he's more than paid me back
for that favor."
"That... that cat," Stephanos muttered with a shaky voice.
"Yep," Zenon answered. "He does."
"It... it has wings, doesn't it?" The bull-centaur bellowed, "Seven

hells, it's... some sort of freak!"
Tycon narrowed his eyes and glared towards the gorgon,

"Stephanos, you do realize you're a bull-human-centaur-fish-
scorpion?"
"Fish?" Zenon asked.
"Well, YEAH!" Stephanos crossed his arms. "But the difference is

that I'm REAL... not a mythical Gaelicat!!"
Tycon shook his head, electing not to argue.
Kanbrai's presence had lifted much of the pressure on the Letalis

main body as they escaped. Still, the city was ruined. The
operation was an overall success. Tycon would ask Zenon to
order a full withdrawal.
...
Tycon shot awake, sitting up in his bed and rubbing his eyes.
He was in the middle of something... in whatever dream he was

having. It seemed important.
He tossed off his silk covers and stood up, stretching. He wasn't
wearing any clothes, as he was in the safety of his own home--
not out adventuring in the field.
It was the most comfortable way to sleep, considering the

generally warm weather.
...Tycon furrowed his brows.
Something was wrong.
He sharpened his senses and looked about his room.
Near the door was his bookcase full of military doctrine, most of
them in the Tyrion language. On the walls were tattered banners
and knickknacks he had taken from defeated warbands. In the
corner of his room was a neglected string instrument that he never
cared to learn.
Nothing *seemed* amiss. Everything was as he remembered it.

Everything was... normal... and painfully so.
He walked to the open balcony and looked upon his mother's

territory... Charm. The pebble beaches were as he remembered.
The scent of the salty sea air filled him with nostalgia. The familiar
buildings below were all built with light-colored stones, roofed with
red tiles... reminiscent of how his people lived hundreds of years
ago, in the Holy Country.
He was home.
That was wrong.

It was a place he had only been in his memories...
« System, inquiry: Where the hells am I? »
⟬ System response: The host is in a Reality Marble, a recreation of

the capital city of Charm. ⟭
« ...Thank you. »
⟬ You're welcome. ⟭
Seven hells.
Another Reality Marble.
It seemed everywhere Tycon had gone had a new mage capable

of creating one. Maybe that was a common occurrence in this
Realm? From what he knew, it should not have been.
« System, I'd like to leave this place. »
⟬ Exiting... Access denied. ⟭
Tycon sighed and shook his head. Of course, it wouldn't be that

easy.
« System, change settings: ...Recreate my spatial ring and its

contents. »
⟬ System response: Settings are locked and require administrator

access. ⟭
That... would not do. That would not do, at all.
« ...System, brute-force whatever user-input sequence is

necessary to get me access. »
⟬ Activating brute-force protocol in the background... ⟭
Anxiety filled Tycon's cold, reptilian heart. He needed his

equipment... his swords, his Arcanite armor, his speed-increasing
boots, his crossbow and poisoned bolts...
« System, prioritize the protocol. »
⟬ Understood. Diverting mana towards process. ⟭
With the abrupt change, Tycon found it more difficult to breathe.

He spent a moment catching his breath, readjusting to so much of
his passive mana being redirected.
He felt vibrations at the door... someone was about to enter. He

quickly righted his posture, crossed his arms, and wore a scowl to
mask the dull pain in his head.
A maidservant with a light-brown ponytail entered his room, light

blue scales on her neck and the outside of her arms. Upon
meeting Tycon's gaze, her jaw dropped and she nearly released
her weapon of choice-- a wooden broom.
If she were human, he would have judged her to be just-over

twenty years of age.
She was not.
"P-p-prince Tycondrius!" The woman placed her hand below her

neck as she sighed in relief... then she furrowed her brows and
glared, "So you've returned."
The woman was familiar to him... her scent, her stern voice, and
her judgmental eyes.
Still... she was different than in Tycon's memories.
Her dress was covered with fine embroidery, the material not at all
durable, as would be expected of a servant. Though medusae age
gracefully, she wore scentless makeup to hide her imperfections.
Further, she wore painted nails and golden jewelry on her neck,
ears, and wrists.
Tycon was in his home territory... in his mother's estate, that was
certain.
However, If his hypothesis was correct... he was not in a
recreation of the past... but a recreation of the present.
He felt a chill run down the length of his spine.
If this woman was here... who else was in the palace?
",
Chapter 605 Atusa (Part One)
ome years prior, Tycondrius had transmigrated to his current

S
Realm without memories of his personal history. Using the Oracle
powers of his adopted daughter, Sasarame, he was able to review
many of his forgotten life events... if as an outside observer.
The woman's name was Atusa... and in theory, she had known
him for several decades.
Initially, she acted as his surrogate mother. At the time, Queen

Rylania was embroiled in the politics of the Free Nation,
establishing dominance amongst the other warbands, and
collaborating secretly with agents of the Holy Country.
As Tycon aged, Atusa's role changed to that of his primary

instructor, specializing in finer subjects such as etiquette and
history.
Each passing year, either her discontent with him grew or he

gained more cognizance as to her true nature.
Atusa was a cruel woman.
Though she had no martial training, she used open-palm slaps to

punish him as a child. Soon after, she graduated to closed fists.
When Tycon's body and bloodline grew stronger, so too did his
ability to endure injury before requiring healing magic.
Atusa beat him with switches until his skin split open. She'd stab
him with knives, deep enough to cause pain, but not inflict lasting
muscle damage. She even burnt him with an iron rod she kept
heated in a brazier.
Other-Tycon was terrified of her.

He was also physically attracted to her, accepting her excessive
abuse as... deserved.
Atusa was a shite teacher... for even with her great efforts, the
Other-Him was unacceptably weak at the subjects she taught.
The current Tycon had no such weaknesses... nor was he the

same submissive weakling of suns long past.
The previous-him carried with him vindictive fantasies of forcing

himself upon her. With his current level of strength, it would be
effortless.
...It was tempting, as the mature woman's modest curvature well-

suited his personal tastes in a sexual partner.
No...
He would not hold Atusa's past sins against her.
She was his subordinate.
He would treat her with respect... unless she chose to act

unreasonably.
Tycon inclined his head lightly, "Good morning, Atusa."
The woman's face twisted in disgust, her light-brown bangs

writhing menacingly to match, "Nudity is unbecoming for a man of
your station."
Not two minutes into the conversation and Atusa had deliberately
and unreservedly insulted him.
Tycon scoffed at the thought. If she was to complain about

impropriety, then her failure to knock certainly trumped the fact
that he was undressed in his private quarters.
"I'm not trying to bed you, Atusa," He rolled his eyes. "Calm
yourself, shut the door, and assist me in getting dressed, if you
would."
There wasn't an obvious wardrobe or storage chest in his room. It
was an annoyance, but Tycon would need at least that much help.
The servant slammed the door behind her, but made no move
towards him, "You can't be serious, Tycondrius. I haven't dressed
you since you were--"
Tycon inhaled sharply through his nostrils, "*That*... is part of your

duties, is it not?"
From her tone, her mien, and the way she had not even once
referred to him by his title as Prince, his patience was quickly
wearing thin.
"Well, yes," Atusa frowned, placing her hands on her hips, "but I
don't see why--"
"⌈Atusa,⌋" Tycon whispered.
The servant's eyes widened and her hair grew still. Slowly... she
moved her hands to her throat, grasping, clawing... trying to
release the pressure that Tycon had magically applied around her
throat.
A glowing sigil shone on Atusa's left breast through the fabric of

her clothes. The Slave Brand ensured her loyalty to Tycon and his
kin.
A certain faction of Ice Snakes was defeated by Queen Rylania

near a century prior. Instead of putting them to the slaughter, their
royal family was taken hostage... Princess Atusa, included.
The younger Tycon knew of her lineage but did not realize her
position. Underneath a veneer of arrogance, typical of a
noblewoman... Atusa was nothing more than a well-dressed slave.
Tycon waved his hand, dispelling the magical stranglehold.
The woman bent over, gasping for air, tears brimming from her
eyes... "H... how... dare you..."
Atusa had undimmed her vision. If Tycon were human, he'd have
been frozen into a block of ice. Regardless of his immunity to her
petrifying gaze, it was unpleasant to receive so much disrespect in
his own home.
Tycon's request was in no way inappropriate. It was certainly not

the first time Atusa had seen him naked.
By Queen Rylania's decree, his servant had one more title: his
royal concubine. Atusa was Other-Tycon's first sexual experience,
and he was hers. From what Tycon had seen in his memories, it
was awkward and forced, at best.
For decades, Other-Tycon allowed Atusa to physically and

mentally abuse him, never once speaking up for himself. In
exchange, all he received was subpar intercourse at irregular
intervals.
Tycon exhaled in frustration. He could not know what his logic was
at that time. Ultimately, he was glad he knew better.
He glared down at the teary-eyed woman, crawling on her hands

and knees... "Perform your duty... as requested."
"...I hear you," She growled.
Tycon shook his head. It was the correct answer... but delivered
incorrectly.
"I changed my mind," He expended a sliver of his mana to draw a

few sigils in the air.
The indignation drained out of Atusa's expression, replaced with

surprise and confusion, "Is that... a spell formation?"
Tycon didn't have a large functional mana pool, with so much of it

going to his System. However, he had the advantage of Atusa's
Slave Brand as his magical focus.
He would impose his will upon Atusa, using her own life-essence
to make it so.
Upon completing the small spell circle, the woman dropped hard
to her blue-scaled knees on a too-thin rug.
"T... Ty... con..." She gasped, short of breath, "What..."
Tycon began to walk around his room, searching for a container

that would feasibly hold clothing. He passed by an expensive, full-
length mirror, and upon inspecting himself, deemed he was his
well-muscled Gold-Rank self... not a recreation of the heavily-
pierced past-him.
In the mirror's reflection, Atusa was dragging herself towards him,

heaving furiously and drooling at the corners of her mouth.
He continued his search for clothes, speaking his thoughts aloud

for his maidservant's benefit, "Atusa, do you know what having
your nails ripped out feels like?"
Chapter 606 Atusa (Part Two)
**Content Warning: Explicit Depictions of Torture.**
With a casual drop of Tycondrius' hand, Atusa's right wrist

thunked onto the floor.
Torture tended to be useless for most things. Positive

reinforcement was nigh always a more efficient and effective
teaching strategy.
It did, however, instill fear. Establishing a reason to fear him would

afford him basic respect... at least in the short-term.
"T... ycon..." Atusa managed to groan... "What... the hells..."
She had yet to fully grasp her situation.
Out of the goodness of his heart, Tycon elected to remind her.
He flicked his wrist, "⌈Rip and Tear.⌋"
Atusa's entire body tensed up, her eyes widened as she felt an
unfamiliar pain in her hand.
Tycon squeezed two of his fingers together, just as the woman

experienced the crescendo of pain. She moaned in agony, the
noise largely muted. As best as she could, she curled her body
around her immobilized arm... weeping silently, applying pressure
to the hand suffering the invisible pain.
Through Atusa's Slave Brand, Tycon could instill basic emotions--

something useful for dealing with slaves despite a language
barrier.
With his knowledge in magical formations, he could also instill a
very realistic sense of pain.
He did not know why, exactly, he was familiar with that particular
feeling. However, he decided it as an appropriate way to punish a
sheltered princess without injuring her physically.
Atusa had painted her nails with intricate designs only recently...
and Tycon was a benevolent master.
Finally, Tycon found a flat storage container underneath his bed.

From within, he recovered a set of clothing: undergarments, clean
trousers, and a simple, long-sleeved linen shirt.
He tossed them onto the ground in front of Atusa.
She stared at the pile in disbelief, biting at her lip...
"You... you're serious... you really expect me... to dress you?"
Tycon took in a deep breath. The pain had made her stupid.
"⌈Yes.⌋"
A thought and a word of power caused Atusa's body to freeze.

She groaned-- almost erotically, as she struggled against the
magic... but in the end, her opposite hand slammed onto the floor
at his feet.
Tycon shut his eyes... recalling an intimate pain locked in his

memories. He envisioned the cold, metal tool, crafted purposefully
to tightly secure onto a humanoid's fingernail. He remembered the
inevitable pressure... wrenching upward... steady... unhurried.
"No! Stop! Prince! I beg of you!!" Atusa pleaded, her face pale.
Tycon opened one eye and pursed his lips, "Your Prince does not
like to repeat himself, Atusa."
As the spell finished, he pressed his two fingers together, once

more. No one outside of his room would hear her scream.
The pulling. The tugging. The tearing of flesh.
And finally... the nail was released...
One of the difficulties of a professional torturer was to ensure their

clients did not grow accustomed to the pain. A novice might rely
on uncertainty... ensuring the torture recipient a period of time
between sessions and keeping the appointment times sporadic
and unpredictable.
Tycon preferred being creative.
Within seconds, Atusa felt a resurgence of pain... the feeling of

natural acid poured onto her illusory wound.
She rolled and writhed around in pain as she sobbed, her hair
disheveled, her body drenched in sweat, her jaw clenched shut by
magic.
Would only that be enough to make her obedient?
Tycon gestured again at the clothes on the floor, then at his naked
body.
Still a quivering, crying mess, Atusa got to her feet and began to
dress him.
He tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. Thin lines of dark eyeliner
streamed down her face.
"I understand you don't have to be pleased with your situation,

Princess Atusa... but I expect a certain level of professionalism."
"...I hear you."
Tycon frowned, " 'I hear you, Prince.' "
He kept his tone even. He did not raise his voice. He merely
stated his expectations, "Say it."
"I... I hear you... Prince..."

...
Tycon spent the next two bells conditioning his slave before
inquiring about the situation in Charm.
From the interrogation, he grew confident in his earlier theory. He

and Atusa were not in the past... but a mirror of the present.
It had been years since Tycon had departed from his mother's
territory.
The crusade against the lycanthropic plague had been largely

successful. Warprince Dragan had been warring with the Ogre
Faction for the past several moons. His sister, War Princess Cass,
had recently returned victorious from a long campaign, gaining
control of two different warbands, one controlled by a rogue
demonic gargoyle, and another by a human wizard.
Tycon was hundreds of malms away from his actual location,

trapped in a Reality Marble against his wishes... However, he was
pleased to at least gain something of value.
« System, inquiry: Status of the brute-force protocol. »
⟬ System response: 79.4 quadrillion sequences checked... ⟭
Tycon furrowed his brows. That... was a very large number. It was
troublesome that his System did not give him an estimated time of
completion... but that could not be helped.
"Atusa."
The woman perked up, her eyes practically glowing with

anticipation, "Anything you ask of me, Prince."
Tycon twisted his lips. He was experienced in working with slaves

and Slave Brands... but he hadn't used one in years. It was to be
expected that his utilization of Atusa's would be... imperfect.
During her conditioning, the pain would only subside when she
acted with respect and dignity.
Further... he supplemented those actions with positive
reinforcement... magically transferred emotions.
Comfort. Certainty. The pride of having loyal companions.
The warmth of a sentient being that gives freely without

expectation.
She was unable to resist. She didn't even try.
While it was certain that the Slave Brand catalyzed Atusa's drastic
shift in personality, it took mere bells for what should have taken
moons of brainwashing to achieve.
Atusa's domineering arrogance had all but left her, going as far as
removing her expensive earrings, necklace, and bangles of her
own 'free' will. She offered to disrobe, as well, but Tycon heartily
refused.
In a way... she had become broken. The way she begged while on
her knees, offering her body to be used like a toy, was all too
similar to a drug-addicted wastrel.
It was disheartening that a woman so close to him had such low

tolerance to simple, positive emotions, so often taken for granted.
When he completed his quest for Queen Rylania and returned to

Charm in the real world, he would advocate for Atusa's amicable
release.
Chapter 607 War Princess
Ultimately, Tycondrius' conditioning of Atusa had been successful.
The information she'd provided about the going-ons in the Free

Nation had been most useful. Thus, his inquiries segued towards
his personal curiosities.
He gently brushed his loyal servant's cheek, "Atusa, where is my

sister?"
The fair-haired woman closed her eyes and shivered at his touch,
but placed her hand over his. Circulating her mana, she mouthed
several inaudible words...
Tycon tilted his head... "Atusa?"
"My liege," She opened her eyes, smiling warmly, "I sent the
Princess a ⌈Message⌋ spell informing her of your return."
Tycon felt his mouth twitch, "Is... is that so?"
"Prince?" She pouted her lips coquettishly, "Have I done

something wrong? I'll make it right, I swear to you! Please... p...
punish me."
"No, no," Tycon placed a palm on Atusa's face, pushing her to

arm's length, "That won't be necessary."
He could already feel faint bursts of mana, from the hallway...

ending with the door to his room exploding in a burst of wooden
shrapnel.
"WHERE IS HE?!" Cass yelled.

Tycon's blood-related sister, Cass, was a young, olive-skinned
woman with deep black hair. One errant green lock of it stood out,
the color identical to Tycon's own.
With the way her lively hair struggled to unstick to the perspiration
on her forehead, Atusa's summon had interrupted a training
session.
Cass was a War Princesss, recently returned from a victorious

war campaign. However, she gave off the air of a novice
swordswoman in her neat, dainty gambeson, and the sword on
her waist-- a few ilms too lengthy for her height.
"Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat, "I believe the words you meant
to say are: 'Welcome home, dear brother.'"
Cass whipped her head around to face him, nearly foaming at the
mouth, "YYYOOUUU!!!"
Just as quickly, her face turned a violent shade of red, "P-p-p-put

on some clothes! YOU!"
Tycon glanced down. He *was* wearing clothes. If Cass was

referring to anything of him being less than proper, it was his yet
unbuttoned sleeved shirt.
He tapped the cheek of the woman resting her head in his lap,
"Atusa."
She shot up immediately, "Yes, Prince!"
"KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF OF HIM, SSSSLUT!!!" Cass shouted.
The angry War Princess began marching towards them, her vision
undimmed, her hair raised, and her mana surging recklessly.
Atusa shrunk away, bowing her head, and nearly crawling on the
ground. With the difference in power between them, while she
wouldn't be petrified by Cass' ocular magic, she'd still grow ill if
she chose to meet her gaze.
Tycon furrowed his brows, "What... is this about? Are you a
spoiled Princess or a jealous lover?"
"Sh-shut up!" Cass barked. "You're an adult, Big Brother! Why is--
I don't... I-- love... No-- I... don't..."
Tycon stood up from his chair, turning towards the young lady with
open arms, "Did you want to be the one to attend me?"
The girl's reddened face paled to white in an instant, "I... I what--

no... I... You can-- you... I..."
It was... amusing.
"Calm down, Cass," Tycon buttoned his shirt, chuckling to himself,

"I'm pleased to see you. You look well."
As... vociferous as his sister was being, she seemed healthy and
in good spirits. He'd forgive her slight belligerence-- he did not
sense any actual malice in it.
"PERVERT!"
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "Pardon?"
A whimpering Atusa was hiding behind Tycon, "Forgive her,

Prince. Every sun, without fail, the Princess has been lamenting
your--"
"SH-SHUT UP, ATUSA!!" Cass yelled, her fists balled up at her

sides.
Tycon sighed, "Atusa, go watch the door. Thank you for your
assistance."
"I... I hear you, Prince," Atusa quickly hurried past the younger
and stronger medusa Princess, bowing several times as she went.
Cass watched her go... and she turned to face him with an
awkward expression, "Um... B-big Brother... I... I..."
Interrupting her, Tycon pulled his sister into a full embrace. Her
face burned hot against his chest, but she stayed surprisingly
silent, nuzzling him with her nose.
After a moment, she shoved him away-- using much less force
than he knew she was capable of. He didn't want to take
processing power away from his System to analyze Cass' rank,
but he estimated it to be Iron.
"Wh... what... what was that for?" She muttered, her eyes on the
floor.
Tycon held up the weapon belt he'd stolen from her, unsheathing
the sword from its scabbard, "This looks familiar."
"That! I can explain!!!" Cass shouted, "It's not what it looks like!!"
Tycon pursed his lips in thought as he rotated the blade,

comfortable in his hand... forged at a length that matched his
height-- not hers. He'd used the exact same weapon... and
somewhat recently.
Back then... it was a mana-creation of the Shadow Snake

Princess, Suka.
As it was being carried by Cass... he realized its significance.
It was his. The Other-Him had gifted it to his sister... and she held
great importance in it.
"How... amusing," He grinned.
"G-give it back!"
Cass lunged forward, but Tycon turned his body to keep it away.
She jumped again, oblivious to her balance. To prevent her from

falling, Tycon grabbed her wrist and pulled her so she'd land
uninjured on his bed.
"This," Tycon sheathed the blade, "is mine, young lady. I figured
you'd have it replaced, by now."
Cass hid her face behind a pillow, her eyes peeking over, "I did! I
did replace it... but that weapon broke. Your sword is just a back-
up!!"
"Is that so?" Tycon cooed as he buckled the weapon belt to his
waist.
"B-b-b-besides!" Cass growled, "You would've cried if I threw it

away! Crybaby!"
"Mhmm~," Tycon hummed, gesturing for her to continue.
"I w's... I was just saving it!! --t-t-t-to show you when you got
back!! See? It's in perfect condition! I had the slaves grind out the
scuffs and marks just last week!!"
"Right," Tycon chuckled.
He sat down on the bed beside her. She turned away with a
'hmph', but made no motion to move away.
Admittedly, he was afraid that his sister was possibly working

against him as an agent of her mother.
It seemed, however, that Cass had a different agenda... and her

plans did not include outward hostility towards him.
"Wh... what are we gonna do on the bed?" She murmured.
Tycon flicked her between the eyebrows, "We're going to

converse."
"Wah!" Cass covered her face.
Tycon reached over, snatching her ear and pulling her towards
him, "What kind of impure thoughts has my little sister been
having?"
"ME?! IMPURE?!?" Cass gasped indignantly, smacking Tycon's

hand away, "Stars and stones, YOU'RE the impure one, Big
Brother! You're the one who had his concubine lying on his lap
with your shirt unbuttoned after you danced around her
erotically!!"
She had run out of breath, illuminating what exactly had gone
through her mind.
...Though when she came in, he was the one seated-- not Atusa.
Would it not be more sensible if he was on the receiving end of an
'erotic dance'?
"I... see," Tycon had to concentrate to keep a straight face.
There was no value in insisting that she was mistaken.
It was his sister's right to be jealous of her handsome older

brother.
"...Where have you been, anyroad?" She asked, her eyes peeking
over his pillow.
"Where did you think I was?" Tycon smirked.
"You're *supposed* to be in the Holy Country! Cersei's Rest!"

Cass pouted, "Or... or... somewhere in Ezyria with your forces!"
"Oho, *my* forces?" Tycon chuckled quietly.
The girl was correct... but he was enjoying himself, playing coy.
She smacked Tycon with the pillow in hand, "You're so dumb, Big
Brother! Why would you name a guild Letalis Serpentia?! That's
obviously your doing! And of course we'd find out your movements
from Prince Landris' Arcanite crystal suppliers."
...Clever girl.
"So... dear sister," Tycon leaned his face closer to hers... "who
else is interested in me?"
"Well..." Cass scrunched up her face in thought... "There's a

wizard from the Sleeping Country."
"And you."
"Well, of course I'm interested in..."
Being so close, Tycon could feel Cass' heart rate rapidly spike.
Her face again changed color.
...Was she a snake or a chameleon?
"YOU! TRICKED! MEEEEEE!!!" Cass cried out.
In an attempt to flee from the conversation, she dove away, buried

her face in the pillows, and covered herself in his sheets.
Tycon sighed, "I didn't mean it in that way."
He could see how the girl might have misconstrued his intentions,
though.
In an attempt to comfort her, Tycon gently rubbed his sister's back

as she wept dramatically. It took well over a minute before she
was calm enough to speak.
"Big Brother..."
"Yes, (Beautiful Child?)" He whispered in Parseltongue.
She hit him with her pillow, "Stahhhp..."
Tycon laughed aloud, not bothering to hide his amusement, "Go

ahead, dear sister."
"Are you... back for good?" She asked.
Tycon shook his head, "Unfortunately, that is not the case."
Though he felt a twinge of pain, seeing Cass' crestfallen

expression, he continued.
"To put it bluntly, dear sister... you're not real."

Chapter 608 Snake God
"...Eh?" Cass tilted her head... "Wh... what?"
"When I looked outside earlier," Tycondrius gestured behind him,

"There were no people in the streets."
Cass immediately rolled out of bed onto her feet and dashed to
the balcony, "What the-- what's going on?! Where is everyone?!?"
It sounded like she was going to cry... again.
Tycon slowed his speech and softened his tone, hoping not to
agitate her.
"Don't be alarmed, dear sister... but you and Atusa... you may be
mana-constructs in a Reality Marble."
Cass turned, her face twisted in confusion, "B-but why?! Why

would someone trap you in a-- WAIT! WHY ME?!?"
"Because this," Tycon stood up and gestured to his surroundings,

"is my dream. I want my quest to be complete. I want to be done
with it all.
"No more trying to relive the glories of my past... with allies that
pale in comparison to the old members of Sol Invictus.
"No more doing favors for people who don't give a shite whether I
live or die... embroiling myself in shite situations-- and for what?
Because I foolishly cling to my dated ideals of honor and
chivalry...
"I suppose... I want the safety and security of being... here, the
closest concept of 'home' I can achieve in this life."
Tycon paused thoughtfully to poke at Cass' cheek, "with my
favorite sister."
"Oy," Cass glared. "There's something wrong with what you're

saying."
Tycon shrugged.
"I believe that whoever... or whatever wants to keep me here

hopes for the illusion to last... that rather than struggling with the
obligations in my actual life, I'd choose to live a peaceful, illusory
life with my cute sister."
"There's lots of things wrong with what you're saying, right now,
Big Brother," The blushing Princess mumbled.
"Can you reach anyone else via ⌈Message⌋?" Tycon asked.
Cass shut her eyes for several moments... then shook her head, "I
just tried Mom... No luck."
Tycon approved of his sister's logical processes. However, if the

creator of the Reality Marble couldn't recreate the citizens of
Charm, it was highly implausible that they'd recreate Queen
Rylania.
Still... it bothered him that there were so few people.
In the Halls of the Dead Serpent, Adamantine-Rank formations

held together a Reality Marble of thousands of Bronze-Ranks, as
well as dozens of Iron-Ranks.
In Cersei's Rest, the Gold-Rank Reality Marble he and Sasarame

created managed a single Gold-Rank Dovahkiin Warmage, as
well as varied forces of Bronze-Rank gladiators.
Thus far, Tycon had only encountered a single Iron-Rank Medusa

Princess... and he very much doubted he was trapped in an Iron-
Rank Reality Marble.
--Movement. Just outside the room, Atusa had fallen. He and his
sister immediately snapped their heads towards the door...
watching it gnarl and wither and rot.
A handsome green-haired gentleman in a white cloak kicked

down what was left of the rotten barrier.
"Tycon, Tycon, Tycon..." He shook his head... "my not so faithful

servant."
Ah. That was the mana-construct the rest of the formation was
powering.
Cass pointed accusingly... not at the bloodied man at the door, but
at him.
"WHY ARE THERE TWO OF YOU?!" She shrieked.
Tycon frowned, "Why are you asking me as if it's my fault?"
"I don't know HOW, but you're DEFINITELY at fault!" Cass

retorted.
That was an unfair judgment... but it wasn't entirely false.
Zehr was wearing Tycon's face, as well as his charming smirk. He

wore Tycon's usual cloak with the hood pulled back, save its color
was bleached white, as opposed to a functional dark.
The chainshirt underneath clinked as he walked forward and the

arming sword in his hand was wet with fresh blood. Atusa lay
dead in the hallway, her eyes rolled back and her dress from the
neck down newly colored crimson.
"Good morning, Zehr," Tycon nodded. "To what do I owe this

visit?"
"Don't start with me, Tycondrius," Zehr growled. "You completed

your quest in the Holy Country. You should have left when you
had the chance."
Cass shouted in frustration, stamping her foot on the ground, "Big
Brother?! Who in the seven hells is that?! And why does he have
the same name as the Snake God?!"
Tycon pursed his lips, slightly amused by his sister's overly

serious face.
"Because... he *is* the snake god."
"Cassiopeia, first daughter of Rylania," Zehr growled. "Kill this

traitor."
The willful girl stomped over to Tycon, grabbed his shirt collar, and
placed a glowing hand against his chest.
Tycon sharpened his gaze, hoping he looked more annoyed than

concerned. In his weakened state, he doubted his ability to pry
himself free of his sister's grasp. Worse still, Cass was channeling
a Second-Circle evocation spell at an intimate range.
He was in a potentially lethal situation.
Cass pointed a finger of her still-glowing hand towards Tycon's

cloaked doppelganger, "You pissed off the SNAKE GOD?!?!"
"Apparently," Tycon grimaced.
That much was obvious.
"END HIM!!" Zehr roared, "He is a TRAITOR to our people!"
Cass placed her hand against Tycon's chest once more, "Empty
NIGHT! Why?! What reason could you possibly have for betraying
us like this?!?"
Tycon shrugged, "The snake god is in league with the dragons."
Cass' eyes widened in shock, "Dragons?! Don't!! EXIST!!!"
She abruptly turned her hand back to Zehr, "⌈Rending Cyclone!!⌋"

A terrific burst of cutting winds forced the doppelganger to cross
his arms in front of him, barely able to stand his ground.
"Run, Big Brother!!" Cass shoved him away, towards the balcony.
Tycon smoothed out the wrinkles on his shirt and placed a hand
on his sword, "I don't feel like it."
Cass undimmed her vision, glaring hatefully, "I'm a mana-

construct, Brother. I can't ⌈Message⌋ Mom. I can't contact any of
my lieutenants. I can't remember what I had for breakfast or the
name of my best friend."
"It's Suka," Tycon offered. "Curly black hair. Red eyes?"
...Also, her favorite breakfast food was runny eggs, topped with
chives, and atop flatbread.
"GO!!" Cass shouted.
She waved her opposite hand, blasting Tycon with a chantless

gust of wind... and he promptly tripped over the balcony's metal
railing.
Sighing in his heart, he curled his body inward and allowed

himself to rotate as he fell. He landed on one of the flat-roofed
buildings, rolling with the momentum.
He felt somewhat guilty for leaving his sister to fight with an actual
god... but she insisted. Anyroad, he was relatively useless in his
current state.
...and he'd be useless for a while longer.
In his memories from ages past... he and his sister would evade
their guards and their lessons, relaxing all sun on the pebbled
beaches. They'd run the alleyways, stealing food and trinkets from
their citizens. They'd escape by climbing walls and running the
rooftops.
It seemed that his body was still familiar with the movements, and
he vaulted across the buildings of Charm with ease and alacrity.
He ran. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop. The fake sun

disappeared and the sky took on a shade of black and green.
He continued to run.
A massive white snake burst out from roofing in his path, battering
him with the red tiles. The exceedingly handsome creature lunged
at him, faster than a normal human could blink.
Tycon threw himself to the side, rolling and sliding downward...

then leaping to the next roof.
The snake sprung across the distance, landing a short distance

away... and dissipated into mana dust, leaving behind the
humanoid Zehr.
"I'm a god, Tycondriusss," Zehr hissed, drawing his arming sword.

"You can'ttt run from me."
Tycon took a deep breath as he drew his sister's sword. He'd

literally been running for the past several minutes.
A spatter of blood-stained Zehr's face and white cloak... probably

belonging to Cass. Even though all he'd done was kill a mere
mana-construct...
--seeing the result of violence on his dear sister made him want to
kill a god.
"You seem upset," Tycon teased, mentally weighing his possible

avenues of attack.
"SSSSEVEN HELLS, YES, I'm upset, you in-ssssufferable

mortal!!" Zehr screamed.
"I've murdered a few of your cultists before? That Saltspray
pirate... that Warlock in Silva..."
"TWO! You killed two! In Caeruleum, you engineered the death of

THOUSANDSSSS!!!"
Tycon scoffed as he began to circle clockwise, his weapon

pointed forward, "You threw your lot in with the dragons, you
worthless god."
Zehr stepped forward and swung his weapon wide-- an attack

easy enough to dodge.
Tycon counterattacked-- which Zehr deflected effortlessly. Tycon

tried to cut his opponent's sword-arm, but his doppelganger pulled
back and hopped away.
"Do you have any idea how impossible it is to maintain neutrality,

Tycondrius?" Zehr groaned. "I did what I had to do."
"Our people don't deal peaceably with dragons, Zehr," Tycon spat.
"It's in our gods-damned bloodline memories!"
"The dragons made this world," Zehr shrugged indifferently. "It is

inevitable they take it back."
He pursed his lips, gesturing with his hand... "I advise you...
operate on intelligent rationale over ancestral knowledge."
Tycon frowned. It was sound advice... but it implied that being

born a certain way made him stupid.
The concept annoyed him greatly.

Chapter 609 No More Running
ycondrius lunged forward with a thrust, then cut upwards as Zehr

T
dodged.
Zehr swayed sidewards, moving as if his spine were made of

gelatin, then reared his arm back for a horizontal strike.
Quickly stepping forward, Tycon blocked the incomplete swing.

With the advantage, he shoved the snake god back-- but he took
a solid kick to his thigh in the exchange.
Zehr sighed as he stretched and rotated his right shoulder, "Seven

hells, having a mortal body is shite... You'll have to take my word
on that, though."
"Granted..." Tycon groaned as he rubbed his leg, "What's

changed, Zehr? Why choose this generation to stand with the
dragon god?"
"The Dragon God bares his teeth, Tycondrius." Zehr clinked his
sword against his shoulder, "He spreads his wings, preparing to
take flight."
"If you think you're being cryptic," Tycon rolled his eyes, "it's
coming off as pretentious."
"Anyroad," Zehr shook his head, "My involvement ensures that my

people-- your people survive the coming conflict."
"And, most importantly, yourself," Tycon offered.
"And myself," Zehr smirked, flourishing his blade, "Now, let us

fight. The least I can do is grant you an honorable death."
"Which you've been forced to do, as your other servants are
shite."
"Granted," Zehr sighed... "You would do the same thing."
It sounded like the snake god could not be convinced to stand

down-- Tycon wouldn't, in the same situation.
It wasn't a fair fight. Zehr controlled the Reality Marble... and likely
had the culmination of several centuries of experience, drawn
from his worshippers. On top of that, Tycon was still diverting most
of his mana towards...
"So you say I can't run, snake god..." Tycon quietly sheathed his
sword.
"Oh? Giving up, Tycondrius?" Zehr chuckled. "I'm glad you've

realized that you can't--"
Tycon turned and ran.
"I don't believe in you!" He yelled aloud.
"YOU!! YOU COWARD!!!" Zehr shouted as he pounded tiles,

running after him.
"It's a perfectly viable strategy!"
"You're only prolonging the inevitable!!"
Tycon turned, running backward, "You would do the same thing!"
"That's not the point!!" Zehr yelled, "⌈Iron Dragon REND!!⌋"
It was disheartening for Tycon to hear one of his own Skills used
against him... but he expected as much.
He made a quick mental calculation as he glanced behind him at
the oncoming line of exploding roof tiles.
...Unlike his own usage of the Skill, it looked Zehr's might kill him.
He didn't have the mana to activate his ⌈Tumble⌋ skill, so he was

trying to be as careful as possible. Stopping briefly to crouch, he
flipped backward off the rooftop.
Rotating once in the air, Tycon caught himself on a balcony railing.

Looking down, instead of trash-covered roadstones, there was...
nothing to catch his fall. Everything in Charm that wasn't a building
had turned into an ominously deep pit.
Zehr had administrator access to the Reality Marble's creative

functions... and he had... deleted the ground.
"Seven hells," With an exasperated curse, Tycon kicked off from

his current balcony onto a different one, then barreled through the
adjacent door.
Inside, he found white walls-- painfully bare, no rugs or furniture...

and no light sources. What should have been a two-story home
was just an empty shell. It was likely that, with the exception of his
mother's estate, all the structures in the Reality Marble were the
same.
Sensing movement from above, he dove away. Zehr broke

through the ceiling, stabbing downward in a fantastic shower of
red-tile and cream-colored debris.
As fast as he could manage, Tycon drew his short sword, slashing

at Zehr's head.
"Too slow," His doppelganger deflected and countered-- far faster

than before.
Gritting his teeth, Tycon moved his left arm to block... and the
arming sword bit deep into his forearm.
It was a chance.
He cut his short sword at Zehr's undefended side, bashing into the
handsome gentleman's chain shirt. It cut... but not deep.
...Having his strength reduced to merely Iron-Rank meant he

couldn't ignore even mundane armor. While he was trained to do
so, anyroad, it was disheartening to see his opportunistic attack
mostly nullified.
While he was lamenting his situation, Zehr jabbed him in the face.
Tycon reeled back, his fingers squeezing the bridge of his

bloodied nose... "I suppose I deserved that."
"You did," The snake god grinned. "Seeking vengeance is one of

my tenets, you know."
Tycon wiped the blood away with his sleeve, "Petty revenge, too,
then?"
"Still counts," Zehr shrugged.
The walls began to vibrate... crumbling and dissipating. Tycon's

beautiful city of Charm and its hundreds of buildings and
thousands of inhabitants-- gone in an instant. Only the white
platform he stood upon remained, all else the black-green sky of
the void.
Empty night.
Tycon glanced at his left forearm. It was still bleeding... and

profusely.
"No more running, then?" He mused.
The injury stung and detracted from his overall combat power. He
wanted to heal himself with an ⌈Inspirational Surge⌋... but it was
still too soon. His System was still working tirelessly towards
attaining access to the Reality Marble.
"No more running, Ivory Prince," Zehr confirmed. "Just you... and
me. One on one. Final destination."
He held his blade up in a salute and in an instant, it was sheathed
with brilliant white piercing mana, "⌈Legionbreaker.⌋"
"You seem to enjoy using my Skills," Tycon rolled his eyes... but
rendered a return salute out of politeness.
"Though Rylania is stronger than you, your skillset suits me

more," Zehr relaxed his stance, the glowing sword still at his side,
"Believe it or not, you're the strongest male cultivator among my
faithful... and what better skill to end your life than this, your
strongest Skill."
Tycon smirked, having realized something. Unbeknownst to the

snake god, ⌈Legionbreaker⌋ was not his strongest Skill...
...He just needed to survive long enough to prove it otherwise.
"I don't suppose you'd allow me to--"
"⌈Shadowfang Strike,⌋" Zehr plunged his white glowing arming

sword into Tycon's chest.
Tycon dropped his sword, first slapping his palms onto Zehr's
blade, then gripping it tightly with his fingers. Fresh blood pumped
out of the injury on his left forearm.
But more than that... he. hated. being interrupted.
Thankfully, he had managed to twist his body, so the sword went

through his outer pectoral instead of his heart. It still hurt...
immensely... but he lived.
"Don't you have a healing Skill?" Zehr asked. "Do you have
enough mana to use it? Or did you waste it all in The Real?"
Tycon gave a grim smile despite the pain.
"Nevermind," Zehr grinned. "I don't need an answer."
With a surge of mana, Zehr pushed the weapon in deeper, the

friction making Tycon's fingers bleed.
His blood intermixed with that of Atusa's... and that of his sister.
Tycon grabbed onto Zehr's collar and smashed his forehead into
the god's nose, "Sod off, dragon f*cker."
Zehr staggered backward, releasing the grip on his sword--

leaving it lodged in Tycon's flesh.
Still-- the snake god was a shite combatant to relinquish his

weapon so easily in a life or death combat.
"Ah! Gods DAMN it!!" Zehr cursed, wiping the blood on his face
with his wrist... "MY MISTAKE! Well played, arse."
"Thank you," Tycon sighed.
He grimaced, looking at the sword stuck in him.
The injury was hot. It itched. Other parts of his body were growing
cold as his blood was redirected towards it. He had to force away
the instinct to pull it out... but without using a healing Skill, he
feared he'd go into shock from the blood loss.
Zehr raised his arms... and a familiar greataxe coalesced into his
hands.
There was no fanfare... no flashy Mana-Creation Spell. He merely

summoned the Spinal Reaper into being.
"I probably should have used this from the beginning... the
weapon of my greatest champion, Sandstone Reaver Pontius."
Zehr pursed his lips, "He was far more likable than you are, by the
way."
"That thing's been destroyed," Tycon frowned. "Athanasius broke

it."
"I am the master of this place, Tycondrius," Zehr laughed. "Here...

reality can be whatever I want."
⟬ Brute-force protocol complete. Granting access to host... Access

granted. ⟭
It seemed that Zehr's previous statement was no longer true.
Tycon took in a deep breath as he felt his self-imposed mana

limiter release... the cool resurgence of life force renewing his
spirits and making the pain slightly more manageable.
« System, change access code. Randomize an extended hash...

20 characters should do. »
⟬ ...Setting change complete. ⟭
Trying not to show his glee, Tycon settled for a light smirk as he
removed the sword in his chest and tossed it to the ground.
"Oh?" Zehr grinned, "Is that not the best you can do?"
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "It is not."
« Please and thank you. »
⟬ Activating... You're welcome. ⟭
Tycon's injuries grew scalding hot... the outer skin closing as the
wounds knitted closed.
Zehr tilted his chin forward, his greataxe resting on his shoulder,
"Go on, then. As I am a benevolent god, I shall allow you to use
both your current sword and my previous one."
"Kind of you," Tycon grinned. "I think we'll take you up on your
offer."
",
Chapter 610 Goodbye
Zehr gestured towards himself... quite rudely, at that.
"Let us continue, then."
"I have a proposal," Tycondrius smirked arrogantly, "Shall we use

our strongest attacks?"
"It pains me... but if you are *so* eager to die," Zehr mused, "Then
I can only acquiesce."
He casually lifted the Spinal Reaper over his head, "⌈Colossal

Strike.⌋"
The Skill made the oversized greataxe glow with a dizzying

amount of sparkling light. The ground began to tremble. White
sands whirled about him.
It *looked* quite strong.
...Tycon wasn't impressed. He could do better.
Step one:
« System, summon: Spatial ring. »
The sturdy iron band materialized around his finger. He had been
so uncomfortable with its absence.
Step two:
With a casual flick of his wrist, he summoned his curved sword in

hand.
And... step three:

"⌈Taste the Hydra Blade,⌋" With the draw, he released nine, giant
mana-created snakes, snapping forth with violent fervor.
It took most of his remaining mana reserves... but he still had

enough mana to use his lower tier Skills without suffering the
effects of mana exhaustion.
Zehr furrowed his eyebrows, "Hm. You used that Skill... at the
Halls..."
The god interrupted his Skill channeling, smashing his axe into the
first of the ethereal snakes...
"⌈Tumble,⌋" He hopped, ducked, and dodged away. He grabbed

one of the surging snakes and crushed it into mana dust--
repeating the grab-and-crush with a second.
"Full marks for attack strength," Zehr sneered. "But really, I'm the
Snake God, using snakes on me is--"
Tycon snapped his fingers, summoning his ⌈Venomous Shadow⌋

behind Zehr. It wielded two swords in its vaguely defined hands.
One was Tycon's. The other should have been a very familiar god-
enchanted arming sword.
Zehr spun on his heel, battering the first attack with a displeased
face. The second slash, he took to the chest, successfully drawing
blood. Finally, the remaining snakes bit into his form-- though they
dissipated after a single bite.
"GODSSSS DAMN ITTTT!!!" He hissed.
The man was absolutely livid.
The furious god swung his Spinal Reaper downward, cleaving the
shadow into two.
As it dissipated, the shadow managed to form two, identical

obscene gestures with its hands.
It was somewhat unprofessional, but it was the perfect distraction
Tycon needed to move into Zehr's blind spot, "⌈Shadowfang.⌋"
Tycon raked his curved sword down the snake god's back, cutting
his cloak and chain armor open-- blood spraying out like a
fountain.
Zehr staggered away like a drunkard, then turned while gnashing

his teeth, "Oh, you think this is the best I can--"
"--⌈Legionbreaker,⌋" Tycon stabbed him through the stomach.
The snake god undimmed his vision, glaring in hatred.
...It was as if he'd forgotten about that Skill.
Fatigued as he was, Tycon took great joy in swinging his

adamantine scabbard at Zehr's jaw, dislodging at least two perfect
teeth and sending them flying.
Damaging his doppelganger's dashing appearance made him feel

a slight pang of guilt... but he would not compromise efficiency for
mere aesthetics. He was a professional, after all.
"YOUUU!!!" Zehr managed a double-handed swing as a quick

counter-attack.
Tycon slammed the base of his hilt against the huge greataxe
blade, rejecting the attack in its entirety. Then, he chopped his
scabbard into Zehr's neck because breathing properly was not a
luxury that fellow deserved.
As Tycon's shadow had so politely opened Zehr's chest armor, he

drew his own sword along the same line.
It was a satisfyingly deep cut, a lethal injury to any mortal body.
The god fell to his knees.
But... despite the copious amount of blood spilled onto the white-
stone floor... he did not yet die.
Tycon stabbed Zehr through the chest, eliciting a pained hiss, but
no other dramatic movements.
It seemed that the severe injuries had weakened him

tremendously.
That would do.
He leapt forward, pinned the injured god to the ground, and began
to savagely smash his scabbard against the god's sword elbow.
The miserable god tried to desperately block with the haft of his
greataxe... and his armor was still quite strong. It was likely that
Zehr had used his powers over the Reality Marble to empower his
item enchantments.
As it would have been a pain to have his System reverse-engineer

and remove those enchantments, Tycon elected to prioritize brute
force over accurate attacks.
It didn't matter how enchanted the Spinal Reaper or his chain

armor were. According to basic physics, as long as he kept
beating Zehr with heavy attacks, his mana-created body would
continue to take damage.
"E... ENOUGHHH!!!!"
Zehr's mana-empowered yell launched Tycon away. He hit the

ground with his back, but activated ⌈Tumble⌋ to roll to safety...
Because he was an intelligent fighter, he also kept hold of both his

curved blade and his heavy scabbard.
Zehr stood up, his axe arm hanging awkwardly from the elbow
down, "Where... in the SEVEN HELLS did you learn CURVED
BLADE TECHNIQUES?!"
"From a friend," Tycon shrugged, "You wouldn't know him, though.

Don't think he believes in you."
"Whatever," Zehr spat. "This ends now."

Another tooth. Tycon grimaced as he apologized in his heart for
despoiling such a beautiful gentleman.
The god lifted his Spinal Reaper up towards the nightmarish sky,
"⌈Divine Armor Summon: OATHBREAKER!!!⌋"
Tycon looked up in amusement as Zehr was encased in white

swirling sands... quickly hardening and turning red. In seconds, a
twenty-fulm tall suit of armor stood over him.
It was the Oathbreaker... the original Divine Armor... and the

weapon wielded by the strongest Snake Cult Champion in modern
history.
The Spinal Reaper transformed with it, large enough to break

apart buildings with a gentle shove.
Bright brick red, like a children's toy. Trimmed with black, like burnt
coal. Overall annoying to behold, in all its glory. That was the
prototype for the Divine Armors used by the highest echelons of
the Church of the Eternal Flame.
The Oathbreaker held its axe over Tycon like an executioner, "
[Counter this.]"
"Very well," Tycon sheathed his sword and raised his open right
hand.
« System, add Divine Armor Starfury to the Reality Marble. »
Without a sound, an all-red suit of armor materialized behind The

Oathbreaker. Deep, blood-colored crimson metal. Easily thrice its
size. Without an injured pilot to inhibit its movements.
There were no shadows cast on the platform... but Zehr seemed

to notice something was off. Slowly... Divine Armor Oathbreaker
turned its head... and took a step backward to take the Star-Fury
in full view.
"[You... you took control of the Reality Marble while you were
running away, didn't you?]"
Tycon's face broke into a grin... and he answered by snapping his
fingers.
"[Tycondrius... you are, without a doubt, my worst... f*cking--]"
The Star-Fury grabbed onto the Oathbreaker's head. Though the

Oathbreaker attempted to peel off the larger armor's grip with its
single good arm, it was quickly slammed into the ground like a
petulant child.
Tycon's entire body shook from the impact...
« System... um... extend the current platform tenfold, if you would.

»
⟬ Extending platform... ⟭
Tycon snapped his fingers a few more times, watching Natalya

Crucis' Divine Armor stomp on the smaller, older set of armor.
Something was missing, though. Something important...
It irked him.
« System... go ahead and add Divine Armor Dawnbringer, as well.

»
A white and gold set of Divine Armor, only a few fulms shorter
than the Star-Fury appeared beside it.
"[Sister, please allow me to assist,]" It offered in a high-pitched

metallic voice.
"[Of course, Sister,]" The Star-Fury replied, its voice more mature,
but still echoey and artificial.
That's what it was... Tycon's heart filled with satisfaction. The real
Dawnbringer was wielded by High Oracle Troia. As she and
Natalya were as inseparable as real siblings, it was only proper
that the two Divine Armors acted in tandem.
"[I'm sorry, Eldest Brother!]" Dawnbringer cried as it began
blasting beam after beam of radiant energy on the downed armor,
a third of their sizes...
"[Don't apologize, Sister!]" Star-Fury roared, forming two long

swords of erratic fire mana in its hands, "[This is for FATHER!!!]"
...
Tycon changed the Reality Marble's location settings into the

warm, sandy beaches of his territory... There was no point being
miserable and cold when he had the ability to make reality
whatever he wanted.
A broken body lay on the beach... a sorry sight that should have
looked exactly like him. Unfortunately, that person's face was
severely burnt off and his form, twisted and broken by the Divine
Armors Star-Fury and Dawnbringer.
Tycon gently kicked the body in the side, "You still alive, snake
god?"
Zehr turned, coughing and spitting blood...
His arm shot up... as if he was inviting help.
Tycon pretended not to notice.
After a short while, the snake god finally managed to sit up.
"You can't kill me, Tycondrius," He laughed bitterly. "Despite your

feeble protests, you believe in the concept of me as a god... and
have accepted that I have power over you."
"That's a stupid rule," Tycon remarked.
"It is... Hah..." Zehr spat out another glob of dark blood before
falling back into the sand...
"You'd best leave, then... while you still can," He smirked. "I'll get
control of my Reality Marble back eventually... and you know that
this isn't the best I can do."
Chapter 611 Last Samurai
(Part One)
Tycondrius let out a sigh as he glared down at the broken god.
...Some of his more critical wounds were beginning to heal.
He was tempted to test the veracity of Zehr's claims... that the god
could not be killed by one of his 'followers'. Instinctively, however...
Tycon felt that it was true.
"I'm assuming... you're going to try to kill me as soon as you

recover?"
"I will... but when you least expect it," Zehr chuckled-- though his
voice grew hoarse and he let out a hacking cough...
"Or... or that's the idea, anyroad..." He muttered. "Might be

tomorrow. Might be half-a-century from now. Remain ever vigilant
for the enemies that lie wait, Tycondrius... as I hope all my faithful
do."
Tycon inhaled deeply through his nostrils... "You're an infuriating

god, you know that?"
"Ahaha... I'm just trying to do what's best... for our people."
"For yourself, first, of course."
"Of course... Of course, Ivory Prince..."
Tycon inclined his head... "Goodbye, then, snake god."
"Heh... hehe..." Zehr wore a wide grin, his teeth covered in blood,
"Don't you mean to say... 'Until next time'?"
Tycon grimaced...
« System, inquiry: What is the status of Garock Heartrender? »
⟬ System response: Garock is standing by and awaiting contact.

Establish connection? Y/N? ⟭
« Yes. »
⟬ Establishing connection...⟭
...
Tycon opened his eyes to find himself, once more, in the lush
swamps of the Free Nation. He was in an illusion inside of a
Reality Marble.
...A dream within a dream... the concept was jarring.
Standing in front of him was a tall, orc with grey-green skin, his
wide, tusked face set into a grave expression...
⟬ Garock Heartrender, Gold-Rank Orcish Samurai. ⟭
He was not in his usual attire of simple robes, but instead wore an
old, but well-maintained set of brigandine armor. His hair had
been washed... tied into a high ponytail... and he wore two curved
blades on his waist.
"Brother-Garock..." Tycon gulped.
"Brother-Tycon," The orc nodded.
"You know why I'm here, then?"
Garock loosed a long, thoughtful sigh... relaxing his shoulders and

rubbing the back of his head.
"Honestly, I was hoping you'd find me a few more students to

impart my techniques to..."
"I wanted similar," Tycon smiled weakly... "Circumstances have
dictated otherwise."
He flicked his wrist, summoning a bottle of distilled spirits. It was

expensive-- but the occasion called for better than the usual swill.
"Shall we?" He offered.
"Indeed," Garock nodded slowly. He retrieved something from one

of his side pouches-- two ceramic cups.
The orc offered them forward, "In my culture... usually the younger
pours."
"That's fair. I am asking a favor, after all," Tycon nodded.
He opened the bottle with great care and poured into both cups,
circulating his mana to ensure not a single drop spilled.
Garock lifted his full cup, grimacing.
Tycon raised his, to match.
"All warriors wish to die with honor," Garock drank deeply.
Tycon, too, drank his fill... "You're welcome, old orc."
The orc shattered his cup onto the ground...
"...You're a good man, Warrior Tycon... even despite your snake

tongue."
Tycon dropped his own empty cup, allowing it to crack into pieces
on its own... "I am not. Fulfilling your life wish just happens to
coincide with my best chance of survival."
The orc allowed himself a chuckle, shaking his head, "Take care
of that Zenon kid... and it'd be nice if you started a Sect to teach
my blade art."
"Not gonna do that," Tycon grinned.

Garock grinned... wide and wicked, "You probably will. My sword
techniques are superior to your White Raven school."
Tycon rolled his eyes... "I'll grant you that much."
Garock's Demon Blade techniques required several years of

training before it would be effective... but once mastered to a
moderate completion, it was superior to his other learned sword
arts at murdering swaths of lightly-armored enemies.
In that way, it was similar to that trash art, the Elven Blade
Dance... which needed decades of training before even being
usable.
« System, temporarily suspend activity. Allow Garock to take

control of all functions. »
⟬ Understood. Entering hibernation... ⟭
He reached his hand forward, "Garock... take care of my body."
"I will," Garock reached forward, clasping his meaty fist around
Tycon's wrist, "Death to the enemies of Sol Invictus."
...
The first thing that Garock noticed when he opened his eyes...
was how low to the ground he was.
The warm sun shone high upon the rocky sands and gentle
waves, as far as he could see. He clenched his pink-skinned
hand... tiny and weak.
It was no use complaining. Warrior Tycon had performed

miraculous feats of agility and strength, regardless of his
seemingly feeble body. There was no reason Garock should not
be able to do the same.
The body with the burnt face slowly got to its feet... eyeing him
warily. The waves washed over the greataxe stuck in the sands.
...That was careless of him. It was going to rust.

"You... who in the seven gods-damned hells are you?"
The snake god had noticed something was different. The corners
of Garock's tuskless lips curled upward as he reached for the
sword on his belt.
"Who or... what are you?" The snake god snarled as he heaved
his weapon up, "ANSWER ME!!"
Garock raised an eyebrow, "I am... Samurai."
He would not claim his own name. That... would live on in the
blade techniques that Warrior Tycon would bestow to future
generations. Currently... he was only a weapon... the finest
weapon produced by his clan.
He grabbed his sword... a comfortable curved blade. It wasn't

nearly as good as his old one, but the Warrior was more than
merely his steel.
"⌈As the Swallow Flies,⌋" He slashed twice, the first deflecting the
snake god's initial axe strike... the second opening a new gash on
their chest.
Undeterred by the critical injury, the snake god held a palm

forward-- to cast a Spell, most likely.
"⌈Gentle Water's Reflection,⌋" Garock dashed to the side, one

mana-reflection dashing opposite, while a second mana-reflection
remained and struck down with his blade.
"⌈Earth Spike!⌋" A pointed protrusion of hardened sand pierced

through the immobile clone, making it dissipate into bubbling
seawater.
The remaining reflection struck at the snake god's neck,

staggering him as the blade burst into water. Garock aimed... and
with a quick swipe of his real sword, severed four fingers off of the
snake god's left hand.
"T... tycon," The man coughed... "Stop this. You... you can't do
this. I... I am a god."
"Your pitiful cries for mercy are useless, godling," Garock smirked.
"He cannot hear you, now."
",
Chapter 612 Last Samurai
(Part Two)
amurai Garock Heartrender flourished his sword and sheathed

S
it...
His eyes glowed white... his muscles surged with power... and he
performed the practiced movements of his kata's final form.
His most powerful attack.
The pride of the last Samurai of the Screaming Silence.
"⌈Taste the Demon Blade.⌋"
He drew his katana.
The sword was more than tempered steel. It was powered by

most of his remaining soul-essence. Within it was the hopes and
dreams of his nigh forgotten clan. It was the plight of suffering
mortals lashing out at their uncaring gods.
It was his will... his greatest wish... to... be a hero.
One. last. time.
He cleaved down through the blade and haft of the snake god's
enchanted axe... cutting deep into their side...
The god's right wrist fell to the beach, and his intestines into the
clear waters, staining it red.
Garock kicked the dying god away with a vicious kick... as its body
began to metamorphosize.
The flesh twisted, the bones cracked and groaned... Within
moments a massive sand-scaled snake towered over him,
dwarfing even his orc form.
"I... cannotttttt... BE SSSSLAINNN!!!!" The gargantuan

monstrosity hissed.
Garock grimaced, looking down at his minuscule sword. He had

just used three of his most powerful Skills. There was precious
little mana left within Warrior Tycon's body... and his own soul
force was quickly waning.
If he could not defeat the snake god by then... Tycon would be left
to die.
⟬ System suspension: Complete. ⟭
Strange words of power echoed in Garock's mind...
He did not know their meaning... but a flood of mana surged

through his body.
His eyes widened in sudden fear. There was... so much of it. This
was Warrior Tycon's true strength.
A sliver of shame wormed its way into his heart. When they had
fought... hundreds if not thousands of times before... he had been
toying with him.
Yet... at the same time, he was overwhelmed by a sense of

pride... to be the teacher of such a humble student.
The coiling snake struck out, its fangs seeping gallons of milky
venom.
Garock grabbed its jaw with the tips of his fingers, rotating his
body to slam the snake head into the sands.
He stabbed his sword into its eye, pinning it down... and he tore a
white fang out of the beast's mouth.
With the everflowing power coursing through his meridians, he
didn't even need to use a Skill.
Garock reached forward, reaching his thin arms around the

snake's body, away from its three fanged maw. It didn't even reach
half of the way, but he was certain his grip was secure.
Activating the muscles in his legs... and still feeling the heavy
strain on his back, he lifted the snake... several dozen fulms long,
and cracked the length of its body like a whip.
The impossibly long creature tumbled over, the loud dulled sounds
of bone snapping emitting from within its scaled flesh... its spine
obliterated by Garock's feat of strength.
He unstuck the sword in the god's eye... and chuckled to himself.
The god had grown silent... and that silence was more beautiful
than any song he'd ever heard.
He stretched his back and flourished his sword, ready for the
admittedly mundane work of skinning a snake.
...
⟬ System online. ⟭
Tycon opened his eyes to find himself on a crimson beach,

slathered with gore and viscera.
The stench was incredible... and as accustomed to bloody

battlefields as he was, he had to focus, in order to not retch.
A loud, long whistle came from behind him... accompanied by

heavy, sinking footsteps in the sand.
In his heart... he knew there was no danger.
When he turned... and looked up, he wondered if his senses had

failed him.
"I like what you've done with the place."

A grinning orc was waving affably as he approached.
At first glance, Tycon hoped it was Garock... but that was

impossible. He could no longer sense the old Samurai's spirit. The
stubborn brute had finally passed on...
The orc nonchalantly plodding towards him was... bigger, his

height easily over nine fulms tall. He was more muscular, as well...
which was somewhat opposite of his attire. Through his long oily
hair, his eyes had a dull red glow of a caster Class, and he wore
leathery traveling robes, weathered and torn.
"Thank... you," Tycon smiled politely.
He still had control of the Reality Marble... but as he was

frantically trying not to die, he had neglected to reject any new
connections.
This meddling orc was probably another all-powerful being. Logic

dictated that Tycon escape immediately... but his curiosity bid him
to remain.
"Have... we met?"
The orc's eyes widened, "Tyrael! You don't recognize me?!"
Tycon's smile fell, "I..."
"I *have* been working out," The large fellow mused...
"No," Tycon twisted his lips, "It's not that..."
"Memory loss? Did the wizards get ya?" The orc offered.
Ah... That was always the easiest excuse.
Tycon nodded thoughtfully, "Something like that."
The orc nodded, his large, gnarled hands resting on his thick
torso, "Yep. That'll do it."
« System, inquiry: Who is this fine gentle-orc? »

⟬ System response: Orcus, Adamantine-Rank Orcish Abyssal
Necromancer. ⟭
Tycon coughed into a closed fist, "I do have... some memories.

You are... Orcus, are you not? Praise to thy name..."
"Ahaha!!" The orc laughed heartily, "Yeah!! No need to be formal--

we're about equal, anyroad. I do go by Hades now, though."
"Hades, then," Tycon furrowed his brows. "And the reason you're
here...?"
He stretched out his wide arms, gesturing at the surrounding

carnage, "I'm the god of death and the dead. Nice to meet'cha--
again, anyroad... and it looks like you just-about killed the snake
god."
"The job has yet to be done?" Tycon grimaced.
He had asked his friend, Samurai Garock, to burn the rest of his
waning soul force in order to do the impossible... That the sacrifice
was futile weighed heavily upon his conscience.
Hades pointed at a pulsating chunk of flesh, half-buried in the

sand, washed over by the saltwater, "Check it out, that's the snake
god's heart, right there. It's regenerating, too."
Tycon reached for his sword... "I suppose I'll... continue the fight."
The prospect daunted him. Did he have to do battle with the

snake god forever, locked in this Reality Marble? He wasn't even
certain he could last another bell, much less several years.
"Nah, I got it," Hades grinned.

Chapter 613 Apollonia (Part
One)
ades lifted his heavy forearm... then violently clenched his fist
H
shut, "⌈Quit it.⌋"
With two mundane words, what was left of the snake god's heart
turned black with rot... and a gaseous burst rent it into pieces.
Tycon pursed his lips...
He'd just witnessed the god of his people die.
It seemed... terribly mundane.
But then again... a literal god performed the deed. It shouldn't

have been as surprising as it was.
"I uh... thank you," Tycon smiled with chagrin.
"No problem, man. That's what friends are for, right?"
...Tycon tilted his head, "May I ask why you're grinning?"
"Ehehe... I took the god essence, too," Hades chuckled, "You can
call dibs on the next one."
"Nonetheless... I am in your debt," Tycon inclined his head in

respect, "Hades, god of death and the dead."
The towering orc shrugged, "Don't actually remember who owes

who, at this point in time. Don't worry about it, Tyrael."
Tycon reached his hand out, "I go by Tycondrius now-- it seems. I

ask that my friends call me Tycon."
Hades shook his hand, clasping at the wrist, the Tyrion way,
"Good to go! Tycon, it is! ...Wanna go get a beer?"
Taking a deep breath, Tycon shook his head, "I'm in the middle of
something, Brother-Hades. Forgive me."
"Whaaaat?!" Hades opened his arms, "Come on! Whatever it is

can wait! Haven't seen you in epochs, man!"
Tycon shrugged, "I need to ensure my forces escape the city of

Caeruleum... and then we need to reduce the number of survivors
to prevent word from spreading."
"Ah, yeah. I get it," The orc grinned toothily, "Big battle-- you're
pretty good at that."
Tycon raised his hand, prepared to order his System to shut down
the Reality Marble... but he hesitated.
"Was there something else, old friend?"
"Since you probably killed a lot of guys already... It'd probably be

pretty easy for me to take form in The Real."
"Can you avoid killing my current living companions?" Tycon

pursed his lips.
"Most of 'em. You want me to raise ghouls? Banshees? Ooh, I

know you like those superpowered Nemayan-style uber-zombies."
"I have fire slimes burning the city," Tycon offered.
"Flaming skeletons!!" The orc cackled. "This is gonna be good!!"
Tycon scoffed, "I would greatly appreciate your assistance,

Brother-Hades."
"Ehehehe..." The orc chuckled, wringing his hands in anticipation,

"And then we'll get smashed after, yeah?"
"I'd like that," Tycon nodded.

"Bring the horse."
...
⟬ Six suns later. ⟭
Caeruleum fell, as Tycon knew it would.
An entire city had fallen to swarths of monsters. The dead rose,

human and not, and their flesh burst into flames, leaving
blackened bone.
If that wasn't terrifying enough, they followed the command of a

handsome Tactician... and an orc as tall as a small building,
whose manic cackling could be heard for malms around.
With the number of troops in and allied to Letalis Serpentia,

rumors were certain to surface.
The Church made an official declaration concerning the city... that

it was subject to the order, Exterminatio. The city itself was
already dealt with. However, any Tyrion who dared to speak the
ingenuous truth about its fall would be lawfully imprisoned... or
also condemned to a torturous death.
Unbeknownst to Athena, certain members of Guild Letalis were

under order to permanently silence any persons who worked
against them. Tycon had asked them to only act if there existed
evidence beyond reasonable doubt... but as he had appointed
each agent personally, he kept faith in their judgments.
In other news... Tycon wrote a missive to be delivered to his sister,

Cass. He could not know for certain how much his actual sister
resembled the one he met in Zehr's Reality Marble... but he hoped
the gesture could be appreciated.
In the missive, he assured Cass that he was well... but it would

still be a while longer before his return to the Free Nation.
He had completed two of the three quests given to him by

Rylania, the Queen of Stone... with the third and final one being in
Vralkek, near his home territory of Charm.
However, Tycon needed to report to High Oracle Troia in Cersei's

Rest... and to return the Hero he 'borrowed,' as per a previous
agreement.
The Titanblood, Cillian, would deliver Tycon's missive-- and was

also granted a letter lauding his service, for when he returned to
Prince Dragan.
He seemed rather appreciative of it... as useless as it was to him.

It was likely that his War Prince would skim the message's
contents, discern it contained nothing of value, then immediately
discard it.
With Sorina's recommendation, Athena chose to rebuild the

Vanzano estate in a small, developing city named Apollonia... one
of many cities with the same name.
Her reason for fighting was to remain in Ezyria, the land where
she and her brother were raised. Once the battle was concluded...
she openly wept tears of joy.
Isidor's Mountain Faction were within a week's travel of that place,

should Athena ever require their assistance for materials,
mercenaries, and the occasional karaoke night.
It seemed the innocent young lady made many friends amongst

them.
She was good at that.
Both Bannok of Kasydon and his Elven wife, Ariadne, survived the
battle-- which was slightly surprising. They politely declined joining
Athena's guild... but agreed to settle in the Apollonian hills.
Tycon did not know what that meant... but it was beneficial to
Athena to have two friendly Gold-Ranks within a few bells' travel.
One of Letalis' most powerful allies, Kanbrai the cat, disappeared

amidst the chaos. He left a written message informing Tycon that
the debt has been paid.
Tycon was not insulted, as Kanbrai seemed to be a shy fellow. He

did, however, ponder overlong on how a cat without opposable
thumbs penned him a letter.
Zenon Skyreaper returned to the Church, also opting to work in

Apollonia. With so much experience gained and having amassed
so much power, Tycon was certain the Librarian would serve the
rest of his contract well... without his honor and integrity
questioned.
Else... the mountains would bleed.
Tanamar was counseled for insubordination. They went out for

training... and it was more than either of them bargained for.
The harder the youth pushed himself, so too was Tycon forced to
keep the pressure.
They sparred, they climbed vertical cliffs, they sprinted on the

rocky beaches... and even coordinated to defeat an Adamantine-
Rank sea giant. After a full sun, Tycon finally felt confident in
tacitly communicating what he needed to be understood.
Respect and trust.
Both ways.
Afterward, both Tycon and the Holy Lancer required bed rest for
exhaustion and moderate injuries.
Tycon decided that if he were ever to meet another person as

stubborn as Tanamar... he would just kill him to avoid the trouble.
Chapter 614 Apollonia (Part
Two)
ycondrius informed Holy Lancer Tanamar that Sol Invictus was

T
leaving Apollonia... without Athena's approval.
The young lady would be sure to guilt him into staying.
She was... very good at that.
They'd be missing the wedding ceremony... a city-wide

celebration. There would be nobles and merchants and
adventurers from throughout Ezyria... and many common folk
from Apollonia proper. All would seek favor with House Vanzano...
and some, even apply to serve under them.
They would lift their wine cups in praise to Tanamar... Athanasius

Mors. Though he was not of noble birth, none would question
Athena Vanzano's choice to wed a Gold-Rank Holy Lancer... and
the wielder of Divine Armor Apollonius.
Guild Letalis would be granted a much deserved warrior's banquet

and enough wine to forget the men and women lost and hardships
endured. Tycon advised that they keep away from the crowds, to
stifle the inebriated confessions of murderers.
Sergeant Salt, Corporal Raphael of Cannes, and Private Edge

were to loyally remain with Athena and Guild Letalis.
Boxtholomaeus was also officially transferred to fall under
Athena's command.
Maeva and Emilien Leserre would return to Nice in the Kingdom,

to continue running the East Charm Trading Company. Maeva
was more than capable... and as long as the profits continued to
swell, their loyalty would remain.
Tycon would travel via airship back to Cersei's Rest, accompanied
by...
Gold-Rank Spear Hero Pale,
Iron-Rank Corporal Horse,
Iron-Rank Ranger Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark;
Iron-Rank Calculator Sorina Capulet,
Gold-Rank Raging Flame Knight Seldin Korr,
Bronze-Rank Private First-Class Jeremy,
and the Iron-Rank Dark Iron Wolf, Tres Leches.
However... Tycon hoped for one other...
"It's been awhile, Miss Doe," Tycon smiled politely.
⟬ Medousa, Bronze-Rank Human Battle-Maid. ⟭
He had summoned the young woman to speak with him in a semi-

private setting. They stood upon a grassy knoll within city bounds,
the area dotted with trees blossoming pink flowers.
Doe swept a lock of her ash-blonde hair behind an ear as she

pouted coquettishly, "It has, Sir Tychon~"
She spun around gleefully in her frilly maid outfit, plopping down
with her back into the grass and flowers.
"I love this place... Apollonia. I can barely believe that over a year
ago, I was still working for that scumbag, Galanis..."
The young woman opened her arms, pointing towards him as if

inviting him to embrace her, "I have you to thank for that, Sir
Tychon... to be able to live a life I never thought possible."
Tycon took a deep breath, spying Doe's long white legs beneath
her skirt. He could not deny that he wanted her physically, even
despite her apprehension of the physical and mental scars she'd
endured over the years.
In different circumstances, he would have given in... perhaps

whisked her away to a more intimate setting to have his way with
her.
...It was why he chose to speak with her on the sun of his
scheduled departure.
He did not want to prolong the conversation.
"I'm leaving," Tycon declared. "Sol Invictus will be departing within

the bell."
"Sir Tychon?" Doe furrowed her eyebrows, "But... Miss Athena's

wedding?"
"Athanasius has been informed," Tycon shook his head... "Athena

will understand."
Eventually.
"But... I didn't expect... You... you're... you're really leaving?" Doe

asked, blinking her wide eyes.
Tycon gulped as his heart palpitated in nervousness... "Will you...

come with me?"
A shadow crept over Doe's gaze... "I... I'm contracted to serve

House Vanzano."
Tycon remained silent... staring... waiting.
"I..." Doe inclined her head, "I want to stay here."
"With your boyfriend, then?" Tycon raised an eyebrow.
"Y... yes," She averted her gaze... her earlier smile nowhere to be
found.
"...I see," Tycon sighed. It was as he expected.

"He's... a good man, Sir."
"Tss," Tycon scoffed. "I am aware. You realize I have a Calculator

under my payroll."
He had asked for Sorina to compile a list detailing the human in

question. According to the report, the man courting Doe was a
well-mannered gentleman of good ethics, an even temper, and no
unjustifiable faults...
...But it wasn't him.
"So you found out..." Doe nodded to herself in thought.
Tycon shut his eyes, brooding.
He wanted to hate that man.
He was stronger, wealthier, and far more handsome... than him...

or anyone in Letalis.
However, that other man did not routinely fight Adamantine-Rank

threats... nor did he have a quest that bade him travel the Realm.
That man could keep Doe as his priority. They could see each
other every sun, live in the peace and comfort of mundanity... and
start a family without worry of highborne politics and assassination
attempts.
He briefly thought of Natalya Crucis... If Tycon had chosen to start

a relationship with her, the problems that came with their positions
would be even worse.
"Sir Baron?"
Tycon opened his eyes to watch the Doe stand... approaching

while still refusing to meet his gaze. Her sweet, natural, pleasant
scent... annoyed him greatly.
Tilting his head down, Tycon kept his expression solemn, "Go
ahead, young lady."
"Did you... really like me? Romantically?" She whispered, "Wasn't
I just... a passing fancy?"
Tycon had never openly admitted to Doe that he saw her as a

potential, monogamous life-partner. In retrospect, he had taken
her for granted.
Though they were fond of each other... though their bodies were
mutually compatible, it had become obvious that Doe did not see
him as her future.
Tycon took a slow, deep breath... "I rescued you below the streets
of Silva because it was convenient. You owe me nothing."
Doe frowned, her eyes furrowed... frustrated... perhaps hurt...

"That's not what I was asking."
Tycon placed his thumb on her chin... and placed a soft kiss on
her forehead. It was all he would allow himself.
"Goodbye, Miss Doe."
Though she did not choose to be with him... he wished her to find
the life she labored for... a life she deserved.
But if that other man dared to hurt her... he had plenty of contacts
in Guild Letalis willing to commit violent, torturous murder to get
into his good graces.
",
Chapter 615 Lost Upon The
Shores
arquin Wroe wandered the banks of the winding, black-soiled

T
river. The rushing water washed over his bare feet... only making
him thirstier.
He couldn't remember the last time he had taken a drink... just

that he couldn't...
Just why-- he could not remember.
He stared at the river waters... and at his torn trousers. His cloak
and armor were in equally sordid states. He had worn his best
clothes... in order to meet with... someone.
No... He was sure he looked fine. He wielded the sword she gifted
him. He dressed up in his best, stiff-necked princely attire, just to
impress her.
He had done everything she asked for... and more.
She wouldn't mind his appearance. She wouldn't mind how late he
was. She loved him... and he loved her. Still, he was a Prince. It
wouldn't be proper to keep her waiting. She had waited long
enough...
Still... he'd lost his way, somehow. He was given the simplest of
directions... and even that, he'd managed to screw up.
Tarquin was starting to regret not telling Tycondrius about his trip.
The Ivory Prince was always good with directions. It was
supposed to take only a short while... but Tarquin felt like he'd
been lost for... years? Moons? Suns? Bells?
...Maybe a drink would jog his memory?
His eyes widened as he made out a silhouette of a person in the

distance! Someone! Anyone! He needed direction-- even the
smallest hint of it, to find whatever the hells it was he was
searching for.
He activated his ⌈Misty Step,⌋ traveling through the void to reach

him in an instant... a gentleman with blue, translucent skin and a
glazed look in his eyes.
"Excuse me, kind sir... my name is Prince Landris Wyndham...

and I'm searching for... ah... forgive me. I can't seem to recall
who."
The man looked to him... past him, focused on something in the

far distance.
Tarquin furrowed his brows in frustration. It was difficult to

verbalize who... or what, exactly, he sought.
"She's... beautiful, the most beautiful being ever to exist, I think...

She has many pale white hands... and the most loving embrace."
He reached down, dipping his hands into the river waters... and he
drew a long sword, made of pearl and moonlight, "See? This?
This is her gift to me... I am her loyal champion... her knight... her
Prince."
The man mumbled something inaudibly... but it was not the

answer that Tarquin wanted.
"Answer me!" He shouted... he begged, he pleaded... "I need to

know! Where is my goddess?!"
Without hesitation, Tarquin plunged his sword through the man's

abdomen, a white light filling his form. Tears in his eyes, he placed
both hands on the blade, tearing the hole in the clear man's flesh
even wider... spilling his luminescent blood into the river waters.
"I'm so close to her! I can FEEL IT!! She's HERE!! Tell me where
she is!!!"
He needed to find her! To rescue her! To take her away from this
place! To promise his heart to her, to tear it out of his mortal flesh
to prove it. To grant her his soul... rent out of his body with
forbidden magics. To be with her forever... and ever... to waste
away in her many-armed embrace.
To love and be loved.
He stared off into the cool, flowing river. Was he just speaking to
someone? He couldn't remember.
But he did know... that he was thirsty.
A simple drink from the river would grant him the strength to
continue his search.
...
⁆ Captain's Log, Date XXXX ⁅
⁆ Dying from thirst? Check. Starving? Check. Mildly

uncomfortable? F*ck yeah, I am. ⁅
⁆ Sand. There's gods-damned sand in my gods-damned mouth. ⁅
⁆ Stuck in the corner of my eyes, and every time I wipe it away,

there's more of the stuff. ⁅
⁆ ...Rubbing on my junk as I walk, barefoot, with nothing but a

pistol and a single round. ⁅
⁆ So there I was, on a deserted island... ⁅
"Sea god's socks, I hate my life," Krysaos cursed.
He shielded his eyes as he gazed at the clear blue waters of the

beach... without a ship in sight.
There were seagulls though. A lot of seagulls... the toothy kind,
too. Two of them were fighting over a dead fish.
He picked up a sharp shell and chucked it at the nearest one,

"F*ck you, flying water rat!!"
It smacked it in the head, forcing it to release its rotten meal back

onto the sand.
He dashed over and nabbed it, "Aha HA!! No one f*cks with the
Captain of the Sugar-Titted Siren!!!"
Krysaos bit into it... the slimy... bony thing... with only the barest
slivers of meat. He sucked its eyeball out, not giving a single shite
about how sick it was going to make him.
He had to survive... just as--
There was a person! The island wasn't so deserted after all!
He spat the fish eye out and ran towards him, waving his arms like
a madman.
"Hey! HEY! Don't shoot!" Krysaos yelled, "I've been stuck here
for... for moons!!"
It had only been half a sun, but he was trying to play the pity card.
The guy Krysaos had approached was a young, shirtless man

with green hair and sharp eyes. He looked like he might've had
non-human blood, his eyes being a weird gold hue... but Krysaos
wasn't a racist. Being a privateer for so long, he hated everyone
equally, regardless of skin or eye color.
The guy's trousers were clean and whole, if sopping wet. He even
wore a sword on his waist-- the hilt of it looked Tyrion, too. That
meant he probably had coin! ...Or at least was richer than
Krysaos, with his net worth of zero.
"Good... morning," The youth frowned, "And you are?"

His voice was deeper than Krysaos thought it would be. Maybe
the kid wasn't as young as he looked. That and the way that he
took a vigilant half-step backward meant that he was someone to
befriend, not to rob.
Chapter 616 Chosen One
rysaos grinned and pointed a thumb at himself, "Name's

K
Krysaos, Captain of the... of... the.... nevermind. Just call me
Krysaos!!"
The guy managed a polite smile as he offered forward a

waterskin, "My name is Tycon... As a greeting gift, would you like
some--"
Krysaos snatched the skin out of his hand, unstoppered it, and
drank greedily, "Mmmhh... Ohhhhh... Mmmm... YES! I haven't had
clean water to drink in entire SUNS, guy!"
Tycon furrowed his brows... "Right... and your companions

couldn't have helped you in your search for a drinking source?"
Krysaos felt his blood run as cold as the biting waves... "What...
companions?"
...
During Tycondrius' scouting of the area, he came across what

appeared to be a shipwreck survivor. The moderately tall human
had short, salt-encrusted hair and a strong jaw, covered in
developing stubble.
He said he was a Captain... presumably of a sailing vessel. With

the way the gentleman seemed to enjoy the sound of his own
voice, he more resembled a traveling salesman or con artist.
Judging by the fact that all he carried was a single pistol... a

mercy from his former crew, he was likely the latter.
« System, analyze: Captain Krysaos. »

⟬ Krysaos, Bronze-Rank Aquatic-Human Buccaneer. ⟭
A human with an elemental bloodline? It wasn't physically

obvious... and the ambient mana from the ocean waters did well
to mask his mana-signature. However, Krysaos did look like he
had been swimming for a period of time impossible for a regular
human to withstand.
Tycon wasn't familiar with Krysaos' Class... but it sounded

passably decent at martial combat...
It was especially fortuitous, considering the group of approaching

sentients did not appear to have the best of intentions in mind.
Eight merfolk had emerged from the waters, blue-green skinned

humanoids wielding an assortment of weapons. Most of them held
coral tridents... but one had a cutlass surprisingly free of rust.
They didn't seem to need them, as their aquatic bloodlines earned
them razor-sharp fins on their backs and arms. Their heads
resembled predatory fish, each with maws of jagged teeth.
It made Tycon almost wish he'd met them before Krysaos.
"They... they aren't with you, Ty?" The 'Captain' asked, grasping
for hope, no matter how small.
Tycon turned to glare at his new companion, "No, they are not.
And don't call me that."
"Hey, man," Krysaos made a show of his empty palms, "Just

askin'. No need to get all upset about it."
"I'm not upset," Tycon narrowed his eyes further.
Krysaos grinned wider, "You look upset."
"This is my face."
One of the merfolk, larger than his or her six-fulm tall peers,
hissed loudly while shielding its eyes from the sun...
It looked down with hatred and gargled a name:
"KRYSSSAOSSSSSSSSS!!!"
Tycon raised an eyebrow, taking care not to smirk, "Krysaos, are

these fine... people with you?"
"Looks like they're looking for me, Krysaos, Captain of the Sugar-
titted Siren," The man grinned, taking the jab in stride. "I'm
famous, y'know."
"Right..."
The corners of Krysaos' lips curving upward as he walked towards

them, "Hey, listen. I'll go and talk to 'em. It's the least I can do."
Admittedly, running away seemed to be the wiser decision. The

sun-blinded, web-footed creatures were probably not very fast on
land.
The human turned towards the merfolk and raised his voice, "Oh,
heyyyy guys! What brings you fine ladies and gentlemen to this
particular beach?"
Tycon nodded quietly, impressed that Krysaos was capable of

identifying a mer-person's gender. It was nice to see that even the
aquatic kingdoms were progressive in their recruiting, employing
both males and females in their scouting forces.
"If it's for the ladies, well, I gotta say..." Krysaos continued, "me
and my buddy, here-- we already met with 'em. Got dinner dates
and sexytimes planned for tonight, back at the resort hotel!"
Tycon steadily grew less impressed as the gentleman spoke.
The merfolk leader emitted a series of clicks and thrums, "(We

require the Chosen One.)"
"Hey, Tycon," Krysaos called back. "You a Chosen One?"
Tycon furrowed his brows. The human could understand Aquan...

which was not at all easy for a regular person to pick up. It meant
his bloodline was particularly strong... though if he could sprout
fins and sharp teeth, he had not yet done so.
"I don't... believe I am," He admitted.
Krysaos' eyes widened and he shuddered... "I get it, then."
He turned away dramatically, looking up to the tallest mer-person,

"They want ME, Tycon! You escape! I'll handle this!!!"
"Thank you," Tycon smiled, crossing his arms and quietly

analyzing his opponents' strengths.
⟬ Scout Leader, Bronze-Rank Sahuagin Fighter. ⟭
Their leader had a mid-tier Class... but considering their Metal-

Rank, Tycon was in very little physical danger. Krysaos, however,
was greatly at risk of critical injury and death.
He patiently watched the bedraggled sailor, curious as to what

exactly he was trying to do.
"TAKE MY HEAD!!" Krysaos demanded, grabbing the

merperson's trident and pointing it at his neck. "I'm tired of
swimming around in the ocean, living off of sea cucumbers!! The
sea god HATES ME!!!"
The sahuagin leader tried to pull his trident back, simultaneously

pushing Krysaos' head away, "(Release me, at once!)"
"I was once the GREATEST Captain of the sixteen seas! Then my
crew... my HATEFUL and JEALOUS crew! They threw me off my
ship! Can you believe it?! The ship I've lived on all my life! MY
SHIP!!?!"
Tycon wasn't even sure he believed it. The 'Sugar-Titted Siren'

sounded like a made-up ship name.
"Her name was the SUGAR-TITTED SIREN!!" Krysaos wailed,

full-on weeping while embracing the mer-person's chest.
...If anything, 'Captain' Krysaos was a passionate human. It made
Tycon... want to believe him. Almost.
The haft of a coral trident swept the man off his feet and he fell
clumsily to the sands with a splash. The tall sahuagin brought a
vicious web-footed stomp on Krysaos' stomach, then stabbed the
end of his trident just shy of the human's head.
"(You will give us answers, human! And only THEN will you die as
the SEA GOD DEMANDS!!)"
Chapter 617 Children Of The
Sea God
hat was enough for Tycondrius to intervene. Thus far in this

T
Realm, he'd only met a single god he liked... and the sea god was
not Hades.
Anyroad, he doubted that killing these few sahuagin would incur

the sea god's wrath... as he or she didn't seem like a particularly
caring individual.
He preferred it that way... as when time was not a factor, he

preferred cheaply traveling by sea rather than by air.
Tycon snatched up a hard-shell crab who was crawling by.
'I apologize, Mister Krabs,' He whispered.
"Do it, coward!!" Krysaos shouted to the sahuagin leader with a

face covered in tears and sand, "Are you a man or NOT?! I BET
YOU WON'T!!"
Tycon tried not to roll his eyes as he pitched the unlucky crab at
Krysaos' captor. It struck the fellow in the head and sent him
crashing back into the waves.
...The crab righted itself and escaped into the waters, confused
but unhurt.
Krysaos stood up and immediately jabbed a finger out towards

Tycon, "AHA! See guys?! HE is the CHOSEN ONE! Now go get
him!!!"
Tycon tilted his head. He sensed no... malice in Krysaos' words,

as contrary as they seemed. What was he trying to do?
...He wondered if there was a subtle magic in the man's speech
that he wasn't sensing.
"(How dare you attack us, human!)" One of the sahuagin clicked
angrily.
"(Children of the Sea God! ATTAAAACK!!!!)" Another shrieked.
That was the one with the cutlass... and he was pointing it at
Tycon. He decided he would break that one's arm.
"(DO NOTTTTTT!!!!!)" The tall one emerged from the waters, arms
raised in a gurgling roar, "(The human with kelp-colored hair is
NOT the Chosen One!!!)"
Krysaos whipped around to face the sahuagin leader, unafraid,

"You callin' me a liar, you dickless motherf*cker?"
"⌈Shadowfang,⌋" Tycon sped his movement to reappear at

Krysaos' side. He grabbed and twisted a certain sahuagin's wrist,
disarming them of their cutlass.
Tycon offered the hilt of the stolen weapon towards his fickle
human companion, Krysaos, "Your integrity is at question, friend.
How will you respond?"
The supposed ship Captain took it without hesitation, "Oh, these

f*cks are in for it, now."
"(DIIIIIEE!!!)" The sahuagin leader screamed, lifting his trident

above his head and stabbing it down at Krysaos' head.
Tycon lowered his body, grabbing the hilt of his own sword. With a
clean draw, he cut off the trident head to prevent Krysaos'
anticlimactic death. Redirecting his blade, he then chopped it into
the sahuagin leader's neck.
Simultaneously, Krysaos stabbed his sword through the leader's

crotch, "Call me a liar, again!! I DARE YA!!"
Krysaos twisted his body to barely avoid another trident stab,
wrenching his blade free and swinging it recklessly at a different
sahuagin, "COME ONNNNN!!!"
Two sahuagin came at Tycon from different sides, attacking but at

different intervals. Raising an eyebrow in amusement, he dodged
one thrust. Grabbing the second trident, he used some strength to
guide its tines into the first sahuagin's wide eye.
Krysaos ducked a trident stab, sloshing away through the water

before gutting its wielder, "I've picked scabs off my CROTCH
scalier than you!!!"
"Was that supposed to be an insult?" Tycon asked aloud.
His human companion didn't seem to have heard him, continuing

to yell obscenities and absurd sailor-esque curses.
Tycon liked the way Krysaos moved. He was dodging attacks

using basic, natural movements... forms very similar to the ones
taught according to the White Raven sword manual.
--Then he was struck in the side by a swung trident, sending him

sprawling into the shallow waves.
...He was doing so well, before that... so it was slightly

disappointing.
"ALRIGHT! Which one of you f*cks did that?!?" He got to his feet
quickly enough, but seemed slightly dazed.
Tycon casually grabbed a sahuagin's neck and crushed its throat

as he sheathed his sword. Briefly running the tips of his fingers on
his opposite arm, he snapped his fingers.
Krysaos slashed his sword, cleaving off a lunging sahuagin's arms

just below the wrists, "SCREW YOU, LADY!"
Tycon hesitated, quizzically looking at his hand. It seemed his
⌈Commander's Strike⌋ had grown stronger to be able to instill his
ally with such strength.
One of the sahuagin emerged from the waters behind Krysaos,

trying to grab him with webbed claws.
"Sorry! I don't like to be embraced--" The human reflexively threw

himself backward, smashing into the taller creature's chest.
He grabbed onto its arm, rotated his body, and threw it to the
ground, "By DUDES!!!"
The movement was so fast, the throw so perfect, that Tycon had
forgotten to snap his fingers.
...Thus, he snapped his fingers.
With mana-empowered speed, Krysaos grabbed his dropped

sword, then jammed it through the fallen sahuagin's open mouth.
He slowly righted his posture, looking towards Tycon with a guilty

look on his stubbled face... "Not that being with men is wrong or
anything-- that's just not me."
"That's fair," Tycon nodded.
"I'm jus' sayin'," Krysaos shrugged.
"No, no-- I agree with you," Tycon chuckled as he again snapped

his fingers.
Krysaos lunged forward jamming his cutlass into the last

combative sahuagin's belly. Releasing his sword, he lifted them
onto his back, then fell backward, slamming them into the waters.
Tycon sighed, staring at the sealine... at the eighth sahuagin

frantically swimming away. He briefly considered summoning his
crossbow and shooting at it... but the water's surface would largely
reduce the effectiveness of any projectile.
"Krysaos, perhaps we should question the last--"
Tycon turned to find the gentleman two-handing his sword into the
remaining sahuagin's eye.
Krysaos walked over, bloodied sword resting on his shoulder,

"Nah. These guys are just mooks. They wouldn't know anything."
Tycon massaged the bridge of his nose... "Perhaps they could

have at least provided a description of their so-called Chosen
One? Or the specifics of the orders they were given to carry out?"
Krysaos' jaw dropped in shock, "W-wait! I think one might still be

alive! The leader! The leader looked like a pretty strong guy!"
"You stabbed him in the crotch."
Krysaos hurried over to the leader's body-- "What the... I stabbed

him so hard, he bled from the neck?!"
Tycon shook his head and sighed.

Chapter 618 Against The
World
ith no enemies to interrogate, Tycondrius began back towards

W
his camp. He was looking forward to a somewhat late lunch.
As a matter of course, Krysaos tagged along, talking aloud the

whole way-- mostly to himself.
"--so what I guess I'm trying to say is... I'm comin' with you, guy!"
...Tycon had to take a moment to realize that Krysaos was

speaking directly to him.
It wasn't a question.
Krysaos had no shame-- of that, he was certain.
Tycon was tempted to take offense on a matter of principle... but

in his last quest, his short temper had found him beating one of
his close allies to a near-death state.
...When the event was brought to his attention, he realized he

had... anger issues. Such a flaw had the potential to undermine
his professionalism, and thus, he wanted to practice calm and
understanding.
At any rate, everything had worked out in the end.
The former Captain of the... Sugar-titted Siren may have

attempted to redirect the sahuagin's ire against him... but Tycon
was never in any danger to begin with.
He did, however, want the man to provide an explanation for his

actions.
"You tried to get me killed," Tycon smirked.
"It was all according to plan!" Krysaos grinned, "They let down
their guards, didn't they? I'm a gods-damned genius."
"Oh?" Tycon pursed his lips, mulling over the recent situation, "We
were outnumbered. You, yourself, only survived by the skin of
your teeth."
Krysaos absentmindedly rubbed his side, wincing at the pain. It

was likely the injury would bruise.
"Hey, come on, Tycon! Don't be like that!"
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "And if I say no?"
Krysaos dramatically threw himself onto the sand, folding his

hands together and begging on his knees.
"Hey, listen-- I did it because I believed in us, man!"
He jammed a thumb at his chest, "You and me, against the world,
Tycon! Two honorable men of the sea, raging against the
constructs of society! Rebels! Heroes, even!! Allies until the end of
time!"
Tycon chuckled at the sheer absurdity of it. That sounded nothing

like an apology, "Get up, Krysaos."
"So whaddya say?" Krysaos stood heroically... and as he smiled

fully and unabashedly.
His white-pearl teeth gleamed in the sun as if to emphasize his

trustworthiness.
He offered his hand forward, still wet with sahuagin blood, "We
square?"
There was something about that man's smile... perhaps laced with
a peculiar brand of subtle magic, that made him difficult to dislike.
"Hah!" Tycon loosed a laugh and he clasped Krysaos' wrist, "Very
well. Friends, then."
"Us against the world," Krysaos shook.
"Indeed. Us against the world," Tycon agreed.
His new friend's words struck a familiar chord. It did sometimes

feel that the fates worked against him, throwing him into one
horrid situation after another.
No matter what the future had in store, it was useless to lie down,
cover his eyes, and bemoan his situation. He would rise up,
weapon in hand, and defy the heavens and hells themselves if he
was forced to.
...
⁆ So there I was, stranded on a deserted island with some guy I

just met. ⁅
⁆ And then... the minions of the Sea God emerged from the black
depths. They came for me and my poor, terrified sidekick. ⁅
⁆ We were surrounded. ⁅
⁆ That meant the poor bastards had nowhere to run. ⁅
⁆ I told the new guy to shut the hells up and fight until the last drop
of blood was drained from his slightly effeminate body. ⁅
⁆ Me and Tycon, we fought side-by-side, back-to-back, MANO E

MANO, until the last of them were slain! ⁅
⁆ I, Krysaos, the scourge of the eastern seas, raised my stolen

sword, the victor amongst the dozens and dozens of creatures
who dared question me. ⁅
⁆ My sidekick survived too-- so that was a plus. ⁅

⁆ I may have lost my ship and my crew... but f*ck those guys. I'll
get another ship. I'll get a better crew! I'll get my title back as the
most dreaded Captain of the twenty-two seas... starting with
Tycon as my second-in-command! ⁅
Krysaos looked over to the green-haired youth with sharp, yellow

eyes.
The guy didn't seem to be a pushover by any means... and it took

a bit of coaxing to get him to come along.
But he was useful. Really useful.
He was calm under pressure, an admittedly decent fighter... and

he probably had a way to get off the island.
"I'll tell you what, friend," He grinned, "You can be part of my crew!
I'm a Captain, after all, known all across the Eastern States-- lived
my whole life there!"
"Your name is Krysaos," Tycon mused. "That is a decidedly Tyrion

name... as is mine."
Krysaos felt his mouth twitch. It seemed like the guy needed a bit
more convincing.
"Aha!" His grin fell to a grimace... but only for a moment, "I meant
to say... I lived my whole life at sea! The seas around the Eastern
States and the Holy Country!"
Tycon wasn't an idiot-- but that didn't dissuade Krysaos in the

least.
He cleared his throat and rubbed his hands together, readying

himself for telling the most pathetic story Tycon'd ever heard... the
story of his life.
...
Tycon had never met a man who, upon their initial meeting, opted
to detail their entire life story.
Krysaos spoke of how he was kidnapped as a child and forced
into slavery on a privateering vessel. He fought back against his
masters, took control of the ship and its crew, and by his own
words, became known as the scourge of a varying number of
seas.
Out of... jealousy, the sea god engineered his crew's mutiny. They
threw him off the ship, though due to macabre tradition, they
granted him a sea-logged pistol, a small watertight barrel of
Orkish sugar, and a single bullet.
An excessive portion of Krysaos' tales were plagiarized... made up

of old sea legends he'd previously heard serving with the Marines
and Sailors of the Kingdom's Royal Navy.
Tycon considered alerting the gentleman that he had heard those

stories before...
However, it was moderately interesting... and Krysaos was

enjoying himself.
His infectious mirth, along with his foolish, wide grin, made the
mundane trek back to camp far more pleasant.
...Tycon had had worse traveling companions.

Chapter 619 Troia’s Quest
ne of Krysaos' stories, in particular, was strongly influenced by a

O
well-known tale of the Kingdom's current Fleet Admiral, Grand-
Capitaine Chantal De la Croix.
In it, Krysaos (actually Sea Wolf Sect Leader Lang Hai) made a
futile attempt to commandeer the ship of Guillaume De la Croix,
Chantal's father and her predecessor. However, in Krysaos'
version, he was successful, reducing Guillaume to a caricature of
the storied hero he was.
The mutiny resulted in exuberant worship from Chantal... and he

described her oversized breasts in fantastic detail.
He also strongly implied that he laid with her and that her sexual
prowess was only, by his words, 'so-so'.
Krysaos then went on to boast that he had used guile and

superior swordsmanship to defeat and kill all the old, monstrous
High-Captains under Guillaume's command... eventually
banishing the Fleet Admiral to live the rest of his short life ashore
and in shame.
In actuality, Guillaume was assassinated... and the High-Captains

were killed while attempting to hunt down the most likely culprit,
High-Captain Liang Qiang.
"Blood and thunder," Tycon whispered.
From what he knew, Chantal still had yet to find her father's
murderer. If Tycon chanced upon that plot, he could appreciate
having a favor from a Fleet Admiral in his pocket...
"Niiiiice," Upon reaching the camp, Krysaos grabbed a bedroll,

unrolled it, and made himself comfortable.
He just... laid there... still covered in the perspiration, blood, and
muck from the previous battle... allowing it all to... soak into the
cloth.
In the not-so-distant future, the stench would be abhorrent.
...Tycon was glad that he kept his own bedroll in his spatial ring.
"So you're an adventurer... and you're on some kinda quest?"

Krysaos asked.
"That's the gist of it, yes."
"And what's the deal with that guy?" The stubble-chinned human
gestured to the unconscious fellow lying against a tree. "He
dead?"
"That," Tycon looked over, "is a gentleman companion of... ours."
"Our crew, you mean," Krysaos added.
"Right. Also, he is still breathing, so perhaps..."
Krysaos had gotten off of the bedroll and was rifling through the
pockets of Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark. He looked back to
Tycon with his usual grin-- "Aha. Sorry. Old habits."
Was he a Buccaneer or a Thief?
"There's nothing good, anyroad," Krysaos shrugged.
He was a Thief.
Krysaos leaned over, examining the bronze-skinned human with

greater interest, "What did him in?"
"Curse magic. Elven artifact," Tycon shook his head, "And the
quest is to bring said artifact to safety, while also discovering the
way to dispel the curse."
Krysaos suddenly jerked away, confusion on his face... "H-hey,

Tycon. I think I just saw his skin move-- like on his face."
Tycon pursed his lips, "I have reason to believe this young
gentleman is metamorphosing into an elf."
"Like... a grub into a roach?" Krysaos clicked his tongue... "Why's

he got one long ear and a normal one?"
"The curse magic is volatile," Tycon explained. "The magic will

even out eventually."
That is what he hoped, anyroad.
"Sounds like a good story," Krysaos grinned. "Care to tell me

about it, First Mate Tycon?"
Tycon pursed his lips. It seemed he had gained a new title.
"I'll try to summarize..."
...
⟬ Cersei's Rest, High Oracle Troia's Office, six suns prior. ⟭
"With all due respect, young lady, I wholeheartedly refuse!"
Decanus Tychon raised his voice as he abruptly stood out of his

seat, causing Croesa to flinch.
Serving as High Oracle Troia's interpreter, she was used to

dealing with wealthy, entitled Bishops and Centurions. But still...
being in the office of the High Oracle... not to mention the
presence of Lady Troia herself was usually enough to keep them
calm... to keep them professional.
The man they were dealing with, though...
He was different.
Decanus Tychon didn't carry himself like a military leader... or

even a self-serving merchant. He spoke to Lady Troia like an
equal...
Croesa always wore pigtails in her hair, so people told her she
looked young... and most Decani were at least over twenty. That
meant... she and Tychon should be about the same age!
Why was he so rude?!
She didn't understand this man... not at all.
The green-haired man across from Troia's desk sat back down,
his arms crossed... "Troia," you are already taking one of the
strongest members of my Sol Invictus away."
The young boy in blue armor at Tychon's side raised his hand,
smiling sheepishly... "Boss... I volunteered to go."
Croesa sighed and shook her head. Spear Hero Pale was only a
few years younger than she was... but he was far more
reasonable and respectable than most adults.
It made no sense to how he could be so polite, when his superior

was so... not that.
"Not now, young man," Tychon waved Pale silent, "And don't
forget, young lady-- you are already holding my daughter
hostage!"
Croesa frowned.
If anything, that was a reason for Decanus Tychon to acquiesce to

Lady Troia's quest. Instead, he was trying to leverage that fact in
his argument.
A flustered High Oracle flashed several gestures in rapid-fire,

defending herself.
Croesa translated-- that was her job, "But... Miss Sasha is... she's
studying to be a sanctified Oracle."
She wrung her hands nervously, refusing to meet Tychon's gaze--

even hiding behind Lady Troia's chair for extra security, "Y... you
submitted her application, yourself... Sir."
The Decanus was seething, and Croesa could swear he could
hear him gnashing his teeth, "Young lady, you are asking me to
deliver a dangerous set of artifacts to the Eastern States. That... is
directly opposite of where I need to go."
High Oracle Troia sighed, leaning forward in her seat.
Croesa whispered her translation... "The Swords of the Forgotten

King must be sealed by Elven magics... or else..."
"--Yes, yes. Else some terrible prophecy will be fulfilled," Tychon

interrupted. "Fire. Brimstone. Giant lizards..."
The frustrated Decanus groaned like a spoiled child before

burying his face in his hands.
Most Tyrions found it an honor to work for the High Oracle...

especially for something so high-profile like one of her prophecies.
If anything... they should at least be terrified of her. No one in

Tyrion was stronger than High Oracle Troia, the wielder of Divine
Armor Dawnbringer.
Chapter 620 So Much Trouble
Croesa bit her bottom lip, fidgeting nervously.
Decanus Tychon was being more childish than the actual-child he

was seated beside... and with the shamed look on Pale's face, it
was making him feel terrible...
Lady Troia was a nice, polite, and sweet girl. She was stubborn, at
times, especially when trying to pursue Pale-- who she seemed to
have a crush on.
Even against the Senate, she was unyielding when it came to

ethics and protecting the best interests of the Tyrion people.
However, it seemed that Lady Troia wasn't going to do anything

about this Decanus' attitude... and probably because Pale always
spoke of him so highly. If anything, it seemed the High Oracle was
trying to get in Tychon's good graces.
"Get someone else to do it," Tychon declared. "Perhaps someone

from one of your legions or special forces-- or at the very least,
send someone you're *paying*."
Lady Troia began gesturing, her motions slightly hurried... as if

she was panicking, and she inclined her head.
"P... please, Sir Tychon," Croesa translated, bowing as well...

"You're my only hope."
Tychon narrowed his eyes, not seeming to care that the highest
power in all of Tyrion was bowing her head to him...
"...Where is Natalya?" He grumbled. "I'll speak to her. She'll see

reason."
Croesa bared her teeth in confusion. That sounded... wrong.
That was definitely wrong.
Archbishop Natalya Crucis was notoriously difficult to deal with.
When Lady Troia was too kind... the Archbishop was known as a
heartless leader, perfectly complementing her charge.
Oftentimes, Lady Crucis would advise the High Oracle on state

matters... and would often dismiss the requests of even her most
battle-hardened Pilus Priorii as frivolous and unpatriotic.
Decanus Tychon... a Decanus-- not even a Centurion, referred to

Lady Crucis by her first name.
The High Oracle's quest was one of great import... and had to do
with the safety of the Realm at large. In theory, Lady Crucis should
have been present... as she was absent, Croesa was her pitiful
replacement.
But the reason for that...
[That...] Lady Troia signaled... but her hands hesitated... struggling

to find a polite excuse.
Unable to bear seeing her charge so troubled, Croesa bared her

teeth... "The... Archbishop is... indisposed at the moment."
"She is... what?" Tychon asked.
He tapped his fingers impatiently, his eerie gaze for the first time
in the meeting, focused on her.
He... had the Decanus' eyes always been such a striking gold
color? It gave her chills, even as she tried to look anywhere but.
"Miss Croesa..."
"Y...yes? Sir?" Croesa mumbled.
"Boss," Pale looked over with a frown, "You're getting kinda mad."
Tychon twisted his lips, "I'm not upset-- this is my face."
"Anyroad, can you be nice, Boss?" Pale smiled gently, "It's not
Croesa's fault."
A sense of relief washed over Croesa's heart. Having a Tyrion

Hero speak in her defense made her heart thump quickly. His
voice... was warm... and pleasant... and made her feel safe.
Troia looked to her, smiling as if she understood... and almost like

she was... proud? Croesa understood a little bit easier why the
High Oracle was so infatuated with him... not that she would ever
say such a thing aloud.
...There would be so much trouble if anyone heard it.
The High Oracle was essentially the protected princess of the

Holy Country. If the people had heard news of her looking upon a
boy with such kind, lovey-dovey eyes... there'd probably be some
sort of war.
Tychon made a show of sighing loudly, "Miss Croesa! If you

would."
Croesa gulped... but with a new sense of courage from Pale's

words, she stood up straight and spoke, "Yes, Decanus!"
"Tell me what Natalya told you."
Croesa felt her knees buckle. That was not what she expected.
"I... I-- but... I don't know what you're... talking aBoUT??"
She tried to smile... but had a terrible feeling that it only made her
look more suspicious.
Troia tried to gently reassure her with a touch to the arm.
The tiny act of kindness only made Croesa want to cry...
Tychon leaned forward, steepling his fingers, "I highly doubt

Natalya would tell Miss Troia her... issues with me. You, however,
Miss Croesa... seem like a very intelligent young lady."
Croesa felt sweat dripping down her braided hair. She did not like
the feeling of being interrogated... especially by that person. She
didn't want to answer him... but she couldn't stop her stupid mouth
from babbling.
"The Archbishop... she..."
"She... what?" Tychon glared.
"She... doesn't want to see you, Sir."
Tychon reeled back as if the news struck him like a shield bash to
the skull, "I... beg. Your. Pardon?!"
"I... err... No-- I meant to say..." Croesa was so stressed, she

began to cry, "Ahhh!"
High Oracle Troia looked to him, pouting with disappointment...
"Boss, you made a girl cry," Pale grimaced.
"Not the first time--" Tychon rolled his eyes, "nor will it be the last.
"NATALYA!!" He stood up, his chair clattering to the floor, "I know
you're listening! Come out and speak with me!"
Croesa whipped around her head in shock as the tall side door to
the High Oracle's office violently burst open.
Immediately, Spear Hero Pale got to his feet. He dashed in front

of High Oracle Troia and began whirling his crimson spear in his
hands-- deflecting the wooden debris away.
"Are you okay, Troia?" He asked. "Croesa?"
Troia nodded excitedly.
Croesa tearfully looked over to the entranceway. Archbishop

Crucis had broken yet another door with her domineering power.
It was the third time, this moon.
Lady Crucis thrust a mana-wrapped hand forward, her long

crimson robes and long crimson hair flowing as she walked
towards Decanus Tychon, "How DARE you show your face
around here, Tycondrius!!!"
"What's this about not wanting to see me, Natalya?" The Decanus
asked.
He began walking with a purpose towards the Archbishop, his

chest forward, unafraid.
Croesa's eyes widened. Unlike the Decanus, she had become

very, very afraid. High Oracle Troia was the sweetest person in all
of Tyrion. Conversely, her attendant, Lady Crucis was the most
terrifying.
She... she was a Gold-Rank Hallowed Summoner... and was

nearly as strong as the High Oracle, herself... but had more
combat experience. In wielding Divine Armor Star-Fury, her wrath
could fell small armies without support.
And this... this Tycondrius person was raising his voice at her.
Chapter 621 You Should Know
cared as she was, Croesa looked towards High Oracle Troia...

S
her rock, her protector, the girl revered by all the Flame-fearing
peoples of the Holy Country.
[Fear not,] Lady Troia signed, [Our Hero will protect us.]
"I'm... really sorry about this, guys," Pale smiled with chagrin, "But
don't worry. I won't let either of you get hurt, for sure."
His words almost made Croesa cry again...
The legendary Hero of Tyrion swore an oath to protect the High

Oracle with his life. But... the best thing about Pale is that he
was... a good person.
He'd even promised to protect her-- and she was only a nameless
acolyte, only good for translating sign language.
"Talk to me, Natalya," Decanus Tycon growled.
"Talk? You had your chance, Tycondrius," Lady Crucis sneered in

disgust, "The time for talk is OVER!! Flame ETERNAL, may this
⌈Lance of Faith⌋ cut through the heart of this NONBELIEVER!!"
Croesa ducked down in fear, screaming at the top of her lungs.

The divine spell Lady Crucis was casting was a blindingly bright
holy lance capable of demolishing a building... and it was aimed a
single Decanus.
Though it went against all reason, Tycon dashed and slid to the
side, keeping his head just shy from being obliterated.
Pale hopped and skipped away, impossibly deflecting the bolt with
his crimson spear. The redirected projectile shattered a window
and part of the Basilica's walls.
"Um... I hope the window doesn't cost too much to replace?" He

bared his teeth.
[Don't worry, Hero,] Lady Troia signed, [I only ask you to be safe.]
Croesa felt terrible-- the High Oracle was only being polite. The
tall stained glass windows were hundreds of years old and it
would cost thousands of silver to commission new ones.
It was certainly better than a full section of wall being destroyed,

though...
Tycon dodged two more similarly sized ⌈Lances of Faith,⌋ closing

the distance to Lady Crucis.
He snatched her wrist, "Natalya..."
"Don't. TOUCH ME!!!" Lady Crucis shouted, "⌈Aura of Heavenly

Grace!⌋"
A thin film of radiant energy covered the Archbishop... but even

though Tycon's hand seemed to sizzle and burn, he kept hold...
his expression unchanging, "If you tell me what's wrong, I can
apologize."
"You... should... KNOW!!!" Lady Crucis snarled back.
She pulled her arm away from his grip, then immediately began
throwing a flurry of violent punches.
Croesa had never... ever seen Lady Crucis so upset... nor did she
realize how good at hand-to-hand combat she was. But even with
her mind-blowingly fast punches, the Decanus blocked and
dodged EVERYTHING!
Finally, he caught her fist in his palm, then the other. It must have
hurt, as he was gritting his teeth and the light on Lady Crucis'
hands was burning even brighter-- "That is quite enough, Miss
Crucis."
"I'LL SKIN YOU ALIVE, SNAKE!!! AND THEN I'LL CRUCIFY
YOUR BONES!!!"
"Listen to yourself, Natalya," Tycon chided. "That doesn't even

make s--"
Lady Crucis spun, a heavy kick striking against Tycon's cross-arm

block. Though the Decanus kept his feet on the floor, he was
pushed back over ten feet!
Lady Troia turned to her, still extraordinarily calm, [Croesa... we

need to make a barrier.]
Croesa gulped as she nodded and joined hands with her... and
they quickly erected a ⌈Sanctified Barrier⌋ around the three of
them. The bubble of hazy light would protect them-- or at least
make it easier for Pale to.
"⌈GRASPING CHAINS OF THE JUSTICIAR!!!⌋ ⌈TRUMPETS OF

CELESTIA!!!⌋ ⌈FIVEFOLD INVOCATION OF JUDGMENT!!!⌋"
Archbishop Crucis was firing off... impossibly high-tier spells, one

after the other.
Croesa was shaking so hard she couldn't feel her feet or her
hands... and the ground was shaking so much that she was pretty
sure she peed a little.
"WHAT IS GOING ON IN--"
Looking to the door, Croesa spotted the unmistakable blue armor

of Lady Troia's elite guard. It was impossible to ignore the noise
Tycon and Lady Crucis were causing. Surely, a team of Metal-
Rank Champions and Clerics would be able to calm them both
down!
"...Carry on," The head Centurion bowed her head as she shut the
heavy door.
Then... the door began to glow, divine sigils appearing upon the
wood. The group on the opposite side were reinforcing the door...
Croesa sobbed quietly, feeling sorry for herself.
As disappointing as it was... it made sense.
From how angry Lady Crucis was and how hard she was
fighting... it was only a matter of time until she summoned Divine
Armor Star-Fury. Once that happened, no one in the Basilica,
save Lady Troia, would be able to stop her.
The Archbishop-Decanus rumors were going to get so much

worse, too...
Croesa had heard a little bit about Lady Crucis' relationship with
Decanus Tycon... and from the fact that the Archbishop never
chose to address it made everyone believe it was true.
They were... supposed to be close? But... they seemed to have

gotten into a fight? And that fight was destroying Lady Troia's
office?
AND WHO WAS THIS SUPER-STRONG DECANUS,

ANYROAD?!??!
"Lady Troia, please..." Croesa cried, "tell me what's going on..."
[This much is to be expected,] Troia signed calmly.
Croesa's tears only flowed more freely.
'High Oracle, please open your eyes to the truth,' She begged in
her heart. 'This is not normal!'
"Isn't... this how adults take care of arguments?" Pale asked,

wearing an expression of honest worry...
"No! No, it is not!" Croesa bowed her head, "That's not true, at all,
Hero Pale... Someone's going to die!!!"
"Nah," Pale grinned. "Boss might get beat up a little bit, but he
won't die."
"Then-- then, Lady Crucis?!?"

"It's not a real fight, though?" The young boy tilted his head cutely,
"Boss hasn't hit Miss Natalya even once."
Nodding his head, he looked back to his superior in awe...

"Whatever he did must've made her really mad..."
[He's gotten so much stronger,] Lady Troia grinned.
"Yeah," Pale nodded happily, "Boss has been practicing. I still

can't beat him, even when he spar!"
The High Oracle placed a hand to her collar and sighed dreamily...
[If Tycon does not wish to accept my quest, I'll need to send you,
my Hero.]
"No, it's better this way," Pale bit his lip... "You and I have to go to
the Sleeping Country after this, right? Boss hates the cold-- like,
really hates it."
Croesa frowned. They were 'talking' as if it was certain the

Decanus was going to accept a quest, one way or the other.
"Stop running, Natalya," Tycon said in a firm voice,

While Croesa wasn't looking, somehow the Decanus had taken

out a curved blade. He used some kind of divine skill on it that
made it glow a radiant white... and he stabbed at the Archbishop.
The tip of the blade cut into her ⌈Aura of Heavenly Grace⌋...
stopping just short of her throat. The magic dissipated with a loud
crack and a bright flash... leaving her undefended.
Lady Crucis was still gnashing her teeth in anger, though her
breathing had become labored, and perspiration streamed down
her face.
"How.... dare... you... attack me within Basilica grounds," She

growled.
Tycon shook his head and sighed, "If this is the only way I can get
you to listen, I'll do it again... Are we done? Can we converse
now?"
A loud PAP sound reverberated throughout the room... the

Centurion-Paladin and her Munifices outside the door could
probably hear it too.
The movement was so quick, Croesa didn't see it... but it seemed
that Lady Crucis had slapped Tycon across the face.
And... and he'd let her do it.
The Decanus slowly turned his head back to face her... wearing
the red handprint on his cheek, "Natalya Crucis... why are you
avoiding me?"
"Do the quest," Lady Crucis turned her nose up, "Just as Lady
Troia asks."
Tycon's gaze suddenly hardened, "I asked you a question."
Even at the distance, and even though she wasn't Decanus

Tycon's focus... Croesa's blood ran cold seeing those golden
eyes.
"Do the quest, you useless snake," Lady Crucis seethed... "Or... or
I'll convince Lady Troia to allow my boyfriend to do it, instead."
Croesa's eyes suddenly widened.
What?
That was impossible.
Everyone in the Basilica knew that Lady Crucis didn't have any
male suitors-- not beside the Decanus, anyroad. What was going
on?
"Your... what?" Tycon was caught by surprise, but narrowed his

eyes in displeasure.
"I know you have exceptional hearing, Tycondrius... so get it
through your thick skull and into your pathetic lizard brain... I.
have. a boyfriend."
Tycon stood and stared for several moments... but still Lady
Crucis didn't take back her obvious lie.
He spun on his heel.
He marched over to the lockbox on the side of the room... where

the Swords of the Forgotten King were sealed.
He flung the chest lid open with so much force, the hinges broke
off.
"...I apologize," The Decanus muttered. "Please bill my mercenary

company for the damage to your wooden chest."
Lady Troia sighed and dispelled their ⌈Sanctified Barrier.⌋
[Don't worry about it, Prince,] She signed. [Please take care of
yourself.]
"And you, as well," Tycon nodded as he grabbed the long wooden

box and walked to the room's exit.
...whereupon he broke the protective enchantments on it with a

swipe of a single finger.
Croesa furrowed her brows. Wait... Prince? Prince of what?!
...And the Decanus could understand the High Oracle's sign

language?! WHY WAS SHE EVEN HERE?!??!
Chapter 622 What Do You
Think Of Him?
⁆ So there we were... two handsome fellas on a beach with a buff,

half-dead guy. While I would have preferred the company of a
buxom young lass for... personal reasons, having the start-up kids
for my new crew was ultimately in my better interests. ⁅
⁆ Now, Petty Officer Tycon, the guy was pretty weird. ⁅
⁆ Bright green hair-- rare but not unheard of. Bright golden eyes--
really rare, never heard of it. Good with a sword-- not as good as
me, but good enough to rate. ⁅
⁆ Kinda short. He had some muscle to him, so he wasn't scrawny.

He looked real young... and didn't even have a shadow of facial
hair... but the way he acted made it feel like he was even older
than I was. ⁅
⁆ He didn't show off about it, though. Really good guy, altogether. ⁅
⁆ He said he was good at cooking. He could make salt and pepper

come out of his hands. It was, without-a-doubt, the dumbest
magic ability I've seen in my life... ⁅
⁆ Also really gods-damned useful. It meant I didn't have to hire

another guy just to feed the crew. ⁅
⁆ I'm sure Tycon wouldn't mind having extra duties, as long as I

gave him a little bit of praise... maybe a promotion. ⁅
⁆ Anyroad, the guy was pretty quiet during the downtime. He
talked quite a bit when prompted, though. I asked him to share his
story while we were waiting for the meat to cook over the fire. ⁅
⁆ The story he was telling... it sounded made up. ⁅
⁆ I wanted to ask Seaman Shadowdark about how true it all was...

but didn't seem to have much to add besides snoring so loud he
could wake the dead. ⁅
⁆ It was fine, though. Most of the story I said was mine was
complete fiction-- not that he could tell the difference. ⁅
⁆ But really... He didn't get the girl in his own story? 7 points out of
10. ⁅
"So... did you bang her?" Krysaos nudged the guy with his elbow.
"I did not sleep with Natalya," Tycon furrowed his brows. "Why?"
"Kinda seemed like you did. Come onnnn, y'can't keep that kinda
secret from your Captain," Krysaos grinned.
Tycon rolled his eyes, keeping his gaze up at the sky, "I did not.
Stop asking."
"So after you left the uh... the High Oracle's place... Tell me she's
as hot as they say she is."
"Seldin Korr and Sorina Capulet have gone ahead, their goal, to
reach the city of Archangel," Tycon continued-- blatantly ignoring
the most important question...
"To Archangel?" Kryasos asked. "You said the quest was to bring
the Swords of the Forbidden King to Whitehearth?"
"The Swords of the Forgotten... whatever," Tycon sighed-- "We

have a contact in the Sapphire Tower, a young Elven Arcanist."
"Whoa hohhhh~!" Krysaos chuckled, "Sapphire Tower? The big

mage guild? Very nice... She single?"
"She is not," Tycon shook his head. "Unless the situation has
changed, Miss Coraline is Mister Lone's romantic companion. As
such, she has a personal stake in researching the cure for her
boyfriend's curse."
"Fair, fair," Kryaos nodded. "You know... I'm something of a caster,

myself."
Tycon raised an eyebrow, "You're interested in magecraft, Brother-

Krysaos? I do have more than one contact in the Sapphire Tower,
should you require their services."
Krysaos chuckled to himself. That was practically impossible. The

Sapphire Tower was the wealthiest and most powerful mage guild
in the Free Nation, founded by Sol Invictus member Bella
Sapphira.
"Yeah, speakin' of mage services..." He grinned smugly, "Let me

tell you about this Half-Elven Earth Shaman I knew... Now, she
had the biggest... all-natural..."
...
⟬ Onboard the Marlin Monroe, one sun after the events at Cersei's
Rest. ⟭
Tres Leches, the Dark Iron Wolf, sat on his haunches, belowdecks
of the sailing ship. It smelled like old, wet wood, smelly fish, and
human sweat.
While it wasn't a... nice smell, it at least reminded him that he was
alive.
There were rats, too. Lots of rats. He would have sped off,
seeking to tear his metal teeth into their dingy coats... but one of
his partner's friends told him to sit.
...So he sat.
The human female named Sorina Capulet always smelled like

coins, so it was easy to tell her apart from the other humans.
She pushed a wooden piece forward on a wooden board.
It was a game, she said... and it was called... Pettaia?
It was... more complicated than 'fetch the thing'... but Tres liked
learning new games.
Whenever the fates decreed that he be taken by the sweet

embrace of death, there wouldn't be any more fetching... and
certainly no more Pettaia.
The other human female was leaning against a wooden post,

crossing her arms.
More than Sorina, Korr always changed her clothes... and she
was wearing... light leather trousers, a white sleeved shirt, and a
cloth on her head.
Tres could always identify her by the color of her dark red hair and
the sweet scent of wood smoke.
"What do you think about... him?" She asked.
Tres always found her soft, low voice pleasant to listen to, so he
found himself wagging his tail...
Ah.
It was his 'turn'. He nudged one of the game pieces forward with
his nose.
Sorina looked over, tilting her head.
Korr pouted... and it smelled like she was feeling a little hurt,
"What?"
"Oh, sorry, sorry!" Sorina waved. "It's just-- you don't usually talk
first. I was just surprised, is all.
"ANY-road... He's trash." The coin-woman firmly declared,

"Terrible, absolute trash-- bottom-of-the-trash-heap trash."
Sorina pushed one of her wooden pieces forward, taking one of
Tres' off the board. "Don't talk to him. Don't you dare."
...Why did she take his piece? Tres stared at the board, trying to
make sense of it.
Korr stared back quietly... her scent changing through all sorts of
different emotions. Upset. Confused. Sad. In heat. Sad.
Aggressive. Hungry. Content. Hungry again.
Tres turned his attention back at the game board. What should he
do next?
"I mean... he might be hot," Sorina whined... "And I guess he's

hardworking... and he's mostly honest. He's mature and reliable?
And I mean, he is a Ranger now... but overall, he's trash."
She started to grow more agitated as she went on, "He snores, he
smells funny, he's gross and hairy, clumsy and forgetful. He can't
cook to save his life and... and he'll let you down when you need
him the most.
"Nope!" She twisted her lips to the side. "Don't like him. And
neither should you."
Tres Leches started to wag his tail. Sorina was talking about his
partner, the Lone Shadowdark. It sounded like she was
highlighting his faults-- but she was missing a few.
"I was talking about Baron Tycon," Korr said flatly.
Oh!
Tres Leches liked that person, even though he smelled like a

snake.
Most everyone called him 'Boss,' his partner, Lone, included. He

was the leader of their pack and took the responsibility of
gathering everyone together and ensuring everyone was healthy
and well fed.
He always had tasty meat on him-- and he'd always offer some if
one of their pack members did well.
Also, he was also old and wise. According to him, Tres' bloodline
was continuously evolving because Lone continued to walk the
path of the Ranger.
It was convenient, since Tres always did his best to keep his
partner safe. Lone had the common sense of a young pup... but
that just made him more endearing.
"Oh," Sorina looked up in thought, "Right. Well... he's rich. He's no

Tarquin, so I can only give him a 9 out of 10 in the looks
department..."
Korr nodded along, listening attentively.
"But he's got a huge problem," Sorina grimaced. "in that he

doesn't appreciate that which is Truly Awesome... I mean...
⌈Market Crash⌋ is a top-tier finishing Skill, isn't it? Triple S-Rank,
for sure."
"Yeah..." Korr agreed. "Double, at least..."
"I suppose the fact that he's rich makes up for it," Sorina
shrugged. "Oh, did I mention that?"
She turned to Tres Leches, "And what are you looking at? It's your
turn."
It was? Tres looked at the table. Two of Sorina's pieces had

moved when he wasn't looking. He'd thought, according to the
rules, she could move only one piece... but maybe there was a
different rule he didn't know about.
"(You kicked my partner in the genitals earlier this sun,)" Tres

whined, "(You said all males are trash.)"
Sorina shrugged, "I think it's a Lone-only thing."

Tres looked up, furrowing his brows, "(Y...you can understand
me?)"
"My Armor Cube translates it for me," Sorina winked.
Tres looked at the metal box resting underneath the table. It

hadn't moved in bells. Was it really doing... anything at all?
He moved one of the pieces on the Pettaia board, "(I did it.)"
Korr folded her hands in front of her waist... "I think... Leader... is
lonely."
Lone? Tres began to wag his tail.
"Well, yeah," Sorina shrugged. "He got his heart crushed. Of

course, he's gonna mope around for a few suns... it is weird that it
doesn't seem he's broken anything, though."
",
Chapter 623 The Look
orina placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin on the
S
back of her hands.
"Hm hmmm~ I knoWw that look," She smirked, "What'cha thinkin'

bout?"
Korr looked back at the coin-woman through her red hair, her one
good eye unfocused... "What... what do I do?"
"You're... worried, then?" Sorina shook her head-- "I really don't
know why. In all honesty, Boss is probably the most mature
person in Sol Invictus. He can take care of himself."
"...Y..yeah. But I think even Leader can be hurt too..." Korr

sighed...
"Was that really what you were thinking?" Sorina gestured

towards herself, "Ssssssay it~"
"I think..." Korr bit her lips, "I should tell him that I love him and
want to bear his children?"
Puppies? Tres' tail continued to wag. It would not stop.
A few weeks ago, he had the opportunity to keep the pups of the
Bloodpaw tribe company. The tribe females told him he'd be a
very good uncle.
"Pshhh! Fufufu~" Sorina laughed out loud.
It made her curly ponytails jiggle... and made Tres want to nip at
them.
He held back, though.

"I don't think you should," Sorina leered, "A man won't betray you
until you actually make your feelings known."
"I... I believe in Leader," Korr declared.
"Alright, alright," Sorina shrugged. She reached for one of Tres'

wooden pieces and replaced it with one of hers. "I'll be taking this,
doggo."
Tres stared at the board... trying to make sense of it... "(Don't...

humans have a courtship ritual before mating?)"
Korr pursed her lips and looked away... staring blankly at a wall.
Tres whipped his head back to Sorina.
"(Am... am I wrong?)" He whined.
"Well... no," Sorina frowned.
"(I think I broke her.)"
Sorina stretched her arms, yawning, "Korr... hey listen, girl. I'll take
care of it, 'kay?"
"Y... you will?" Korr looked up, pouting.
Tres Leches tilted his head, one of his fuzzy ears flopping over. As
vulnerable as she looked... he had seen Korr rip the top of a
man's head off of his lower jaw.
...It was nice to be able to rely on others.
"Yeah, I feel a little guilty talking so much smack about him,"

Sorina shrugged. "And the happier Boss is, the easier it'll be to
convince him to buy me a Divine Armor."
"(Can you get a wolf?)"
"I'm thinking... like five wolves... that transform into one bigger
wolf."
Korr began to fidget... and she gave off the unmistakable scent of
nervousness, "How..."
"The first step in winning Boss Tycon's favor," Sorina grinned... "is
kicking Lone in the balls as hard as possible."
"(That's... that's my friend!)" Tres Leches narrowed his eyes,

squinting at the woman... "(What does assaulting my partner
achieve?)"
"Got it," Korr lifted a leg and slapped the front of her knee.
It made... a very loud, very scary sound...
"And... then what?" She asked.
"Don't question it," Sorina shrugged. "I'm a Calculator. Just trust in

my calculations. Now Korr, head out there and fight the pirates
about to siege the ship."
...Tres Leches sniffed at the air. There were new scents above
deck... many new scents, "(How did...)"
"Calculating!" Sorina declared as she balled up her fist.
Korr nodded, picked up her two-handed blackblade and jogged up

the stairs.
"Also," Sorina continued, "getting onboard the Marlin Monroe was

cheap because the Captain has a deal with the pirates on this
route."
"(Calculating, then,)" Tres nodded thoughtfully.
"Your move."
"(Shouldn't we... help the other members of the pack?)"
"Do you surrender?" Sorina smirked, gesturing at the board

between them.
Tres let out a slight whine as he thought it over...

The scents atop the deck didn't seem too threatening...
He nudged another piece forward with his paw, "(If they die, they
die.)"
...
⟬ Top deck of the Marlin Monroe. ⟭
A panicked cream-color horse trotted towards Tycondrius,

suddenly appearing through the thick fog.
"(BOSS! BOSS! The ship is under attack!)"
That was quite obvious. Though Tycon's vision was abhorrent, the
sounds of screaming and swords clanging together were quite
unmistakable.
"Private First Class Jeremy... how did you get up here from your
quarters?" Tycon asked.
"(I used the STAIRS, BAWSS!!)"
Tycon was referring to the fact that to open the door to the hold, a
circular knob had to be turned. PFC Jeremy had his hooves... and
not opposable thumbs.
He shook his head. It didn't matter, "Shut up. Open your mouth."
Tycon stuck his sword's handle in the horse's maw and

commanded him to clamp down, "Now go. We'll promote you to
Lance Corporal if you can get a kill."
"RRrrhhhmrrrrhh!!" The horse neighed before sprinting off

towards, hopefully, the enemy.
"And you," Tycon turned around. "Corporal Horse."
One of his guild Invictus' most senior members, Horse, the

chestnut-coated stallion had... somehow equipped his Letalis
armor, covered in Arcanite plates and sharpened spikes. A flat,
slicing implement on his head was designed to deliver painful cuts
while being dull enough to avoid sticking into wood.
Corporal Horse bucked up on its hind legs, whinnying loudly, "(I

thirst for BLOOD AND COCAINE!!!)"
"You'll have to settle for blood and spoils," Tycon rolled his eyes.
"(TO USE TO BUY COCAINE!!!)"
"Empty night, Horse... Just... just keep the rookie alive. Go."
As Horse sped off towards Jeremy, Tycon made his way towards
the back of the ship... where, in theory, the Captain should have
been.
From the sounds in the waves and the number of unwelcome

visitors, there was likely an enemy vessel somewhere in the fog.
Tycon grabbed a human by the throat-- a pirate. He crushed his

throat and threw him off the ship.
Retrieving his curved blade and adamantine scabbard from his

spatial ring, he swung twice more as he walked, crushing pirate
bones and continuing onward.
They wore interesting symbols... painted silhouettes of a white

raven on a black background. Yet... they did not use White Raven
swordsmanship, which Tycon was an expert in.
It must have been a coincidence...
The ship Captain was on the defensive with his cutlass,

surrounded by four enemies. There was a deep cut on his left coat
sleeve and he smelled like fear.
...He'd soiled himself.
"A-adventurer!" The bleeding human screamed, "Save me! I'll do

anythin' ya ask!"
Tycon sighed and shook his head, "Have some self-respect,
Captain."
Chapter 624 Trapmaster
ycondrius smashed his scabbard into the back of one pirate's

T
neck, kicked the body into a second pirate, and stared directly into
the eyes of the third.
« Go ahead. »
⟬ Activating. ⟭
The pirate fell to her knees, having fallen prey to his illusory
poison. As she was choking on the blood pooling in her throat,
With a desperate scream, the ship Captain lunged towards the

final pirate, whereupon he ran his sword through their abdomen.
The pirate stared down... and allowed their weapon to drop out of
their hands to clatter upon the deck.
...It was a waste, really. Even if they were to go into shock and die
of an abdominal wound, that fellow still had several seconds of
consciousness to counterattack.
The Captain wiped his brow underneath his forehead, "Thanks fer
that, adventurer. Thought I was a goner."
"Report," Tycon didn't care to mince words... especially not with a

gentleman of that person's caliber.
If he could not regain control of the situation, the multitudinous

amount of pirates would slaughter the crew of the Marlin Monroe.
...and he did not know how to pilot a ship.
"Pirates, sir!" The Captain shouted, nursing his injured arm.
"Obviously."
"And someone's set traps all over the deck! Walking around in this
fog is a death sentence!"
"...Traps, you say?"
The enemy had a Trapmaster? That was foreboding...
Tycon needed to get into contact with Sol Invictus member Sorina
Capulet. As a Calculator, she was more than a match for any trap-
user, and would be able to disable any traps with cunning and...
math-e-magical prowess.
"Sea god's socks... this wasn't part of the deal," The Captain
mumbled under his breath.
"The deal?" Tycon furrowed his brows. "Very well."
There were certain risks with entrusting Sorina Capulet with

gaining passage via ship at the lowest possible price. Thus, he
was neither angry nor surprised that the ship Captain had
dealings with pirates... and that they had turned on him.
...He was, however, quite disappointed.
"S-sir?"
"We'll converse later," Tycon grabbed the Captain by the collar

and dragged him off, "For now, crawl down to safety, belowdecks."
"SIR! WHAT ARE YOU DOI--"
Tycon slammed the human's face into a ship mast, freeing a

number of teeth he did not deserve to have.
After he judged that the traitorous creature was still well-enough to

crawl, he vaulted over the railway, from where the ship's steering
wheel was, down to the main body of the deck.
He felt several dozen footsteps in the thick fog around him... and
one pair, fast approaching.
"No landlubber's gonna get the BEST'A ME!!!" The one-eyed

pirate shouted, brandishing a two-handed falchion, "YAR HARR
HARRRRRR!!!"
The fellow probably thought he was being intimidating. Tycon

thought the display farcical.
Tycon opened his arms, inviting attack. If the pirate dared look into
his eyes, they would die a painful death.
The pirate's steps triggered a trap-- a floorboard sprung up, and

his chest and head were covered in a reddish powder, "SEA
GOD'S SUSPENDERS!!!"
...Tycon had to refocus some of his protective mana to his eyes

and face. The one-eyed fellow was blinded by... pepper powder.
His condition was possibly worse than being killed outright.
Was it just a matter of luck? Had the pirate not memorized where
his crew set their traps? That seemed like a horrible oversight.
As the pirate stumbled backward, he bumped into the ship's side

railing and... triggered another trap.
The wooden plank Tycon stood upon launched him forward and to
the side.
Sighing, he reached his arm out, battering into the blinded pirate's
top half and sending him careening overboard.
Holding onto the guardrail, he looked into the distance and saw
the silhouette of the enemy pirate ship... one much larger than
their own.
...A larger ship had caught up to their smaller, passenger ship.

Their ship was either better engineered or had their speed
improved by magic.
"⌈Really Brutal Blade!⌋"
Tycon turned as he heard Korr activate one of her Skills. He

immediately dropped prone on the deck as a pirate tumbled over
him, breaking the railing and plummeting down into the drink.
Korr's naming sense had always been... peculiar, but he

appreciated the help. He couldn't see her through the cloudy
white, but he could sense her steps.
"Thank you for arriving so quickly, Korr," Tycon spoke aloud,

ignoring a series of loud clanks and clunks from the rope and
pulley rigging above. "I need someone to take care of the enemy
ship, and Lone--"
He was interrupted by a swinging bucket... a literal bucket on a

rope had struck him in the back, sending him tumbling forward.
It didn't hurt... but he found himself face-to-face with Korr, who

caught him in her arms.
"H-hello, Leader," She blushed.
"...Hello," Tycon tried to pry himself away... but she pulled him into
a full embrace.
Even though he and Korr were both Gold-Rank adventurers,

Tycon was a Warlord... a branch of the Tactician Class. He had no
chance of winning a battle of strength against a Flaming Rage
Knight.
"Korr..."
"Yes, Leader?"
"...What are you doing?"
"Oh..." The young lady half-dragged, half-carried him a few steps

away.
Tycon stared at the deck... at some very familiar writing in black

paint.
It read... 'Stand here.'
It looked... very... very familiar... to Sorina Capulet's writing... but

he could not be certain.
BOOM BOOM BOOM!!!
Cannonfire resounded in his ears... sending Korr and Tycon

smashing hard onto the deck... with Tycon on the bottom.
Had... Korr been struck by a cannonball?
"KORR! Answer me!" He brushed the red hair on her face to the
side in order to look into her eye, "Are you alright?"
"Y... yeah," She smiled... a thin trail of blood dripping down her
mouth... which she licked. "I... protected you."
She seemed fine... with no outward signs of shock or a

concussion. She might have been a bit delirious... but, as he did
not understand the woman, she could have very well been acting
normal.
It would have brought him great frustration if she were to be

severely injured or killed.
Seldin Korr had a special place in his heart... as one of his

physically strongest allies.
Chapter 625 Soul Burn
ycondrius furrowed his brows as he looked at where he and Korr

T
were standing only moments ago.
His companion had protected the ship's main mast with her
unarmored body. Without it, the Marlin Monroe's sailing speed
would have slowed to little faster than a turtle's crawl.
However... besides Korr's choice of defense being horribly

reckless... it was inefficient.
Also, it was stupid.
Either of them had the requisite reflexes and strength to deflect

the cannonball with a weapon attack. Korr's Blackblade was
strong enough to resist damage-- as well as Tycon's adamantine
scabbard.
Even with a mundane weapon, sacrificing a metal item worth two

dozen silver was better than risking bodily harm.
Tycon was frugal with most everything... with the notable

exception of expenses concerning combat arms and armor. Most
adventurers were unable to fight after being killed.
"That's not the best you can do, young lady...."
He whispered gentle words into Korr's ear to activate his

⌈Inspirational Surge⌋ healing Skill on her.
Even without wearing armor, her Gold-Rank physique allowed her

to take a cannonball to the back. Since she'd survived, she'd
eventually convalesce well-enough with magical healing.
Still... the attractive woman was on top of him, her hips mounted
over his... Then there was the fact that she wasn't wearing armor
leggings, but cloth trousers. It was a highly improper position for a
superior and subordinate.
"Korr... can you... get off, please?"
The woman blushed furiously.
The sounds of clanks and turns continued from high above the
mast... and suddenly... they stopped.
And... a fishing net fell upon them.
Before Tycon could act to cut them free, he spied a piece of

parchment tied to one of its corners. It had a message written
upon it... and he easily discerned that it was in the Capulet's
scriptwriting.
'Don't worry and have fun. Sincerely, Sorina.'
Tycon exhaled deeply, trying to control his rising anger.
He was going to kill that woman... in a violent and fantastic

manner.
...or maybe he'd forbid her from using company credit to pay for
her meals. That would probably hurt her more.
"It looks like we are trapped," Korr spoke stiltedly... before

snuggling into his chest.
"Right," Tycon rolled his eyes.
"We'll get you out of those nets, adventurers!!" A sailor yelled.
Tycon breathed a sigh of relief. A team of three veteran sailors

was approaching, armed with swords and pistols.
"Sea god's shoulderpads, a net?" A sailor with a clean shave and

pink hair whistled, "These traps are vicious!"
"Looks like the mast is safe." The thick-muscled one nodded, "You
have our thanks, adventurers, but we could still use your help."
"You two GETTIN' IT ON while there's a battle about? Yar harr har
harr!!"
The third sailor looked and sounded mentally incapacitated... but

Tycon could appreciate the progressiveness of the ship Captain in
hiring differently-abled gentlemen.
Tycon waved as best as he could, while the blushing Korr hid her
face with her hands, "Don't mind it. Please, just get us out--"
--A spring trap launched the three sailors overboard.
Sorina.
She did this.
Tycon was going to kill her... raise her from the dead using illegal
magic... and kill her again.
Then he'd force her to pay for the ordeal.
"Well, well, well," A group of pirates slowly approached... carefully

stepping around the spring trap.
"Yar har harrrrr! Look at this, Cap'n!" A tall, gangly pirate chuckled,
"It looks like we found a coupl'a sea rats, stuck in a sea rat trap!!"
Tycon grit his teeth. He was strongly considering using his

alternate form.
⁆ "Whoa, hold on, what do you mean alternate form? ⁅
« I'm not human. Are you surprised, Krysaos? »
⁆ Well, yeah... a little bit. ⁅
« You're not either. »
⁆ WHAAAAT?! What do you mean? ⁅

« ...I'd like to finish the story, if you'd allow it. »
⁆ Oh, right. My bad. Go ahead, Tycon. ⁅
Tycon was a Maedar-- a male of the medusa bloodline. One of his

bloodline abilities allowed him to metamorphose into a snake...
and to a different-sized, differently-abled snake at his discretion.
His small-form transformation would allow him to slip free, but his
large-form could easily break the net and free them both.
Further, his white, armored scales would blend in well with the fog
and be an absolute terror to the pirates... and the sailors, but they
seemed generally useless with all of Sorina's traps littering the
deck.
⊰ Do not even consider escaping, Snake. ⊱
Tycon sighed in his mind. He sensed the intent of an outside

consciousness in the recesses of his mind... and he was fairly
certain who it was.
« Shahram, I presume. »
⊰ Indeed. Though I loathe you, just as I loathe all mortals... my

charge desires you physically and emotionally. ⊱
Shahram was the Adamantine-Rank weapon spirit residing within

Korr's black-bladed greatsword...
« I noticed... You do realize there are social and professional

constructs in place that would prevent a successful relationship
between her and I, yes? »
⊰ If you refuse my request, I will burn your soul into nothingness. ⊱
« ...And you do realize that, so inconvenienced, it is very possible

that we may both be killed, yes? »
⊰ If you escape the net and survive, I will burn your soul into
nothingness. ⊱
...It seemed Shahram was not to be bargained with.
Transformation was no longer an option, then.
"What'll we do with 'em?" One of the pirates mused, a weak-

looking scoundrel picking at his ear, "What... to do..."
The dark-skinned Pirate Captain leered over the two of them,

stroking his trimmed beard, "The green-haired lad will fetch a
handsome price when we get him to the slave auction."
The thought insulted Tycon greatly.
"I will NOT be a common slave to be auctioned in PUBLIC!!"
He dropped Korr to the deck, her rear still against his crotch and
her legs splayed over his hips... and managed to summon his
crossbow out of his spatial ring.
Though he had limited space to move, he aimed and pulled the

trigger.
The bolt struck the Captain in the heart, and he died nigh instantly
as the paralysis poison coursed through his system.
Chapter 626 Five Minutes
" If I'm not to be ransomed," Tycondrius growled, "then I would at

least like to be sold by private channels, only to be afforded by the
wealthy elite."
"Leader..."
He turned down to look at furiously blushing Korr, "Never accept

anything less than the best, young lady."
"...Got it."
The two remaining pirates yelled a battlecry of sailors' curses, one

pointing a pistol and the other rushing forward with a shield and
waraxe.
Tycondrius snapped his fingers.
Korr suddenly tightened her legs around Tycon's waist. Sitting up,
she embraced him, stuffing his face into her modest cleavage.
...It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, but he did not have the time to
enjoy the situation. He was furiously winding up his crossbow,
trying to load another poisoned bolt.
With a questionable grunt, Korr spun her body to the side. With
the momentum, they tumbled into the nearest pirate's shins,
knocking them down.
A gunshot rang in Tycon's ears... but he felt no pain, which was

worrying. It meant that Korr had probably received another injury.
Again on his back, Tycon hurriedly scooted backward enough to
allow Korr to stab the downed pirate in the throat with her
Blackblade.
The remaining pirate aimed down the iron sights of his pistol, "Aha
ahaharrr!! Spit out yer last words, ya bastards! It's the end for the
both of ye!"
Tycon hadn't yet finished winding his crossbow... and Korr could
barely turn her head to see that fellow, much less do anything
about it.
"Leader..." Korr whispered, "I... I... lo--..."
"Not the time, young lady," Tycon groaned.
Grabbing her, he spun her around to have his back to the gun-
toting fellow.
"Leader!!" Korr shouted, "What are you--?!!"
"I am wearing armor and you are not," Tycon scolded.
He was tired of her getting shot on his behalf.
The gun went off. He winced in pain from the impact to his back.
He didn't feel the wetness of blood, though... so it seemed the
chainmail had performed well enough.
...He chuckled to himself as he half-turned his head back to the

pirate who was frantically trying to reload his pistol, "You should
have gone for the head. ⌈Venomous Shadow.⌋"
A dark shadow climbed up the nearby railing, a cutlass in his

vaguely shaped 'mouth.'
With its right hand, it pointed another pistol at the remaining pirate
while making an offensive gesture with its left.
Bang.
The pirate fell to the deck, bleeding from the forehead.

"Well done," Tycon waved, "Thank you."
The shadow stopped to stare at him and Korr, entangled as they

were...
Scratching its shadowy chin, it turned to half-walk, half-float away.
"COME BACK AND HELP US!!!" Tycon shouted.
...
⟬ On an unknown beach in the Free Nation, present time. ⟭
Krysaos had his hand cradling his stubble-covered chin, "So

you're telling me... this chick wants to nail you."
Tycon nodded, "I believe Korr is infatuated with me. It may have
something to do with seeing me as a replacement for her
previous, deceased guild leader."
"Y'should do it," Krysaos grinned. "Add another notch to your belt,

man. From the way you described her, she sounds hot!"
"Utilizing her weapon spirit, she can wield flames as hot as the
fiery hell of Phlegethos."
"How big are her tits?" Krysaos asked.
...They weren't overly large, which was as Tycon preferred, but he

wasn't going to admit that to the lecherous Captain.
"Having a romantic relationship with a subordinate is highly

unprofessional," He chided.
"Fire her, bed her," Krysaos suggested with a shrug. "Sounds

easy to me."
"Seldin Korr is a Gold-Rank Flaming Rage Knight."
"AhHhhh~" Krysaos nodded in thought... "Can we add her to the

crew?"
Tycon pursed his lips, choosing to ignore the question, "Seldin
Korr and Sorina Capulet have been sent ahead to Archangel... to
find our Arcanist, as previously mentioned."
Sorina would also be seeking to expand the East Charm Trading

Company to that area, to further strengthen her economic hold on
the Realm.
...However, the Captain did not need to know that Tycon's worth
was in the hundreds of thousands. He figured the gentleman-
Captain would beg him to purchase an entire ship.
Though he liked the man... he did not like him that much.
"Oh, yeahhh." Krysaos smirked, "The curse-- right. I got'cha... so

the rest of the story?"
Tycon furrowed his brows, "I was getting to that."
"--but sum it up," Krysaos lifted one of the sticks, a roasting cut of
steak. "These are almost done... Five minutes sound good?"
"Yes..." Tycon nodded as he observed the meat's color and

pliability, weighing it against the thickness and marbling... "Five
more minutes should get them to medium-rare, throughout..."
"I mean for the story."
Tycon looked back with incredulity... "You want me to finish the

story in five minutes?"
"Why? You don't think you can do it?" Krysaos raised a thick,
mocking eyebrow.
...
⟬ Top deck of the Marlin Monroe, so many suns ago. ⟭
"I will defend you with my life, Leader!! ⌈Rain of Hellfire!!⌋"
Korr defeated the last of the pirates with fire and sword.
Using the power of her Blackblade, supernatural flames rained
down from the heavens and onto the enemy ship. With the help of
the fog, the pirates with the white raven flag were cooked alive
with superheated steam.
⁆ What happened to the horses? ⁅
...Corporal Horse trotted about the top deck, slathered in blood

and entrails, slaughtering as he went.
"(I am the drug-addicted god of death and dismemberment!!)" He

neighed.
"(Please keep me out of trouble!)" PFC Jeremy whinnied, "(I am a

coward that will never see promotion!!)"
⁆ And the other guy? Lone, you said his name was? ⁅
« Stars and stones, Krysaos. Allow me to speak. »
⁆ Ohhh. My bad. Sorry, I got excited. Story's pretty good! ⁅
...By that time, most of the pirates that had boarded the ship had
been defeated. With the fall of their flagship, they fought even
more desperately, despite two Gold-Ranks on the ship.
⁆ Besides the hot chick, who's the other one? ⁅
« Brother-Captain... »
⁆ Sorry, sorry... Go ahead. ⁅

Chapter 627 Return
ycondrius had light mana exhaustion from repeated activation of

T
his support Skills... and he was mentally fatigued from avoiding
Sorina's traps. As such, he entrusted the rest of his team and the
crew of the Marlin Monroe to deal with the remaining enemies.
Korr had taken a cannonball to the back and, not one, but two
gunshot wounds. Tycon expressly forbade her from further
participation in the battle.
She could very well have been killed... which was not something
he would allow. He used his ⌈Inspirational Surge⌋ skill to increase
the young lady's healing factor temporarily... but once her
adrenaline drained away, it was likely she'd be immobilized.
And thus... the task of defeating the remaining pirates fell to the
last reliable combat member of Sol Invictus...
That was... Corporal Horse.
Tycon looked at the other end of the ship... where he was

assisting Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, against the last of
their attackers.
Bronze-Rank pirates, the lot of them were... and not all low-tier
Classes.
Horse was using charge and trample attacks on the pitifully small
deck, but the enemy seemed to have realized not to
underestimate him.
Instead, they focused on surrounding Lone.
If the Ranger were to fall-- besides being killed, Horse had the
potential to be surrounded and injured, as well.
The enemy could also choose to inflict massive casualties to the
remaining crewmen of the Marlin Monroe, as a dying act of
vengeance.
Either way, he or Korr would be forced to intervene and put

themselves at risk.
Though Lone was a combat veteran and an Iron-Rank Ranger...

his eyes were bloodshot. His tears ran freely as reddish spice
powder congealed on his cheeks.
He looked overall pathetic, with his clothes torn from one of

Sorina's spinning blade traps...
...Further, Tycon observed that his gait was awkward. He

continually stepped backward defensively, barely able to defend
himself with his longsword.
Sorina Capulet did have a penchant for aiming blunt force at

Lone's crotch... Thus, it was likely she designed a trap for that
sole purpose.
Admittedly, it wouldn't have surprised Tycon if the young man had

become impotent from the consistent abuse.
Lone fell prey to traps as often as he pissed himself... which

wasn't too often, but often enough that it was baffling.
While the young Ranger held his sword in one hand, his other
hand clutched onto the box containing the Swords of the
Forgotten King.
...In retrospect, it was foolish to allow him to carry it.
At the time of choosing, he had the least seniority, save for Korr
and his wolf, Tres Leches. However, Lone could not refuse Korr,
who was a rank of strength above him... and his Dark Iron wolf did
not have opposable thumbs.
The young man heavily swung his sword, knocking an axe-pirate

backward before thrusting the tip through a thin pirate's throat.
He took a deep long-blade slash to his undefended back...
something he really should have blocked or dodged.
It seemed he was going to die.
Tycon cupped his hands over his mouth and yelled to him, "Is that
the best you can do??!"
« It might be a waste, but yes. »
⟬ Activating. ⟭
It was the last support Skill he had the mana for. It would be a bell
or longer of rest before he could heal anyone else.
Lone grit his teeth, spinning all around him with his sword and
forcing his opponents back...
"I can't fall here..." Lone wiped the blood off his mouth, some of
his stamina restored by the healing Skill, "Coraline... she's waiting
for me."
Tycon heard a crack... but not as sound traveling through the air...
but deep in the recesses of his mind. It was an ugly sound... of
something broken that should not break.
He saw Lone drop his weapon... the Shatterspike longsword...

one of the worst in-combat taboos a professional warrior could
commit.
Tycon had punished the young man for that, time and time again...
but then, he saw Lone's reason for doing so.
Two halves of a particular box laid on the deck. It should have

been impossible... The container was sealed by High Oracle
Troia, herself.
In the young Ranger's hands... he wielded the twin Swords of the

Forgotten King.
"My people await my return," Lone muttered.
...Those words sent a chill down Tycon's back.
Moving forward, Lone met with the first pirate, blocking a

downward slash with his crossed twinblades.
He lifted his leg for a kick, slow... but with excellent form...
With only that speed, the pirate brought their elbow down to block.
At the distance and with Tycon's improved hearing, he could hear

the pirate's arm break.
Lone... generally eschewed the usage of kicks. It was one of his

many weaknesses. That he used one so effectively was
somewhat peculiar... but permissible.
The Ranger spun to block a diagonal slash, and then... he flipped.

Simultaneously, he'd cleanly sliced through another pirate's throat.
That... movement...
...was indicative of the Elven Blade Dance.
Tycon had taught Lone the basics of the particular sword art... but
the young gentleman progressed only slightly faster than a normal
elf or human. That is... he still required decades of training and
peak physical fitness to be able to pull off such a move in the heat
of combat.
But... the reckless whelpling did it...
The thought upset Tycon greatly. Though his execution was nigh-
perfect, a life-or-death battle was not the time to practice high-
level maneuvers that carried such a high risk of personal injury.
Lone brought his sword from low to hie and he pirouetted to

dodge a counter-attack. The pirate that was standing in front of
him fell to the deck, missing his leg below the knee.
The Ranger dipped impossibly low for a man of his muscular
frame, swaying his body with perfect balance... and he swung his
swords down casually at his sides.
Two more pirates' throats erupted in gouts of blood as they fell to

their knees.
Tycon grimaced.
Who was the cold, efficient killer he was watching? ...and what
had become of the foolish, desperate companion he traveled
with?
Chapter 628 Neat Trick
one was still using the Blade Dance... but he was using forms
L
that Tycondrius absolutely did not impart to him. He had a sinking
feeling that the young man had an even higher proficiency with
the sword art than former Sol Invictus leader, Quay.
...Tycon could not be certain of it, though. The sword art was
known for its subtlety, as the highest level of practitioners used
natural, flowing movements that seemed no more threatening
than a dancer's stage performance.
Lone leapt forward, smashing the pommels of his sword hilt onto a
large male pirate's shoulders, then powered a knee into his solar
plexus. The pirate opened his mouth to scream... but the strike to
below the lungs left him stunned and unable to convey his agony.
Then, Lone... with yet another spin and a flourish, cleanly

decapitated the fellow. He was showered in blood as he turned to
the remaining pirates-- still another half-dozen left.
The Elven Blade Dance was... a graceful, flowing... inefficient

sword art. However, the techniques Lone were using... bordered
on... murderous... raw... relentless and unforgiving.
"H-he... he just killed like ten of our guys!" One of the pirates
shouted.
"He's gotta be TIRED!!" Another yelled back, "Let's attack him

TOGETHER!!!"
Lone whirled his blades in a circular motion, ending with his wrists
touching and thrusting his fists forward, "⌈Wind, heed my call.⌋"
A roaring tunnel of wind erupted from the twin swords, shaving off
parts of the deck, spinning with dust and splinters of wood. The
pirates caught in the tunnel... they bled, as the rapidly spinning
debris rended away their skin.
The bloody bodies were ejected off of the ship... and into the
saltwater.
Tycon gulped.
Whatever that was... was a Third-Circle spell...
...
⟬ On an unknown beach in the Free Nation, present time. ⟭
"After that," Tycon explained, "Lone fainted from mana

exhaustion... and he has yet to wake..."
"So it's a no-brainer that he's cursed," Krysaos gestured towards

the unmoving Lone, "He's got funny looking ears, after all... but
why do ya think you gotta go all the way to Archangel to figure it
out? Can't we just stop at any city with a hexo-mancer or
whatever?"
The Captain looked up in thought... "I got cursed, once-- but I had
this Witch I used to rail, so I got that taken care of, no problem."
Tycon assumed Krysaos was referring to the curse-breaking and

not to the 'railing' of Witches.
He sighed and shook his head, "We tried a normal ⌈Remove

Curse⌋ ritual. It did not work."
Sol Invictus member Seldin Korr had... a peculiar supernatural

effect in her fists that allowed her to interact with incorporeal
entities, set free any individuals afflicted by possession, and on
one occasion, even break curses.
After Tycon wrapped her fists with cloth, she beat Lone for several
minutes... which admittedly may have been related as to why he
had yet to wake.
...Also, she landed a particularly vicious knee to the crotch that
seemed quite out of place. It probably had something to do with
Sorina's meddling.
Still, Lone was not freed from his mind control. Thankfully, the
process did not cost as much as a proper ritual.
"So in order to rescue Lone, our third crew member, we gotta take
the guy to Archangel," Krysaos nodded. "Got it."
"The swords," Tycon sighed. "The swords must eventually be

taken to Whitehearth. Archangel is along the way... relatively."
"I'm assuming the curse is also one of those hand-holdy ones?"
"...I'm sorry, what?" Tycon furrowed his brows. "The swords

violently reject any wielder trying to move them so far away from
Mister Lone's person, if that's what you were trying to imply."
"So... we gotta take the guy to Archangel," Krysaos repeated,

wearing his usual shite-eating grin.
"The swords," Tycon corrected.
"--which are attached to the guy."
Tycon pursed his lips... "You do not like being wrong, do you,
Captain?"
Krysaos managed to grin even wider, "But I'm not."
...
⁆ Captain's Log, Second entry. Afternoon-ish. ⁅
Tycon made lunch.
It was nothing short of amazing.
He called it simple... just mushrooms and some pork steak, but it

was so much more than that.
The guy had some kind of... supernatural sense to sear the
outside of the meat, LOCKING the moistness and tenderness
inside.
Then there were fire-roasted mushrooms-- you can't have those,

usually, since most of the things are poisonous... but they were
huge and juicy and all-around tasty.
Also, the guy even had salt AND spices! He was... it was... the
best meal a half-starved guy on a deserted island could ever
have.
"You know," Krysaos spoke with his mouth full-- it was just so
good, "Pretty good stuff... but should we really be eatin' like kings?
Being on a deserted island, and all."
"We're not," Tycon responded simply.
"Oh, no, we are," Krysaos argued. "Best meal I've had in my life!"
"Thank you," Tycon nodded with a subtle smirk.
All people were weak to praise... and for once, Krysaos wasn't
exaggerating about the food.
"However," The guy continued... "We are on the coastline."
He flicked his wrist... a really weird and specific motion... and a

rolled-up parchment appeared in his hand.
Magic.
"Neat trick," Krysaos nodded, impressed... "That uh... what I think

it is?"
He took the map and unrolled it...
"We should be about here," Tycon pointed... "And Coughing Fish

Bay is within two suns' travel... taking account of the fact that we'll
be dragging Mister Lone's unconscious body along with us."
Krysaos whistled, "You must be a real good adventurer to have
one of those."
"A map?" Tycon frowned, "They may be expensive, but they are
somewhat necessary for adventuring."
"I mean... the infinity bag," Krysaos chuckled.
Magic items that held things inside of them were both ridiculously
rare and ludicrously expensive. It further cemented the fact that
First Mate Tycon was probably as rich as an Archmage.
"Ah, my spatial ring," Tycon lifted his hand, the simple iron band
on his finger clear to see. "I must admit... that I am the leader of
guild Sol Invictus. I pray that won't be an issue."
",
Chapter 629 Best Girl (Part
One)
Krysaos, former Captain of the Sugar-Titted Siren, scoffed openly.
Tycon? Part of Sol Invictus? That was the biggest lie he'd ever
heard in his life.
The guy was so full of shite... and his balls were so... painfully
gods-damned huge... that he didn't just claim to be part of the
legendary Ezyrian arena guild.
He said he was its gods-damned leader.
Sea god's motherf*cking codpiece.
"You know, Tycon," Krysaos clapped his hand on the green-haired

guy's shoulder, "I think we're gonna get along just fine. Don't worry
about being part of both an adventuring guild and my crew. You're
good for it!"
"My thanks, Brother-Captain," Tycon smiled.
It was a good, honest smile. If Krysaos didn't know any better,

he'd think the guy was telling the truth.
"And since you got the experience, I'm promoting you to

Lieutenant!!" He declared... "I'm the Captain, though. Don't get
that twisted, y'hear?"
Tycon's smile fell... but only slightly, "I uh... I appreciate it."
That was a normal reaction.

Being an adventurer, he probably wasn't too familiar with naval
rank structure. Lieutenant did sound mighty impressive, though,
and the more impressive Krysaos' crew was, the better it'd
reflected positively on him.
Tycon looked over and past him... staring intently at something.
Krysaos heard it before he turned... low chittering and clicking...

along with gurgling sounds and wet, web-footed feet on the sands.
He put his wooden plate down, drank a few gulps from a

waterskin, and stood up, sword in hand.
"Well, well, well... Look what we have here," He grinned.
Tycon looked over. It was subtle, but he pushed his sword hilt out
with his left thumb, "Brother-Captain... from anecdotal experience,
such things are usually stated by the villainous party."
"I'm the scourge of the seventeen seas, LT," Krysaos shrugged,

"Me and my crew-- we're not supposed to be the good guys."
"Fair."
The sahuagin came... no less than fifteen of them... and one of

their guys in the back had a black flag with a white crow on it.
Krysaos knew it... because of course he did.
"I've seen that flag before..." Tycon twisted his lips, "The pirates
who attacked the Marlin Monroe flew the same."
"The Black Crow pirates," He chuckled. "Small fries. Nothing to

worry about."
"That is a decidedly white bird..." Tycon frowned, "Also, the

silhouette is that of a raven, not a crow."
"Oh yeah, you mean like the sword art..." Krysaos shrugged.
"Pirates ain't the smartest bunch."
Tycon stared back... for a few seconds too long before nodding.
...Oh.
It made Krysaos realize he just insulted himself, "--not me, though.

I'm smarter than your average pirate."
"Granted," Tycon replied with a straight face.
Krysaos pointed his stolen cutlass at the sahuagin that most

looked like a leader, "Alright, ALRIIIGHT!! All you cunts should
know who the f*ck I am... so why don't you all just f*ck right back
into the ocean."
The biggest, baddest web-foot hissed at him... and his skin

bubbled and popped as his entire form was covered in steam.
When the transformation magic was complete, he was a naked,

muscular human male with a thick beard and long, sea damaged
hair that went down to his shoulders.
And it had looked like the water was cold.
"Krysaosss..." He spoke in a deep voice that sounded like he

gargled rocks. "We are not here for you. Give usss the Chosen
One. That iss your only option."
"Yeah, no chance in the seven hells, I'mma do that!" Krysaos

shouted, tightly gripping the handle of his sword, "That guy's part
of my crew! And NOBODY f*cks with my crew!!"
Krysaos gestured at his Lieutenant, "Alright, Tycon, go get 'em."
The green-haired guy sighed and shook his head, looking at the
beach.
"...What's wrong, guy?"
"The concept of having options denotes having multiple choices,"

He muttered... "There is no such thing as an 'only' option. Options
either exist or do not."
Krysaos pursed his lips. It was something he'd never really

thought about before.
He turned again to the transformed sahuagin leader, "You're
making us pirates look bad, you fish-eyed cunts!!"
"...Common is not my first language," The naked man growled.
"Well, you should KNOW IT!!" Krysaos shouted, "You're standing

on confederacy sands, right now. So GO BACK AND STUDY!!!"
Another of the sahuagin-- a female looked towards the leader with

guilt in her large eyes, "I say, Anaru... you very, very, very... study!"
The others murmured along with her complaints...
"(Yeah, Anaru. Your Common is shite.)"
"(Why'd we elect you to be the one to talk, anyroad?)"
"(He was the only option...)"
"ENOUGHHHH!!" Anaru yelled, slamming the base of his trident

against the beach, the ground cracking with Iron-Rank force, "I'm
the leader, because I can transform into a HUMAN!!"
"That's really not all that impressive," Tycon shook his head. "I can
do it, too."
"AND SO CAN I!!" Krysaos pointed his thumb at himself.
"...Do you have a different form, Krysaos?" Tycon whispered.
"No, but I'm pretty good at being human, aren't I?"
"I've no complaints."
"STOP IGNORING ME!!" Anaru jutted his massive head between

the two of them.
"You still here?" Krysaos grimaced.
"Shall I kill him?" Tycon offered.
"Yeah, go ahead."
Tycon forcefully took hold of Anaru's thick human hair... and
smashed his face into the still-smoldering cookfire.
He held him still with a wiry, muscled arm as he mounted his back.
"Going for the arm, LT?" Krysaos smirked.
"Would you advise it?" Tycon looked up, "It seems unnecessary.
The sahuagin leader seems to be in enough pain, being burnt on
the coals."
"ARAARRGGHHHHGRGHLHLLLRRRGH!!!!"
Tycon made a good point.
"Dealer's choice," Krysaos shrugged lightly.
He gestured towards the other sahuagin, "Which one of you

seafolk lads and lasses have the best Common, then?"
The group erupted in a cacophony of Aquan.
"(You... Anaru is...)"
"(That's supposed to be our leader! You can't just--)"
The female that spoke earlier stepped forward, "I have... the--
BEST-o Common!"
"Tight," Krysaos nodded thoughtfully, "You're the new leader."
"YES!!" She balled up a webbed fist, "Very YESS!!! I am BEST

GIRL!!"
Easy enough.
"Alright, tell me your name," Krysaos grinned.
"Eh?"
"(...Uh, what's your name?)"

The sahuagin female bubbled a series of clicks and pops.
Krysaos raised his head, nodding slowly as if he understood...

"Your uh... your human name is Becky."
"BECKY IS BEST GIRL!!" She grinned, revealing a maw of sharp,

spiky teeth.
Chapter 630 Best Girl (Part
Two)
ecky turned to her peers, sticking the base of her trident in the
B
sand and placing her opposite webbed fist on her waist.
"(See? I told you studying under the Priestess was super useful!)"
She gurgled gleefully, "(I just got a battlefield promotion!)"
"(Leader Becky,)" Another sahuagin clicked in worry, "(Anaru was

defeated in an instant. Maybe we should... leave?)"
"Speak... in COMMON!" Becky bared her teeth in what was

probably a smile.
"I dare-sssay that these two gentlemen are beyondd our meanss
to engaage," The male sahuagin crossed his arms. "Perhapssss
we should take our chancess apologizing... to the Black
Crowsss... rather than take a rissky confrontationn?"
"That's a pretty smart idea," Krysaos agreed, hoping the lot were
as stupid as they looked. "Y'know, live to fight another sun."
"WRONG!" Becky declared, papping the base of her trident once

more against the sand.
Thankfully, it didn't make the same boom sound like when that
Anaru guy did it.
"Wrong?" Krysaos grimaced.
"...Wrong?" The male sahuagin tilted his head.
"Your accent is BAD! SO VERY BAD!" Becky scolded.

"...It bringsss me... great diss-honor..." The guy looked away in
shame.
Becky crossed her arms in thought... but not two seconds later,
her entire fish-eyed face brightened all at once,"(We can pray to
the Sea God for help. The Sea God hates Krysaos!")
She wrung her webbed hands as she turned back to Krysaos, "
(Um. No disrespect intended, Captain Krysaos.)"
Krysaos revealed his open palms, "No off--"
"SEA GOD'S TROUSERS!!!!! WHYYYYYY?!?" Anaru screamed in

pain.
It sounded like Tycon had chosen to break the arm, after all.
Tight.
Krysaos smiled politely, "No offense taken, Miss."
He was honestly still a little upset about his crew's mutiny, the sea
god stealing his ship, and the lot of them leaving him for dead.
...It's not like he could change the fact, though.
"It is what it is," He sighed.
Tycon shot a glare at him.
...It was probably something he said incorrectly, but Krysaos didn't

care about it too much.
Becky waddled over to the sealine, some thirty feet away... and
she raised her hands high above her head, "(O' Sea God! Hear
this one's prayers! Help us recover the Chosen One!!)"
"(Ask him to save Anaru, too,)" One of her companions shouted

towards her-- probably trying to be helpful.
"(And please, o' Sea God, save the previous leader!)" Becky
added, "(--who is dumb. Because he is STUPID! I, Becky, am a lot
better than he is!)"
"Should we be worried about that?" Tycon asked.
He was still seated upon Anaru, who seemed to have finally

accepted his fate.
"Nah, don't worry about it," Krysaos waved. "That shitty sea god
doesn't listen to just anyone..."
He frowned as he gestured at the sahuagin leader, "Uh... that guy

dead?"
"Unconscious, either from pain or asphyxiation from the smoke,"

Tycon responded. "If he were deceased, I'd expect him to
transform back into his natural state."
Before Krysaos went on about how weak that Anaru guy was... he
realized that everything had gone quiet. All the bushes and
vegetation... had become eerily silent. The gulls had gone away,
too.
The sea rats never go away.
Tycon's eyes had drifted upward and past him.
...Krysaos did absolutely not want to turn around.
His voice cracked with fear as he spoke in a hushed tone...

"There's something big and scary yer lookin' at, huh?"
"I would say so," Tycon nodded gravely.
"...Becky's ritual worked, didn't it?"
"That seems to be the case, Brother-Captain."
Krysaos took a deep breath... then spun around immediately.
Forming just off the coast was a... twenty-- no, fifty... maybe a five-
hundred-foot wave! Becky was dancing around like an idiot,
pumping her trident up and down over her head.
"Shall we start running?" Tycon suggested.
"N-nah," Krysaos coughed. "I... I got this. I've gotten back some of
my mana, since lunch... so I... so I can..."
"A delay will cause us undue harm, Captain," Tycon narrowed his
eyes.
"Don't rush me!" Krysaos snapped back, "I just... I... AH! I got it!!
⌈Water SPHERE!!!⌋"
Channeling his Skill, he directed the mana in the air to form a big
watery bubble that encased him and Tycon both.
"Ahaha!! I'm a GENIUS!!" He laughed.
"And this does... what, exactly?" Tycon crossed his arms.
"It'll protect you and me from the big crashing wave. And we can
breathe underwater with this spell, too," Krysaos boasted. "It's
super useful. Trust me."
"...then you must also realize that Mister Lone is not protected by
this same spell."
Krysaos' eyes widened, "Oh sh--"
...
The slow march back towards the camp was uncomfortably silent.
...It wasn't the silence that bothered Tycondrius as much as the

moping from the obviously depressed Sea Captain Krysaos.
The two of them had been washed a bothersome distance away...

near twenty minutes of travel time, by Tycon's estimate.
Upon reaching the location and searching for half-a-bell, Lone's

corpse was nowhere to be found.
"It seems the sahuagin have taken Mister Lone... and the swords,"
Tycon remarked... the first words spoken since the event.
"Ya don't say," Krysaos muttered...
"Krysaos..." Tycon frowned, "speak your mind, if you would.

Matters of the sea are your expertise, are they not?"
The gentleman was staring off into the distance, towards the sun
setting over the watery horizon.
Tycon stood by him... "Captain."
"Eh..." Krysaos rubbed the back of his head, "Don't call me that...
I... I ain't a Captain, Tycon."
...Tycon took great care not to laugh. Krysaos admitting to his

earlier lies wouldn't help the situation.
He gestured calmly towards him, "How do you mean?"
"I ain't a Cap'n without a ship..." Krysaos shook his head as he

plopped down on the sands... "And my crew? I'm now missing
literally half of 'em."
"I think it safe to assume Mister Lone is dead," Tycon offered.
New crewmembers didn't seem so difficult to find. Lone would be

a pain to replace. The Swords of the Forgotten King would need
to be recovered. An Iron-Rank Ranger's corpse, not so much.
Krysaos placed his palms on his face as he groaned towards the

sky... "Nah, man... I... I really f*cked it up. I gotta say... life's been
shite. Sea god hates me. Don't have a ship. My best friend's quest
is royally f*cked in the arse."
Tycon assumed that 'best friend' was him. It was a pleasant title
that warmed his heart.
"Yet... we live," He shrugged.

Chapter 631 Three-Legged
Mare
" Were it not for your ⌈Water Sphere,⌋ Captain, it's likely we would
have drowned."
Tycondrius had a Gold-Rank physique, but he was by no means

invincible.
He could hold his breath longer than a regular person, but he still
needed to breathe. His body was resistant but not immune to
blunt trauma.
If the summoned wave were to slam his head against a rock... or

several rocks, he would lose consciousness and drown to death,
just as an ordinary human would.
For an adventurer that mostly travels by land, it would have been

somewhat ironic.
Krysaos rubbed his hairy hands against his weathered face, "F*ck,
man... maybe it'll be better if I just... stay on land for the rest of my
gods-damned life."
Tycon sat on a rock across from him, "It may not be my place...
but it is my firm belief that a Captain should not--"
"I said not to--"
"Krysaos," Tycon glared... "Please don't interrupt."
The defeated sailor pursed his lips... and nodded for Tycon to
continue...
"I have faith in you, Krysaos. That means... your crew
wholeheartedly believes in you."
The young, unshaven gentleman pursed his lips... but did not
reject the words.
Tycon reached over, placing his hand on the Captain's shoulder,

"From what I know, the scourge of the Eastern Seas is not a man
that gives up so easily."
"...Y... yeah. He ain't," Krysaos gulped... nodding slowly.
He turned his head up... "I'll... I'll make it up to you, Tycon."
"I'll be in your care, Captain," Tycon reached his hand forward.

"Us against the world."
"Yeah..." Krysaos clasped Tycon's offered hand at the wrist. "Us

against the world."
...
⟬ Port Coughing Fish, Three Legged Mare Inn & Tavern, a sun and
a half later... ⟭
"You know what'll make me feel better?" Krysaos grinned, "Ale

and whores!"
It didn't take long for the shameless gentleman to be cured of his

melancholy-- on the surface. Tycon had caught a glimpse of the
personal thoughts behind his Captain's overall debauchery... a
general sense of helplessness with a dash of an inferiority
complex.
Krysaos-- that is, a human with an aquatic bloodline was exactly

the resource Tycon hoped to utilize to assist him with recovering
the Swords of the Forgotten King.
Though he hadn't wanted to accept Troia's quest... he had. Thus,

he would complete it to the best of his abilities.
He was a professional.
"Captain, I'd like you to requisition a ship."
"Eh?" Krysaos' eyes widened in shock. "Oh, yeah! We gotta save

our third crewmember!"
...It seemed the prospect of drunken debauchery and utilization of

well-used goods had distracted him from the task on hand.
"The swords," Tycon reminded. "We need to recover them."
"And the guy-- if possible."
"If possible, very well," Tycon conceded.
He summoned a small bag of coin and pushed it across the pub

table, "I pray this will be enough."
Krysaos checked the bag's contents-- silver, and weighed it in his

hand, "Yeah... I can make this work."
Tycon had purposely given the Captain approximately half of what

he'd expected to be used. With Krysaos' silver tongue, it was quite
possible for the man to make do with that... or at least use it as a
down payment.
...He trusted the man enough not to run away with it, but not
enough to spend on frivolous pursuits-- in particular, the ones he'd
previously mentioned.
"So I was thinkin'..."
"An excellent start," Tycon quipped.
"We make contact with some merfolk... sahuagin or sea elves or...
somethin'," Krysaos continued, "They'll be able to direct us to
wherever the Black Crow base is... or at least where Becky and
her tribe is."
"Sound plan," Tycon nodded.
"The only issue is..." Krysaos took a deep breath and sighed, "I
dunno how to find the artifacts."
"The High Oracle has provided a magical item to aid us, for this
very situation."
Tycon had specifically requested it, before departing from Cersei's

Rest.
He flicked his wrist, summoning a starburst-shaped leaf that he

held carefully between his fingers, "As the seal has been broken
on the swords, I will be able to discern their location... or, at least,
direct us towards them."
"W-wait," Krysaos held his palms out... "you really met with the
High Oracle?"
"Cap'n Krysaos, izzat you?"
A buxom waitress had wandered over to their table. It was a busy

weekend evening, covered in fog, so the public house was filled to
capacity.
Tycon appreciated that he had a well-known companion that could

achieve them more exceptional service.
...It made him want to believe even more that Krysaos was a real
Captain.
"Sandpaper Sally!" Krysaos declared, "You look... GREAT!!"
The man was staring unapologetically at her chest, "Your tits get
bigger or what?"
"Cap'n, you're such a perv," Sally winked coquettishly before lifting

up her large bosom with her hands, "You can give it a weigh-- but
only if yer a payin' customer."
"Good evening," Tycon smiled.
"OoooOooh!" Sally swooned, taking a seat beside him, "Who's

this handsome young gentleman, Cap'n?"
Tycon noticed a subtle movement... of the woman licking her lips.

She had what he assumed was... hunger in her eyes.
"I'm starting a new crew," Krysaos grinned. "This guy's a Metal-
Rank adventurer."
"Ohhh my," Sally fanned herself with her hand, "Well, here at the
Wonky Donkey, I c'n get you anything you need, Mister
Adventurer."
Wonky... what? The tavern sign was of a three-legged horse

wearing exaggerated, painted lipstick.
Also, it looked nothing like a donkey.
"An ale and the chef's special for myself and the Captain," Tycon
smiled politely.
"Ahaha!" Sally laughed, a pleasant, if nasal sound. "I'll take care of

you, now, then... but jus' let me know if you need to be taken care
of... tonight."
The girl sprung out of her seat and headed back towards the
kitchen.
"Mhm... That girl's somethin' else," Krysaos chuckled, watching

the woman's swaying rear as she walked off. "You gonna enlist
her services tonight, or what?"
"Brother-Captain..." Tycon leaned forward to whisper... "Why

exactly did you call her... 'Sandpaper Sally'?"
"Well..." Krysaos's mouth widened into his shameless, shite-eating

grin, "Once she picks the scabs outta her cunt, she feels just like a
virgin!"
Chapter 632 Midnight
Departure
ycondrius was nearly finished with inventorying the contents of

T
his spatial ring when Krysaos entered the door of their private inn
room.
"Oh, my bad," Krysaos bared his teeth in a not-so-apologetic grin,

"Should I have knocked?"
Tycon furrowed his brows... "That would have been polite, yes."
"You look like you're enjoying yourself," Krysaos grimaced as he

looked around the room.
Tycon gestured at the ordered stacks of rations and the few

articles of clothing and weaponry, "I like being prepared."
"So this is how you spend your nights..." Krysaos muttered. "I was
hoping to run into... you-know-who. I might've offered to join in."
"I'd much rather do inventory, thank you."
"AaAAanyroad," The human proudly puffed his chest out, "*I* got
a ship! It's leavin' at midnight, though."
Tycon peeled his attention away from his inventory check to look
at his Captain.
The gentleman had eschewed his ragged trousers for new ones
and was wearing a loose, sleeved linen shirt. It seemed he'd
purchased a scabbard for his sword, strapped to a new belt... and
he had even had his face shaved and his hair trimmed, short and
neat.
Krysaos had requisitioned a ship... and attained a professional
look... for a practically insulting amount of silver.
Tycon was nothing short of impressed.
"Well... done, Captain," He nodded... "To be quite honest, I can

scarcely believe it."
"Ahaha! Yeah!" Krysaos grinned, "Wasn't easy. You won't believe

how much they tried to charge me for this. Then I told 'em--"
Tycon tuned out what his Captain was saying, nodding

occasionally. He successfully completed his gear check, then
began to orderly return everything to his spatial ring.
"--but anyroad! The guy couldn't stop tryin' to give me stuff! I had
to tell 'em that I couldn't take ALL of it. He's got a family to feed,
am I right?"
"Magnanimous of you, Brother-Captain," Tycon nodded. "Shall we

check out of the inn and head to the ship, then?"
It seemed somewhat dangerous to sail away from port so late at

night... and under the cover of heavy fog. At the same time, he
reasoned that if Krysaos was able to afford passage, the ship
might belong to pirates or smugglers... with a captain and crew
that would prefer a clandestine departure.
That was more than acceptable.
"Aha! Yeah," Krysaos bared his teeth-- "But before that, I'm
thinkin' to use the coin left over to get stupid-drunk!!"
Tycon mulled over the thought.
It wouldn't hurt.
He had already considered the coin he'd given Krysaos to be used

and the man deserved a reward for a job well done.
"With your permission, Brother-Captain, I would love to join you."

...
Captain Krysaos could drink... and the amount of which was nigh
unfathomable.
Tycon had a physique largely resistant to poison... and yet, he

could not drink as much as that man, due to having a smaller
stomach capacity.
Krysaos was near a fulm taller than he was... but it seemed his
gullet was bottomless when it came to alcohol intake.
Tycon was called a coward... for refusing to drink past his fill? He
chose to take no offense from a drunkard's ramblings.
The Captain also admitted to him that he loved him-- then

backtracked as he went off into a slightly homophobic rant. The
point was made that Krysaos greatly appreciated Tycon's faith...
At a later date, Tycon would gently counsel his companion about

political correctness, to avoid any future problems amongst a
larger variety of crew members.
Everything said and done, Captain Krysaos was certain to regret

most of the night's events upon morning... as a hangover was
inevitable.
...And it was not impossible for him to have contracted a

debilitating affliction after bedding a particular whore.
With Krysaos' direction, Tycon helped him drunkenly stumble

towards the ship... they boarded and entered their private quarters
And thus, their quest would continue...
To recover the Swords of the Forgotten King.
To restore the great name of Captain Krysaos.
And to get a ship and gather a crew worthy of his name.
...
⁆ So there i was, surrounded by gorgeous women of all shapes

and sizes. Warm. Safe. In the comfort of my ship. ⁅
⁆ There was this orc girl with criminally huge thighs and her rear
was... firm, yet pliable. Had a frog-girl... didn't need lubrication,
even for the hardest-to-fit places. And oh... man, this dwarf chick--
the best way I could describe her is... creative. ⁅
⁆ All in all, best dream I ever had. ⁅
Krysaos woke up atop a moldy sheet, stuck by bits of old straw

poking through.
The morning sun shone grey through the fog of the porthole...
attached to dingy, water damaged walls.
He was on a ship, that was for sure... and in a small cabin. From
the gentle motion affecting the room, and the lack of gull noises,
they were out on the ocean blue.
Krysaos shut his eyes and stretched his arms, yawning heartily.
He had a dull headache from the previous night, but it wasn't too
bad. Nothing a sip from the ship's grog wouldn't cure.
Then, something moved.
There was... a shadow standing over his bed, looking down at

him.
He narrowed his eyes... and held his breath.
The thing kept still... unnaturally still.
The room was pretty dark... but according to where the porthole
was, the shadow should... not have been where it was. And it
shouldn't have been standing next to him!
It... was definitely there.

Krysaos couldn't pretend it wasn't, even for a second.
He swiped his hand at it, "Get away!!!"
It swayed its head back to dodge the strike.
Krysaos didn't know how, but he'd leapt to his feet from the lying
position. Then he knelt down to pick up his cutlass, pointing the
sheathed sword forward, "Bring it on!"
The shadow... stared at him... with a strange, slightly yellowish

glow appearing where its eyes should have been.
...It was a whole lot creepier than if it started attacking him.
"Hey... hey, guy," Krysaos whispered loudly, hoping Tycon would

hear. "Wake up."
Chapter 633 Is It Bad?
rysaos was walking a fine line between screaming like a little girl
K
and trying not to make hostile movements so as to not get himself
killed.
He kept his attention towards the shadowy creature... but looked

towards Tycon out the corner of his eye.
The green-haired Lieutenant was sitting cross-legged in the

corner of the room, cradling a long sheathed sword in his arms.
And somehow... he was still asleep!
"Tycon!" He raised his voice-- but just a little bit.
One of the guy's eyes shot open immediately-- "What?"
...He looked angry. BUT THAT WASN'T IMPORTANT!
Krysaos stealthily gestured his thumb towards the shadow,

"There's a... a thing here."
"Mm..." Tycon casually stretched his back. With a finger, he gently

rubbed the sand out of the corners of his eyes, "Have you never
seen a shadow before?"
Krysaos grit his teeth... "Course I have, guy."
"Then there should be no cause for alarm," Tycon shook his head.
"He's with us, anyroad."
...Oh.
Krysaos furrowed his brows as he re-sheathed his sword...

The shadow waved.
"Good morning... Shadow-guy."
The shadow nodded... and its golden eyes seemed to glow bright,
for a moment.
"Can I recruit him into the crew?" Krysaos asked.
"...I don't see why not."
"Welcome to the crew, Shadow," Krysaos grinned...
He was still trying to come to terms that he was speaking to a...

sentient shadow creature. Admittedly, he shouldn't have found it
so strange.
The shadow saluted in agreement.
...Nice. Krysaos could live with that.
"Hey Tycon, you awake?"
"I am now," Tycon got to his feet, smiling politely. "Good morning,
Captain."
"Good morning," Krysaos began smoothing out his linen shirt,

"Sea god's socks... what's with this place, though?"
"Years of neglect, it seems," Tycon casually looked over the

cramped cabin, "I'd imagine it's how you attained passage for the
two of us for so cheap."
Krysaos felt beads of sweat start to form on his forehead... This...

this was somehow his fault.
He whipped his head around, hearing a foreboding clicking

noise... and his eyes widened as he realized the lever to the door
was... moving.
Someone... or some... thing was trying to get in.

He again fumbled for his sword, drawing it clumsily. Years of
training in White Raven swordsmanship... and he was about to
piss himself.
"T-tycon... the door..."
"They won't be able to get in," Tycon shrugged. "nor us, out. The
mechanism is jammed."
"Y-you don't say," Krysaos frowned...
Soon enough, the motion stopped... leaving an eerie silence in its

wake.
Krysaos hurried to the door and peered at the key lock, "What
the... is this... human... hair?! This is FREAKIN' CREEPY!!"
"It's effective," Tycon replied. "And cheap. There's a razor on the

hook near the door for easy exit."
"H-how did they lock us in from this side?!" Krysaos glanced to the
side... at the red-stained razorblade, "and... is that... BLOOD?!"
"Rust, most likely."
"...Oh. Still gross."
"Slightly unprofessional, I agree," Tycon nodded.
"And what is THAT!?" Krysaos pointed to a book the creepy

shadow guy was holding.
The shadow pointed back to the writing desk-- probably where he

found it.
Krysaos took the book and flipped it open to a random page. The
spelling was terrible, but it was written as if spoken, so he could
read it.
⁆ XXX days since I died. I got stuck on swabbing duty again.

Being dead sucks, but I wish I didn't die at such a low rank. ⁅
He tossed the journal to the deck, "A-- a dead person wrote this!!!
Isn't that really frickin' CREEPY??!"
"To reiterate, I'd imagine this is exactly what we paid for, Captain,"
Tycon smiled politely.
"I mean, YEAH!" Krysaos grit his teeth... "I thought I got a good
deal, too! But... the ship looked nothing like this when I checked it
out the other sun..."
"Ah. You're referring to the thin veil of illusory magic," The guy
mused. "The spell expired during the night."
Krysaos nearly shouted, he was so mad, "And you didn't think that
was important?!"
Tycon pursed his lips, "Obviously, I did not..."
He cleared his throat... then paused to summon a waterskin out of

his spatial ring.
Krysaos held his hand out, hoping Tycon would hand him the
waterskin after. Water would alleviate his headache.
He did. Great guy, that Tycon-- when he wasn't purposely

withholding information just to watch him squirm.
"The ship sails, regardless of its appearance," Tycon explained.

"The dark energies suffused in the air keep it afloat."
Krysaos nearly spat out his drink, "Wh-wh-wha? What-- dark...

energies?"
"...Yes," Tycon nodded... "I apologize, did I misspeak?"
This guy!! THIS GUY!!!
Tycon was DEFINITELY as much as fault for their situation as HE

WAS!
"I dunno ANYTHING 'bout no dark energies?!" Krysaos raised his

voice, "It sounds bad! Is it bad? It's bad, isn't it?!"
"You can't sense it?" The green-haired Lieutenant gestured calmly
at their surroundings, "We're surrounded by a thick miasma of
dark mana, shadow and undeath. They're similar to begin with...
and in this place, they're melded together."
"Normal people can't sense that sort of thing!" Krysaos insisted.
"...Oh. That's fair," Tycon nodded-- looking far less concerned than
he should have been.
Krysaos placed his face into his palms... "I shoulda known
something was suspicious when the girl said we didn't have to pay
for passage."
He felt someone patting his back to calm him down. As Tycon was
in front of him, it was probably the shadow.
...He hoped it was the shadow.
"If that's the case..." Tycon placed his hand on his chin... "do you
have any leftover coin?"
"I do not," Krysaos lied.
"Anyroad, from your panic, Captain, I'm assuming we're in some

sort of predicament."
"Not sure yet," Krysaos gulped. "Gotta see for m'self."
He strode over to the room's exit and went out the door... greeted
by a shadowy hallway, pale light sifting through the holes in the
poorly maintained top deck.
"Yep, see that?" Krysaos grimaced as he pointed down the

hallway, "We're on a ghost ship."
"Makes sense," Tycon said from behind him.
From Krysaos' peripheral vision, the shadow had... phased into

the hallway to beside him. It shrugged its shoulders as if it was
confused.
"A ghost ship," Krysaos explained, "is a busted ship, filled with
undead... sailing around and terrorizing port towns, sometimes
kidnapping them to join their ghostly crew!"
"You make them sound rather intimidating..." Tycon peered down

the hall, "However, that ghost appears to be mopping the deck."
"Everyone swabs the deck," Krysaos groaned. "That's just

something that has to be done."
"Eh?" The ghost suddenly ceased her swabbing... and her

translucent figure seemed to... invert. Her face appeared through
the back of her head, then the rest of her body faced towards
them.
"A... a man on the Jade Rabbit?!"
Tycon pointed casually, "She seems to have noticed us."
"Ya don't say?" Krysaos narrowed his eyes.
Ghostly green, with short and sea-damaged hair, flat as a plank,

the ghost stared at him with cold, lifeless eyes.
"A man?! A LiivVinNg MaNNnn?!?" She moaned. "YooOUuu don't

beLoonNngg HEEEEERE!!!"
"It sounds like she's going to try to kill you," Tycon chuckled.
"Ya DON'T SAY?!" Kryasos glared.
The ghost dropped her ghostly mop and drew a ghostly dagger as
she drifted closer... "This... is a sAAacrEd women's garden!! A
man... can't be here... you'll... impregnate us all!!"
Krysaos twisted his lips to the side... "Given enough time and
hydration, yeah... I guess I'm up for the challenge."
"I think it was veiled threat, Captain," Tycon remarked... "not an

invitation."
The shadow nodded enthusiastically in agreement.

"You got a plan, Tycon?" Krysaos asked, "You said you were a
Tactician the other night, right?"
"I also told you that Elven wine was not to be underestimated,
especially after all those shots of Nemayan vodka."
The ghost came towards him with her dagger and he deflected a
predictable lunge with his sword.
"Get me a PLAN, Tycon!!!"
"Interesting," Tycon rested his weapon upon a nearby wall as he

placed his hand on his chin. "The ghost appears to be more
corporeal than immaterial. Combat is a viable option."
"I mean OVERALL, guy!!" Krysaos snarled. He managed a

shallow slash on the ghost woman's chest, but it only seemed to
make her angrier.
The ghost stretched her mouth to scream, far wider than a living
person would, "DiIiIiie!! MaAAAaLe!!"
Tycon snatched the dagger out of the woman's hand with his left,
then kept his right palm gripped on her face to keep her away.
"G-give it baAaaCkkK!!!" She wailed.
Tycon looked up in thought, completely ignoring the ghost.

"Perhaps we should speak to the ship's Captain to see if they can
help us?"
"You can't negotiate with ghosts, Tycon!" Krysaos shouted. "They

only want one thing!!"
"...And what is that?" He stared at the ghost as she flailed her

arms, trying to recover her weapon.
Krysaos furrowed his brows... "Attaining their final wishes..."
"...I'd imagine that would be different for each ghost we

encounter," Tycon shook his head.
"Wait, what do you mean?" Krysaos shouted. "There's more than
one ghost?!"
"...Yes," Tycon frowned as he shoved the female ghost back. "This

being a ghost ship implies a ghostly crew, does it not?"
The girl fell upon her arse and thunked the back of her head
against a wall. Then... she curled up and began to sob... "P-
please don't kill me... I don't... I don't wanna die a virgin."
"Tycon... you gotta be nicer to women," Krysaos frowned.
"So I've been told..."

Chapter 634 A Crime
ycondrius groaned and shook his head, leaning his back against
T
a wooden wall.
Captain Krysaos was seated on the deck, comforting the crying

ghost woman lying her head on his lap. He whispered gentle
words to her with a radiant smile that was probably attractive to
the opposite gender.
"This is deplorable!" Krysaos declared, "This ship is full of half-

naked ghost girls!"
The shadow crossed its arms, looking disappointed.
Tycon agreed with the sentiment.
"Respectfully, Captain," He grimaced, "the condition of the young

lady's attire is due to your earlier attempt to cut her down."
The ghost began to sob loudly, as if just remembering, "Y-you

tRiiiIied to KillllLLLL mmeeeeeeee..."
Tycon furrowed his brows. She was also at fault, as she initiated
the hostility. Retaliation was something to be expected.
"Hey, listen," Krysaos cooed. "I didn't mean it like that."
"R-really?"
Krysaos turned back to Tycon as he gently stroked the female

ghost's head... while also not-so-subtly rubbing her thigh.
"During the sunlight, the crew seemed to be all chicks," Krysaos

explained. "Partly why I picked it."
Silently observing the ghost, Tycon placed his chin on his hand in
thought.
⟬ Jade Rabbit Sailor, Bronze-Rank Ghost Martialist. ⟭
If Krysaos words were true... the exclusively female crew could be

part of a Yin-Type sect. It was similar to the Frozen Cairn sect, of
which one of his powerful allies, Athena Vanzano, was being
groomed to be the next matriarch.
Tycon could faintly sense a single martial practitioner onboard...

one more powerful than the others. Conversely, the remaining
seawomen of the Jade Rabbit didn't seem particularly threatening.
On a personal note, he hoped they were better combatants than

the clumsy girl eagerly consuming the honeyed words Krysaos
pulled out of his arse.
Less than a proper Martialist, she wasn't even an effective ghost.
Proper ghosts did not allow themselves to be struck by mundane,

non-magical attacks... much less allow themselves to be charmed
by a living human.
Though the girl emitted a greenish glow, her form was clear... far
unlike even his ⌈Venomous Shadow,⌋ whose arms and legs ended
in wispy smoke.
...And Krysaos did not seem to have any Ghost-Hunting traits, like
Sol Invictus member Seldin Korr.
It was likely... that the spirit had a powerful connection to The

Real.
That... required a focus... or perhaps a powerful enchanted entity.
Hy hypothesized that the Ghost Ship was kept afloat by a

Dungeon Core. Further, its unique power to bridge the gap
between a spiritual plane and their current, material plane,
subsequently allowed the ghosts aboard the ship to sustain
corporeal forms as they chose.
"It's crazy, though," Krysaos bared his teeth. "They're all just as
sexy as they were in life! Can you believe that kinda nerve!?"
Though his words were complaints, he sounded more excited or

anxious than upset.
It was true. Female Martialists sought peak physical conditioning...

and a Yin-Type sect produced exceptionally feminine and
cultivators with unparalleled beauty.
However, Krysaos' words had a strange implication to them.
"Captain..." Tycon took a deep breath... "are you... sexually

attracted to ghosts?"
While Tycon generally did not like to judge others for what they did
during their personal time... there were... issues with that
particular pursuit.
"PSHH, what?!" Krysaos waved his hand, "No! Necrophilia is a

crime, Tycon."
Tycon inclined his head in apology... "I felt it relevant to ask."
"Apology accepted, guy," Krysaos nodded... "Now, let's go find

one we can talk to instead of ones that just attack on sight."
Tycon frowned, sharing an incredulous look with his shadow...

"Captain... you do realize how rare sentient ghosts are?"
"This one's sentient!" Krysaos argued.
"I'll... I'll kill you..." The ghost hiccuped as she sobbed, "Death... to
the living."
"If anything," Tycon continued, "they have to at least be Iron-Rank

to keep something of their personality and intelligence."
The shadow nodded in agreement.
"BUT!" Krysaos grinned... his wide... ugly grin... as if he'd

shamelessly just eaten an entire stolen cake... "it's not
IMPOSSIBLE! I'll promote you if you can find me a hot one,
Lieutenant!"
"W... we're not allowed to use makeup..." The ghost pouted. "and I
was on swabbing duty!"
Krysaos shushed her with a finger to her lips, "Not now, sweetie."
"Captain..." Tycon shook his head, "necrophilia is a crime."
"They're not really dead!" Krysaos insisted, "They're undead! It's

different!"
"Even in the Sleeping Country, who use undead in their standing

armies... necrophilia is *still* a crime."
"We're under the laws of the open seas, LT! Lighten up a bit!"
Tycon sighed... They weren't too far from the shores of the
Eastern States... which meant they should technically still be
under their maritime laws.
However, little would come of arguing with the stubborn and

shameless human.
"Anyroad," Krysaos continued, "I have an idea... You see...

ghosts, to make 'em pass on, you gotta give 'em their desires they
had in life."
"You mentioned as such," Tycon nodded slowly...
Captain Krysaos seeking to grant each individual ghostly crew

member's final wishes to the best of his ability was an honorable
quest... and an unexpected development.
It sounded like a waste of time, but it was nice to think about.
"Most magnanimous of you, Captain," Tycon smiled politely.
"And for the women on this ship," Krysaos placed his thumb on
the young ghost-woman's chin.
"Y-yes?" She looked up expectantly.
"I, Captain Krysaos, can satisfy your every desire!"
There it was.
Tycon kept his face solemn, "I take back my earlier statement."
"ESPECIALLY if they're HOT!" The Captain added.
"Wh.. what the hells?" The ghost whispered... "Why are you being
so mean?"
"You're cute, not hot," Krysaos chided. "There's a difference."
Tycon took a deep breath... it was an... awkward plan of action,

but if Krysaos was successful, sending ghosts off to rest was still
theoretically a goodly pursuit... "And if there are any men?"
"I'll cut 'em down with my White Raven swordsmanship!" Krysaos

grinned.
"...Isn't that a bit... sexist, Brother-Captain?"
"It's called Equal Opportunity!"
"That does not mean what you think it means..."
"ANYROAD, it's a good plan!!" Krysaos twisted his lips, "What,

you got a better idea, LT?"
"I hypothesize that the ship is a Dungeon... and is powered by

either an artifact or particularly strong spirit."
"Yeah, so?"
"I advise we find it, attack with surprise, and force it to do our
bidding."
Fast. Ruthless. Efficient. If Tycon did not have the luxury of time
and preparation, those were the traits he strived for in a plan of
action.
As he'd mentioned to Krysaos earlier, finding the Ghost Ship's
former Captain would do well in expediting their victory.
"Tiiight!" Kryasos stood up and clapped Tycon on the shoulder,

"Good thinking, Lieutenant."
"Thank you, Captain."
"That's an excellent Plan B."
"...Very well, Captain," Tycon shook his head.
"You and Shadow go... hang out or whatever. I'm gonna escort
this girl back to her room..."
...
Tycon did not have much to do while Krysaos was out...

exorcising.
The shadow seemed to grow bored soon after, so he

disappeared... returning to the Plane of Shadow to do whatever
bored shadows do.
Without anything meaningful to occupy him, and inventory

completed a night prior, Tycon explored the haunted ship.
He encountered the crewmembers of the Jade Rabbit-- all female,

confirming Krysaos' conjectures. They would shriek or draw
weapons upon seeing him.
As Tycon continued to solidify his Gold-Rank physique and Skills,

his ocular ability, ⌈Vexing Gaze,⌋ had achieved a certain level of
power.
With a glance and a modicum of mana expended, his would-be

attackers were immediately pacified. They put away their
weapons, bowing their heads in apology. Some would flee through
walls, in terror.
Admittedly, it made Tycon feel slightly lonely, to be so feared... but

it was better than being attacked every several minutes.
He found the kitchen. It was in disrepair, all of its food stores
rotten. Even the barrels of pickled vegetables seemed to have
been affected by the withering energies in the air.
...The stove remained structurally sound, if blanketed in rust, and

he had some burning material in his spatial ring. He and Krysaos
wouldn't starve during their trip-- and would eat comfortably if they
reached their destination in less than two weeks.
With the most important resource discovered, he refocused his

efforts on searching for the ship's Captain.
In theory, Krysaos should have sought her out... as he was a

'Captain' and Tycon only a 'Lieutenant.'
However, Krysaos seemed to have occupied himself... and Tycon

was bored.
He found what he'd hoped was the Captain's personal quarters

and politely rapped on the door.
"Announce yourself!" A deep, echoey female voice shouted, "and

zis better be good..."
Tycon furrowed his brows... Whoever was behind the door was a
believer in proper customs and courtesies... and had a light
accent of the Kingdom's Old Language.
He cleared his throat and spoke in a clear, firm voice... as was

expected of a military Officer, "(Lieutenant Tycon, requesting
permission to enter!)"
In preparation, he placed his dark cloak into his spatial ring... and
summoned a different set of clothes-- the professional attire of
The Kingdom's Royal Navy.
Chapter 635 Jade Arrow (Part
One)
esides being a Lieutenant under Captain Krysaos, Tycondrius

B
was a Lieutenant of the Sea Wolf Marine Fleet. Considering that
he was speaking to a woman of the Kingdom, as well as the fact
that she was observing proper military decorum... the latter title
had substantially more weight.
Tycon waited through several moments of silence.
He did not mind. It was likely the woman beyond was perplexed
as to why an unfamiliar male was requesting to speak with her.
The extra preparation time allowed him to smooth out his coat and
trousers with his hands.
The voice finally beckoned, in the Kingdom's Old Language, "

(Permission granted.)"
Upon entering the room, Tycon tried not to grimace at the effects
in the Ship Captain's room so decayed. Proud flags, discolored
and full of holes. Expensive maps, yellowed and cracked. With the
general undeath magic suffusing everything about them, it was
something that couldn't be helped.
A lithe woman wearing two swords on her waist turned away from
a map on the opposite wall. The coat she wore belonged to that of
the Kingdom's Royal Navy-- hers, fully decorated with ribbons and
medals.
She wore the rank of High-Captain... a commander of a full fleet.
Tycon might have mistakenly assumed she was living by her skin
tone-- pale and pink as opposed to the slightly transparent greens
and blues of her crew.
...Then there was the fact that she cradled her severed head in
her hands. From her face, she was young... and her hair was cut
short, slicked-back, and rebellious. Her expression was set into a
militant scowl, accentuating a sword-scar on her mouth that ran
down her chin.
If her head was actually on her neck, she might have been taller
than Tycon... and if that wasn't enough, the boots she wore were
also slightly raised.
The High-Captain did not seem to take kindly to being looked

down upon.
"Good morning, Madam," Tycon inclined his head, hoping the

action wasn't insulting, "(I'm looking for the Captain of this
vessel.)"
"Good morning," The woman pursed her lips... "Lieutenant... am I

so simple a Grand-Capitaine zat I do not rate a salute?"
"I apologize, Captain," Tycon pursed his lips. "Marines do not

salute indoors."
It was a peculiar rule... but all militaries had odd traditions, usually
stemming from functionality. Still, Tycon would not violate a rule he
had promised to obey-- unless he had good reason.
"This is my ship..." The woman shut her eyes, a tinge of frustration

in her voice... "And I am ze highest ranking Officer here."
Tycon kept his face serious and his voice cool and collected, "With
respect, Madam, Royal Marine protocol is signed off by the Fleet
Admiral... Requesting me to salute places me in a difficult
situation."
The High-Captain remained quiet, scrutinizing him with her

haunting, sea-green eyes for nearly a minute.
Tycon was unbothered. He kept his back straight, chest out, and
chin slightly tilted down... as was expected of a professional
military gentleman.
"...I understand," The head sighed... "Your attire... it is familiar, yet

it is not. (I was not aware of such a difference between our
branches.)"
The woman strode forward, tucking her head beneath her left arm
and offering her right, "(I am High-Captain Ho Byul of the Jade
Arrow Fleet, the commander of the fastest ships in the Royal
Navy...)"
Tycon shook the woman's hand. Her grip was firm, but not
overbearing. Her touch was surprisingly soft but left a magical,
tingling sensation upon his skin.
...If touching the other undead on the ship had similar effects...
Captain Krysaos was likely having the time of his life.
"(I'd imagine there is a faster fleet faster now...)" Byul mused.
Tycon elected not to tell her that her title had indeed been lost. It
now belonged to the Sea Wolf Fleet, which he, himself, claimed
membership in. It was something High-Captain Lang Hai took
great pride in.
The woman closed her eyes, ending her suspicious stare. Taking
in a deep breath, she let out an exhausted sigh, "Forgive me,
Lieutenant. How many years... (How long have I been dead?)"
Tycon cradled his chin in his hand... "The current Fleet Admiral is
Grand-Capitaine Chantal De la Croix... and she is near thirty
years of age."
"(Sacred gods,)" Byul cursed, "Ze girl has grown... fifteen or

twenty years, then... I serve... non... I previously served under
Fleet Admiral Guillaume De la Croix, ze little starling's father."
She turned on her heel and gestured towards a desk... and the
two took their places seated across from each other.
Byul placed her head upon the flat surface while her body
steepled her fingers, leaning forward, "Now zen, Lieutenant... as
you have not come to free me from zis ghostly curse, I assume
you have a different request."
"I'd like to share information," Tycon nodded... but suddenly, he

grew curious about a different topic, "Before my main point... have
you heard of the name... the Sugar-Titted Siren? I'd imagine the
topic is a fairly recent one."
"Dead as I am, I am not deaf to ze tales of dead men," Byul

glared...
"...Capitaine... Krysaos, I believe his name was," The woman shut

her eyes while her body leaned back and crossed its arms, "(He
is... what we call... a Reef Shark.)"
That sounded somewhat intimidating.
"Zat is to say," Byul continued... "He is... an opportunist... a

vulture, zey say... Ze shameless scoundrel was known for picking
off poorly defended merchant and passenger ships, fleeing at ze
mere sight of a larger vessel..."
Tycon nodded in understanding. That sounded very much like his

Brother-Captain.
"Do you associate wis zis man? Zat... Capitaine?" Byul raised an
eyebrow, "(Forgive me, Lieutenant, but you have given me reason
to doubt your character.)"
Her body had placed its hands in her lap... close to the hilts of her
swords.
Tycon pursed his lips. He... technically did associate with

Krysaos... but that was the wrong answer. An altercation was not
in his best interests, as he still had much information to glean from
the woman.
"Should it allay your misgivings..." Tycon pursed his lips, "I was
formerly an agent of the Crown, working for King Adal's daughter,
Princess Aurala Wyndham."
"Zat is true of every Marine and Sailor in the Royal Navy," Byul
scoffed. "(And from your words... that is in the past.)
"(If that is all,)" The bodiless head glared, her sea-green eyes
glowing eerily in the dim cabin, "(I will not be entertaining you any
longer.)"
",
Chapter 636 Jade Arrow (Part
Two)
⟬ Ho Byul, Iron-Rank Headless Ghost Martialist. ⟭
The High-Captain seemed to be more than just a Fleet Admiral.
If Tycondrius guessed correctly, the woman was also the leader of

a Hidden Sect... which meant that she and her crew were only
beholden to the King-- in life, anyroad.
Even though he was an Officer in the same Royal Navy that Byul
served, she was afflicted by a particular arrogance suffered by all
cultivators raised in a Hidden Sect. In her mind, she and her crew
were... above regular humans.
Besides the fact that Tycon was not actually human... he had
attained enough achievements in the past few years to achieve at
least basic respect.
If there was one thing Sect Martialists respected, it was titles.
He took a deep breath as he dug into his memory. He had

collected quite a few in recent years...
"I am... the savior of House Kimura, the Patriarch family of the
White Scale sect and their Guardian Beast.
"I am the sole successor of Garock Heartrender, the last Samurai

of the Screaming Silence sect and inheritor of their curved blade
techniques.
"I am blood brothers with Shao Ran, the strongest warrior of the
Golden Crow sect.
"I am one of the combat instructors of Athena Vanzano, the next
matriarch of the Frozen Cairn sect.
"...and probably most importantly, I am a Lieutenant of the Sea

Wolf Fleet... also known as the Sea Wolf Hidden Sect-- led by
Sect Master and Grand-Capitaine Lang Hai, sole successor of
Grand-Capitaine Liang Qiang."
Byul pursed her lips, confusion on her face.
Being polite, Tycon did not press the issue, and he waited
patiently for her to recompose herself.
"Liang... Qiang," She muttered, "Zat is... impossible."
"Care to test my strength, Grande-Capitaine?" Tycon inclined his

head, trying his best to remain as respectful as possible. At the
same time, he stared into Byul's eyes-- not undimming his vision,
but allowing his mana to circulate enough for her to sense clearly.
If he chose to, he could annihilate her with a single blade

technique. Such was the difference in strength between a
solidified Gold-Rank and a middle-to-peak Iron-Rank.
However, touting his strength... and that most of her ribbons and
medals were pathetic compared to his achievements-- that would
be rude
"No," Byul took a deep breath, her body's chest heaving in,
"Forgive me... I had not noticed before, but you do have ze
strength to back your claims..."
The strong had no reason to lie. Truth was highly valued amongst
the Hidden Sects.
"(Thank you for your praise, High-Captain,)" Tycon smiled warmly.
"I must commend you for so skillfully hiding your power level... (I
feel like a fool for speaking to you so rudely...)"
"I've been practicing," Tycon smiled politely. "Do not be troubled,

Capitaine. Perhaps we should speak more casually... and over
some tea?"
...
⟬ A short time later... ⟭
Tycondrius sat patiently on a tattered mat through what High-

Captain Ho Byul called a... tea rite.
Though it was not something he was familiar with, the concept

was commonplace. The ritual was performed as a respectful
welcome to foreign guests, to solidify agreements, and for other,
generally-special occasions.
Byul lamented the fact that she did not have proper ceremony
attire... as all her clothes beside her military attire were damaged
by sea rot due to the dark magic that kept her 'alive'.
"(Thank you for this gift from the land of the living, Lieutenant
Tycon,)" Byul closed her eyes as her body bowed forward. "(This
is the most wonderful tea I have ever tasted...)"
"Think nothing of it," Tycon returned the bow, just as low.
Being polite cost him nothing.
...Also, the jar of tea leaves he gifted her was purchased in a buy-
one-get-one-free deal.
If anything, the real reason Byul was thanking him was for the
mana formation he crafted for her personal use. Using a carving
knife, Tycon etched a simple five-spell circle on the deck of her
room, attuned it to Byul's ghostly mana, and instructed her on its
activation.
The formation allowed the ghost-woman to regain strength in most

of her bodily senses, as death had done much in dulling them.
She did not seem to be lying when she implied the tea was
delicious. Her sense of taste was drastically different with and
without the ritual circle.
"I must admit, Lieutenant," Byul frowned... "We of ze Jade Arrow
sect have little to offer you. I cannot even take you to your
destination..."
It seemed that the Dungeon Core was the Jade Rabbit, itself...
and it operated autonomously. In a few suns, they would reach
their destination... an island of sorts, then immediately sail to their
next destination.
As Captain Byul was intrinsically linked to her cursed ship, she

was unable to even walk the island's shores. She lamented that
she could provide no information about that place, other than it
had a dormant volcano at its center.
Tycon did not need anything of the woman... as he'd already

learned all he cared for.
However, Byul's voice dripped with guilt... perhaps feeling that the
paltry information she provided was not equal to the ritual
formation he expertly designed.
It was not... but Tycon was attempting to be nicer to females.
To that end, he decided to request a minor favor from her...

something she could grant without much effort.
His thoughts drifted back to Krysaos and the fact that he was
probably defiling the denizens of the Jade Rabbit.
"Perhaps you'd allow me to... mingle with your crew?" Tycon

offered.
"I... cannot grant you this," Byul sighed in frustration, "My crew
knows not ze touch of a man... and I shall allow none to sully
zem... even if zey are long dead."
It seemed Krysaos was going to be killed... which was a shame.

Tycon had grown fond of his selfish personality and self-serving
antics.
Tycon tapped his chin in thought... "Captain Byul..."

"Byul is fine, Lieutenant..."
"Lady Byul..."
"What did I just say?" The head scowled... as if it would leap off
the floor mat and bite him.
Tycon sighed and shook his head.
He never considered himself skilled at dealing with beautiful

women... and their fickle natures.
Chapter 637 Selfish Request
" Not to be rude... Byul," Tycondrius cleared his throat, "but do you
know why you are still beholden to this Realm?"
"I've no idea," Byul's body shrugged its shoulders, "At first, I

believed... it was a sense of honor... of loyalty to my Jade Arrow
sect... or to ze Kingdom.
"But... for all of my crew to remain?" She half-turned her body, and
she stared out of a nearby porthole, "It is impossi-bel~ I am no
fool, Tycon... not all of my sisters are of a single heart."
Tycon pursed his lips and gestured towards her... "How did you
die?"
Byul turned her head back to face him, a helpless look in her
eyes, "I was defeated in honorable combat... by your previous
Sect Master... Liang Qiang."
Tycon nodded gravely. The news did not surprise him.
As Byul was killed only twenty years prior, she was one of the
High-Captains under Fleet Admiral Guillaume De la Croix. Thus,
she was one of the many casualties incurred when the other High-
Captains, lusting for vengeance, mistakenly went after the
strongest Sea Wolf.
"I know of him," Tycon grimaced... "You do not seem to be upset

over the fact?"
"We were fools... we were all fools," Byul sighed. "Ze Sea Wolf
sect has never gotten along with my Jade Arrow sect... and it was
likely my insistence that resulted in my companions slaughtered
like sheep.
"Qiang... he is a murderer.... and he did not like Guillaume," She
sucked in air through her teeth... "but he is not responsible for his
death. I learned as much when we fought."
Tycon nodded in thought, "Martial combat is the purest form of

truth."
"So you are a poet, as well, Monsieur," Byul chuckled to herself...

"I... have never been good wis words."
She stood up and walked over to her favorite staring porthole...

"Fighting... zat is all zis foolish woman can do... So ze Jade Rabbit
will continue to sail... and I will fight until I no longer rise again."
Byul turned about, her sea-green eyes suddenly serious...

"Lieutenant Tycon... I have... anozher selfish request of you."
Tycon stood up, crossing his arms. He did not like Byul's sudden
change in tone, "I shall consider it, Mademoiselle-Capitaine."
The woman placed her head back on her shoulders... and drew
the swords on her waist... short, straight blades with green
crystals embedded into their hilts.
They were enchanted spirit weapons, befitting the leader of a

sect.
"Fight me," She said in a hoarse voice. "Kill me. End my

suffering."
Tycon snorted in incredulity, "No."
She lunged forward towards him, swinging at the right side of his
neck.
Raising an eyebrow, Tycon shot his hand out at her wrist, halting
the attack.
Byul swiped her other sword, faster... but like the other, without
much force.
Tycon lifted his arm to meet the strike, then pulled back with the
momentum to prevent it from cutting through the fabric of his coat.
"You're insulting both me and yourself, Byul," Tycon scolded.
He spun his arms upward, outward, and under hers, then applied
pressure to her elbows until she dropped her weapons.
Then, he swiftly kneed her in the abdomen... and caught her head
before it fell to the deck. With Byul's body unbalanced, he pulled
its arm to the left while blocking her foot, dropping her to the floor.
"Pathetic," Tycon held Byul's head in front of him as he spoke to

her. "There's no killing intent, whatsoever, in your so-called
'attacks.'"
"This curse..." Byul winced in pain... as her body writhed in pain,

holding her stomach, "I just want it to end. Twenty years... non,
even a single sun is too long to suffer LIKE THIS!!"
The pinned woman's body rolled forward... then sprung towards

him, legs first. She wrapped her thighs around the sides of
Tycon's head, then whipped her body weight around.
A normal person would have been slammed to the ground, their

advantage ceded.
However, Tycon did not feel like losing. He focused mana on his
legs and back to keep steady.
He calmly placed Byul's head at the edge of her desk... then

grabbing hold of her back, he ungently slammed her body down at
the center of it.
The sudden impact caused her legs to tense up and further pull
Tycon's nose and mouth deeper into an... intimate location. It
elicited a clearly erotic moan out of the woman's mouth.
Byul's face was a furious red as she grit her teeth and tightened
her leg lock further.
It made Tycon question as to whether Byul was trying to suffocate
him... or seduce him?
He forcibly shoved one of Byul's legs aside and reached forward

to wrap his hands around what remained of her neck.
...He wasn't certain if that was going to work... but by the sound of
Byul's pained choking, and her feeble attempts to push him away,
it was effective.
Tycon turned to stare into Byul's eyes... "True death is not the
answer... else you would not have held back..."
...If Byul had been serious, Tycon would have still elected not to
kill her. It wasn't impossible for the Jade Rabbit to dissipate
without its Captain.
He lowered his voice into a soft whisper as he gently loosened his

stranglehold... "What is it you truly wish for, Byul?"
"(I... don't know,)" Byul bit her lip... and ethereal, greenish-blue
'blood' dripped down her mouth.
"Then," Tycon took a deep breath... "you must live on until you
find that..."
"I... live no longer," Tears began to form at the corners of the

Captain's eyes... "I am a dead woman, both in body and in spirit."
Tycon rolled his eyes as he stood straight. Byul was no longer

struggling... and she clearly was no threat.
"You know what I mean, Byul. Even in undeath, you can search
for a purpose... so you can pass on without regrets."
Byul's head stared in disbelief at him...
"Are... you flirting with me?"
Tycon had the same question. Though the woman's legs were no
longer on his shoulders, they were instead wrapped around his
waist.

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Chapter 1042 Myriad Futures

Sasarame clenched her fists and pointed her thumb at herself.

"--is the strongest person I know," Pale interrupted. "If he says to

"Yeah," Ree said, suddenly deflated, "He says to jump. We jump

Even the Holy Princess lent a hand of assurance, resting it on

"Y-you don't understand," Sasha said with a whimper. "I... can't

Troia took hold of her shoulders.

Sasha wished she hadn't.

[Make us understand, Sister,] Troia signed.

"E... every sun... he's out there," she said.

"He's fighting," Pale nodded.

"One. hundred. percent. badass as f*ck," said Ree.

Sasha sniffed, raising her chin.

"But... it's always... on behalf of someone else," she said.

"Oy. I'm gonna hit you for real."

[Continue, Sister,] Troia signed. [Please.]

"Wait, not even a little?" Ree asked.

[He'd never admit to it,] Troia signed.

"I-- I don't like him either," Ree lied.

Pale didn't dare respond.

Sasha opened her mouth to respond-- but she choked on her

Kimura began massaging her back... allowing her to recover

[I've seen it.]

Then, she turned to the so-called Hero.

...and forced herself to speak.

"That's why... I'm asking you."

He was a disgusting, flippant, unserious boy that took everything

Yet... he was the one that needed to be convinced to help her.

Sasha got onto her knees.

"Don't... let my father die," she begged.

"I'm not interested in your empty lies, Pelor of Invictus!" she

As soon as she began... she could not stop.

"I've seen you abandon entire REALMS!

"I've seen your body and will BROKEN, thousands of your

No one but an Oracle was supposed to hear about their myriad

It was forbidden by an Ancient Law she was never told, but

Sasha's mana began to rage, tearing up the insides of her body--

"And your EVERY incarnation, god or devil, man or beast-- you

A choir of glass bells reverberated throughout the cave as Troia

Troia placed her palms on Sasha's chest. She began whispering a

Her insides hurt. Blood had welled up in her throat.

But despite her condition, she wasn't finished speaking.

She spat out the blood in her mouth.

"--or I swear... even it takes me... a thousand lifetimes... I'll make

Pale closed his eyes.

And he lowered his head.

...but he was still Pale.

The Undeserving Hero.

...the single strongest source of entropy in their timeline.

That boy could change the future...

Sasha closed her eyes.

She... really was cursed.

The silence was broken by a low, frustrated grunt.

"Grrrgh... It is decided, then," Gobbuto growled, "but what... is

[We find a way,] Troia signed...

"No matter what it takes," added Ree.

With her task complete, Sasha's adrenaline began to wane. She

Maybe there was hope, after all...

Maybe... her dreams were wrong, for once.

Suddenly, something broke the water's surface.

And... something crawled out of the Pool of Reflection.

A half-dozen others slipped smoothly out of the water-- so

[Before the events of the Prologue.]

He briefly considered trying to find out why he was in the

Tycondrius stared at his dim, golden-eyed reflection in the water.